The Sorcerers of Mist Island

By Aleena Duron

Due to the combined skill and knowledge of the different peoples, the Human’s gain their first victory, but it comes at a terrible cost. The life of the Dwarven prince Helthi now hangs in the balance and if he dies then so too will the Guardian. While the Guardian fights to save her husband’s life, a fog descends on the town, and the couple vanishes.

With both the Guardian and prince Helthi now missing, those left cannot help but fear that their first-ever victory may now herald their end. If they cannot find their missing friends, it may summon the Gods back and bring about the end of ALL things.

Unbeknownst to everyone, the couple is in the company of the only person who CAN assist them and are currently on an island shrouded in mist that none can reach. Only the Sorcerers can reach or leave the island, and this is their home.

Their new allies know the identity of their enemy who has been attempting to gain control of each people. An enemy who is set on ruling over all of them and believes he is a God.

Will the couple survive, manage to return with this knowledge, and be able to pull each race together to fight this new enemy for their freedom?

Even with additional assistance, will it be enough to defeat this perilous threat? Or is this one struggle that they cannot win?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Oct 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664113336

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Copyright © 2020 by A. A. Duron.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/26/2020

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1 The search is on

Chapter 2 The Sorcerers cometh

Chapter 3 The return

Chapter 4 A show of strength

Chapter 5 Trouble on the borders

Chapter 6 Birth of hope

Chapter 7 A call to the leaders

Chapter 8 Elves and shocking revelations

Chapter 9 Raof

Chapter 10 Missing

Chapter 11 Dungeon Meetings

Chapter 12 A daring escape

Chapter 13 The tunnel

Chapter 14 A Dwarf returns

Chapter 15 Plans to draw him out

Chapter 16 The trap is sprung

Chapter 17 An army on the move

Chapter 18 The battle of the Barrens

Chapter 19 A High Sorcerer in Frue

Chapter 20 A surprise wedding

Chapter 21 Rebuilding

Chapter 22 Birth of a miracle

Chapter 23 A Prince is missing

MAPS

Path of the Armies

Tunnels exits and entrances and new lands

Path of the Sorcerers

Path of the armies

Two towns

Island

PROLOGUE

When the Human’s suffered a crushing defeat at the hands

of their centuries-old enemy which leaves their population

decimated, the last of the Elders had to call a meeting to come up

with a plan to try and save those left. After a heated argument,

an agreement was reached. Their Guardian, Cwynthalyn,

was given the task of leading a group made up of five of the

Elder’s children to seek aid from all their neighbours.

The five chosen ranged in ages from sixteen to twenty-three

and are made up of:- Feltor -who later became Head elder,

a position his father Betur had coveted; Tigree - who later

married Feltor and the two had twins; Ektof - who remained

with the Halflings and helped forge an alliance with them;

Rintof - who helped Ektof with the Halflings and Palaree

who married the leader of the Half-Orcs, Thrultar.

Their first challenge came from their first neighbour, the allusive

Viehu who have remained separated from the Humans for thousands

of years. Thankfully, Cwynthalyn managed to succeed at their test

and gain their aid. To be sure of the Human’s intentions, the Viehu

send two of their own to accompany them. The king decided on his

two sons; the eldest Vyl-Roth who is head of the royal guard and a

fearsome warrior and his younger son; Syl-Roth who is the head of

the Magu - an organisation that is a cross between ninja and mages.

Their next neighbour turns out to be the Halflings, and they

are most definitely not fighters. However, they are very skilled

farmers, and it is their aid in this that Ektof helps to secure.

After a lucky escape in the mountains, they meet the Half-

Orcs and this time it is Feltor who succeeds at their challenge

and secures their aid. Their leader, Thrultar, is enamoured

with Palaree but it takes him a while to win her heart.

The Orcs prove a more formidable challenge, and they gain

their support in the form of a challenge to their leader. This

time it falls to Palaree to take on the challenge. She manages

to defeat the challenger even though he cheats and they

witness firsthand the severe punishments of the Orcs.

During their journey, they find out that there is yet another

force working against them, and this one is attempting to gain

control of every races land. Now they have something additional

to fight against, but first, they have ‘THEM’ to deal with.

Thanks to the skill of the Dwarves, led by prince Helthi, they

managed to successfully build tunnels from the Human town of

Frue to each of the different people’s homes so they could reach the

town with ease should ‘THEY’ attack. The prince, and his friend,

Dwaron, managed to build barracks for everyone to use. These will

be needed before and after the battle and a now well-used tavern.

Due to the combined skill and knowledge of the different

peoples, the Human’s gain their first victory, but it comes at a

terrible cost. The life of the Dwarven prince Helthi now hangs

in the balance and if he dies then so too will the Guardian.

While the Guardian fights to save her husband’s life, the rest

meet in the tavern to discuss things and try and figure out if

there is another way for them to save them. What they do not

see is the fog descend on the town, and the couple vanishes.

With both the Guardian and prince Helthi now missing, those

left cannot help but fear that their first-ever victory may not be

the joyous occasion it had seemed. If they cannot find out what

happened and find their missing friends, it may summon the Gods

back and bring about the end of ALL things. Unbeknownst to

everyone, the couple is in the company of the only person who

CAN assist them. They know the identity of who has attempted

to gain control of each people and by extension, all lands. Will the

couple survive, manage to return with this knowledge and be able

to pull each race together to fight for their freedom. Yet, even with

additional assistance, will it be enough to defeat this NEW and

perilous threat. Or is this one struggle that they simply cannot win?

CHAPTER 1

The search is on

Seeing ‘THEM’ leave, Cwynthalyn is elated and for the first time in her life, knows the feeling of victory and so chooses to return to her standard form. Vyl-Roth joins her, saying that his company and those who wish to assist will take on the task of dispatching ‘THEM’ who may still be alive but also the disposal of the bodies of their dead. Syl-Roth asks her if she can now open the gate so that he and his people, along with the Elves, can get to work healing those injured. She does this gladly and wishes that Mythof could have been here to see this day. A day he could only have dreamed of and one which proves that their year’s journey had been worth everything they had endured.

Cwynthalyn stands watching the hive of activity, pleased to see people assisting both Viehu princes. She is proud of how people have come together and fought as one. It is while she is pondering if she should help either prince that she sees a sight which causes the blood in her veins to freeze; coming out of the smoke is a company of Dwarves. All look more sombre than she has ever seen them look before and they are carrying Helthi on a makeshift stretcher.

Syl-Roth quickly joins her as the word reached him, and he too is shocked to see his friend, who is now like a brother, clearly severely injured. Ushering her away, he and a few of his fellow Magu quickly take over from the Dwarves and whisk him to the tents, where they are still working on many others. A sudden thought flashes through Cwynthalyn’s mind, momentarily easing her pain, ‘At least they have injured unlike what normally happens when there is only her.’ This thought passes as soon as it began, and the pain returns with even greater force.

While those who carried him have now joined Vyl-Roth, obviously cracking a few of ‘THEIR’ skulls to relieve their anger and pain, something she can understand and agree with. Instead, she just stands there looking back through the gate in the direction of the tents, with no idea of what she should do now. All the happiness of earlier has left her, and she simply feels cold and numb. The fear of losing him and the pain is worse than ever it was when the previous battles were lost, and this makes her also feel a little selfish. For once she is nothing but a maiden whose husband is grievously hurt and is conflicted by the desire to hurt anything she can and the need to be at his side. Torn by these feelings, she can only stand and continue to watch what is happening around her numbly.

Seeing her friend’s obvious pain, Sharn joins her, and the two sit on one of the large rocks which stand just to one side of the gate; where they watch those still clearing up. Luckily, the wind shifts and blows the smoke from the vast ever-growing pyre out to sea; as if the very spirits of those now burning are attempting to join their fleeing brethren.

Giving her a reassuring hug, the Orc says calming and soothingly, Don’t worry, he’s in good hands. If anyone can heal him, Syl and the Elves can. I’ve heard, on many occasions, that the healing abilities of the Elves are legendary. He’ll be fine. He really will. They’ll sort him out.

Instead of a response she just begins to cry, slowly at first then great soul-crushing sobs as she rests against her friend. The fear starts to consume her, and her thoughts are only of, ‘if they can’t save him, then was this all be for nothing, for will this herald her death and the return of the Gods?’

Fortunately, her friend, for now, is unable to guess her train of thought and just holds her, telling her, It IS going to be all right. Yet, even to herself, these words sound a little hollow as even she fears the worst. Wounds such as he has sustained, she has seen before, and it never ends well. So they both sit here, one sobbing and the other comforting. Both praying for a miracle, neither is sure is possible.

Finally, the last carcase of their enemy is burning on the pyre and attention is now turned to their dead, who they do not wish to leave here with ‘THEM’. Only once all their dead are removed from the beach, do the warriors begin filing through the gates. Vyl-Roth remains until he and the two maidens are the only ones left. He and Sharn assist Cwynthalyn through, where she can barely even say the closing words. It takes a few attempts before the gates finally, with a resounding and final clang, close behind them; shutting out the smoke still heading out to sea.

At the insistence of Syl-Roth, they take Cwynthalyn to the tavern. Here many of the tired, weary and exhausted, warriors are now gathered. Not so much as they feel the need to get drunk, which they also do, but as this is a happy place, a place to relax, eat, drink and be with friends; a roaring and warming fire and the smell of good food, cooking. Thankfully, this is how the atmosphere now feels.

One person, at least, is not feeling happy, relaxed or anything at all and so they assist her to one of the quiet corner tables. On the other side of the tavern, the Dwarves have assembled and are singing very sombre-sounding songs, in Dwarven. None look happy or joyous, not that it is always easy to tell with them even when they are. They are the only ones there already drinking, from the many empty jugs on the table, drinking heavily.

Not for the first time since she met Helthi, does Cwynthalyn wish that she had taken the time to learn his language and yet she never has. There have always been so many other, seemingly more important things which needed doing. However, now, to her, it seems the most crucial thing in the world; one she has failed to do, and this only starts her crying again. Guardian or not, right here and now, she is still unable to prevent her natural female reaction to the imminent loss of her mate, and for the first time, she truly understands why so many broke down in the past. Cwynthalyn cannot help but wonder if this was how the other Guardians began their deaths? If so, she can truly understand why they followed their mates to the hereafter.

Where, usually, Vyl-Roth would tell her to ‘pull herself together’ and that ‘tears are a waste of energy’, yet for now, he does neither. He simply gets them a massive jug of ale, and ten glasses then settle back down; causing Sharn to give him a very puzzled look at the number of glasses. After all, there is only three of them and not ten.

Just wait, is his only reply and sure enough one by one the others arrive until there is ten of them. Sharn gives him a nod to concede the fact that he was correct, to which he just smiles.

Feltur and Tigree are first, followed closely by Xunago who gives his wife, Sharn, a reassuring hug, then Rintof and Ektof, followed by Thrultar and Palaree. It is a bit of a tight squeeze in the corner, and they are all squashed in. Especially, Cwynthalyn, who is surrounded by her closest friends and trapped in the centre behind the table.

As soon as the last two take their places, Vyl-Roth pours them all a glass and slowly hands them out, placing one in front of a still crying Cwynthalyn, who shakes her head, and he says firmly in a tone which brooks no argument, DRINK!

So she does but barely even tastes the ale she loves typically so much. She barely hears the conversation around her. Instead, she sits staring unblinkingly into her glass like the answers, and all her hope lies within the golden liquid. The others begin to discuss the battle, trying to distract her, but seemingly failing and they finally gave up trying to engage her in the conversation and continue without her input.

That slick of the Dwarves worked to perfection, Ektof states, getting the only reaction from her, a huge sigh and sob.

Ignoring her, Vyl-Roth adds, Indeed! I was slightly sceptical of it but seeing just how fiercely and hotly it burned; it proved a great success. Especially as it kept melting even their metal ramps, not to mention armour, and those strange attachments they have.

This is true, though I did think that the pits were genius also. I’ll have to tell Dwaron as much later, as he was in charge of building and preparing them, Feltur points out. His nod towards Thrultar, causing him to look pleased and proud and those closest to slap his back in acknowledgement.

But don’t you think Syl and his people caused complete confusion in our enemy during their charges, Thrultar points out, to which all but Cwynthalyn nod.

Made it so much easier to pick them off, Xunago adds, once again to everyone’s agreement.

I thought the Elves were also amazing, picking off so many before they could get anywhere near us, Tigree chimes in, getting a few odd looks but all do eventually, grudgingly agree. It seems that every race had some run-in with the Elves during their history. All because many share a border with all but the Halflings.

There is one thing though, Palaree begins, as she sees a rather odd look on Vyl-Roth’s face.

What’s that? Thrultar asks his wife, intrigued.

The Viehu warriors were spectacular to watch and cleaved many an enemy in two, and I lost count of just how many heads they took off, she finishes, getting a broad toothy grin from Vyl-Roth. No one argues with her as this will only annoy him, and besides, it is very accurate.

Honestly, Ektof begins and all turn to look at him, except their Guardian, who is still looking deep into her glass. I believe that there wasn’t a single warrior of ours who did not fight with bravery, skill and honour, and I feel that all deserve our gratitude and praise.

To their great surprise and delight, Vyl-Roth replies, Never has there been a truer word spoken.

For a time they fall silent again, then they first raise a mug, accompanied by the whole tavern, to all who fought and those who died and who yet lay wounded. Strangely, even Cwynthalyn joins in with this before going back to watching her ale.

Feltur orders a few more jugs, which they also soon work their way through. No one, it seems, is in the mood for food and after a few hours, the table has nothing but empty jugs covering it. The Dwarves have long ago finished their song, and many others have taken over, filling the tavern with sound. Yet, somehow, none sound joyous or even happy as the time is not yet right for celebrations; as all are waiting to find out if their Guardian’s mate will live, or if he will die.

Vyl-Roth is the first to spot his brother enter, and from his expression, he knows the news is not going to be good, and this fills him with a fear that he is unused too.

The moment Syl-Roth reaches them, they offer him a mug, which he turns down, saying only, I still have work to do. I will join you when my work is done and not until.

While they admire his dedication, they do wish he would at least join them in one toast, but he refuses all efforts in this endeavour. Finally, Cwynthalyn looks up, and her expression is impossible to read as she looks unseeingly at him.

I need you to come with me... now, is all he says and these simple words are enough to freeze the blood in the veins of the entire tavern, and the place falls silent as they know what this means.

Silently, the company move and allow her to slide out before retaking their seats. They watch the two leave and all silently say more prayers, knowing full well that they are likely to be futile; and yet they continue to do so. The singing has stopped filling the place with a melancholy not there before, as everyone begins to pray to their Gods in the hopes that maybe one of them will answer and help. Many find it difficult to understand why the Gods would grant them a victory with one hand, while potentially taking the life of their Guardian with the other. They are all well aware of what happened to the other Guardians, when ‘their’ mates died, and a kind of dread now hangs in the air.

Cwynthalyn follows him in silence, every step feeling heavy and challenging to take. Perhaps if she goes slowly, the inevitable might not happen, but she knows nothing can now change this and pain as she has never known starts within her heart. When they reach the lone tent in which Helthi now lies, she is surprised to find him still alive and is, at least momentarily, filled with hope. The pain subsides a little as she settles herself in the seat beside his bed. As she kisses his forehead, he briefly smiles at her and, just barely, manages to brush a tendril of her hair from her face yet says nothing. She simply lays her head gently against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, which now sounds weak and has an odd kind of rhythm to it.

Arernilos joins them and says quietly, While we have managed to remove the arrow, it has done too much damage as it bore its way into him. There is nothing we can do for him, Cwynthalyn, but to make him comfortable. Neither Syl nor myself know how much time he has left.

Her heart sinks at this, and tears once more begin to fall. The pain in her chest increases to an almost unbearable level. Suddenly, she stands and looks to head for the door, where she stops and with her back to them says, Surely, there must be something you can do, he can’t die, he just can’t.

We know this is hard to hear, but we have done all we can, and there is nothing more we can try, Syl-Roth adds, feeling as if he has failed not just her but everyone.

Just as suddenly as she stood, she turns to face them, her expression dark and angry, NO, she snaps. Neither of you understands. |He CAN’T die! He can’t.

They both look a little puzzled and slightly worried by her look and words, which imply something far more than just the desperation of a mate, as the Elf bravely asks what they are both thinking, Why is this?

Glancing between the two, then down at her husband who, with eyes closed, seems to be struggling for breath as she answers, I’m the last one and if dies then so do I.

Don’t you think that this is just a touch overly dramatic, Cwyn? Syl-Roth asks believing that this is nothing more than some kind of threat to make them magically heal him, which they cannot do, or they would already have done so, neither want the prince to die. The Viehu are the only race who has no idea why their own Guardian died if the Elf truly understands remains unclear.

She fixes him with the angriest and most pain-filled look he has ever seen, then says in little more than a whisper, No, it isn’t! We, Guardians, are cursed, preventing us from falling in love. However, each one of us has done so. When each before me lost their love, then they too died. That is our curse, so I know that when Helthi dies, so will I. There is nothing anyone can do to stop it...nothing. None have ever escaped, or withstood the curse...no one...

Surely, as we need you, your strength will be enough to stave off the curse? Arernilos asks, now fearful of her answer.

Shaking her head, she says sadly, Unfortunately, it does not seem to work this way. If it did, some of the others would not have passed. But they did and will I too. When I do, according to legend, the Gods will return, and their wrath will destroy the world and all in it, so that they may start anew.

Her words cause the two to become filled with a new and increased fear, as they know, there is nothing more that they can do for him. If she is correct, and the legend is indeed true, then their victory might just herald their end and not the new beginning they had hoped would happen.

Sighing, she both says and asks, If we are both to die, I would rather we are in our own home, and he is in his bed. I have not yet given up hope completely; and I will continue, though I know little about healing, to try. It is all I can do and what I must do to try and save us all. I know the last Guardian lived many years after his wife had died, but in the end, he too succumbed, and I watched him die. Even though I am needed, I know, therefore, that my days are numbered. There is no way for me to know how long I will be able to stave off the curse, so I need to be in my home and draw what strength I can from it.

Neither chooses to argue with her, though they both want to. Instead, they organise for a company of Elves to carefully move Helthi from the tent to his own home and bed. This takes a while to do as it seems word has spread, and it looks like the whole city has lined the streets to watch the small procession pass by. Only when they have entered the house, do they disperse again, and everyone then keeps clear of the little home allowing them peace.

Cwynthalyn lights the fires in both the kitchen and their bedroom and puts the kettle on for hot water. The Elves gently carry Helthi upstairs and then lay him in his bed, before silently leaving just her and Syl-Roth to continue. Even though she asks him to leave her to assist him alone, he stubbornly refuses, and so the two carry on working together. While she makes a light stew and a teapot of refreshing tea, he quickly fetches all that he thinks they will need and they settle in to continue their work.

In the tavern; news has, by now, reached them that Helthi has been taken to his home and that even though Syl-Roth remains with Cwynthalyn and both are desperately trying to save him, it is unlikely they will succeed. Her words, in the tent, have also filtered through and the sombre mood has only increased. Many have now called for a feast to end all feasts. After all, if they are to die, they should now celebrate life and their victory first.

The company still sit quietly to one side and refuse stalwartly to join in as they do not feel much like celebrating currently. The potential loss of two they love so much is weighing too heavily upon them.

They do raise a mug of ale to them before the three maidens ask, in unison, Do you think we should go and help?

The answer they get is, NO, from everyone before Vyl-Roth, surprisingly says, I believe it would be best to let my brother work with Cwyn. If in the end, it is futile, then we should allow them to be together in peace. We have no place their currently.

His words bring an end to the subject, and they all go back to being silent, drinking their ale, while all around them, the strangest and most sombre feast and the celebration begins.

Cwynthalyn, refusing all aid and insistence from everyone that she must rest, continues instead to work to save Helthi. Though even her efforts seem to be in vain and it is clear to all, even her if she is truthful with herself, that he is slowly slipping away, and she is going to lose him. This realisation causes a tear to fall from her eye down onto his cheek, and she fights to stop more from falling. Now she understands precisely why the other Guardians had followed their loves to the other side; facing life without him was simply not possible as he is now as intrinsic to her as the very air, she breaths. Yet, what will this mean for those who currently rely on her? It is an impossible problem, and it feels as if it is tearing her apart with no answer in sight.

Seeing this, Syl-Roth finally retreats to the relative safety of the tavern, leaving her to remain with him and have some privacy. Even Dwaron, who is as devoted to his prince as she is, goes and joins his brethren. The tavern, which generally, is so full of joy and laughter is now again silent and cheerless. It is as if they all know the end is near, yet no one wishes to say it. After such a hard-fought victory, they now feel more like they have lost instead of won, and no one is sure of what Helthi’s death will mean for them. The ones feeling it the most are the Dwarves, who look woeful and have begun singing songs in Dwarven again. Even though none of the others can understand the exact words, the dark and foreboding tone of the songs is evident.

They are now so focused on their ale, as none can eat anything, and the feast stands untouched, that only one notices the fog descending. Syl-Roth watches it, and while on an ordinary occasion he would raise the alarm, at least to his brother; for some reason, which he is forever unable to explain, he does not do this. This time he has a gut feeling that, unlike previous times, it will be to the benefit of them all, which seems an odd thought under the circumstances. So, he simply shrugs and returns to his ale, while the company around him saying nothing, almost like his will is under another’s control; which it is.

Inside their home; Cwynthalyn still works desperately to save her Dwarf; even now, when hope is almost lost, refusing to concede defeat or shed another tear. His strength is nearly gone, and the fever has taken full hold of him as he mumbles in Dwarven, words she is unable to understand. Yet again, she wishes she had taken the time to learn his language, as now she cannot even tell his people what his last words were. They might have, in some small way, given them comfort in their time of grief and she blames herself for this. She swears that IF he survives, she will take the time to learn it.

Finally, unable to contain his curiosity any longer and with an uneasy niggle which he simply cannot explain, Syl-Roth decides to go and check on the couple to see if there is anything more, he can do for them. Even if he takes over for a while so she can rest a little and regain some strength, he makes his way through the city to the only house whose lights still blaze brightly and which, with the Dwarves help and insistence, now has two floors. Once there, he finds that the front door stands wide open. Fearing who knows what; he rushes inside and straight upstairs banging his head several times, as he usually does in Human homes when he fails to concentrate. Upstairs, he finds that the bedroom now stands empty and there is no sign of the couple. The bedclothes are thrown back and the bed, where only a short while ago Helthi lay fighting for his life, is instead empty, though still warm to the touch indicating that he has not long since exited it. The only trace that he ever lay there is the blood-stained sheets and pillows. Ointment and dirty clothes litter the room and a bowl of, still hot, water sits on the table beside the bed. Even the chair he knows she would have been sitting in stands exactly where it was when she was here. But she is not, and neither is he.

Syl-Roth can find no trace of them, no sign that she might have decided to move him herself and maybe taken him home. As he knows that even with her superior strength, she could not possibly carry a Dwarf safely, as severely injured as he is, without causing his death, which she has been fighting so hard to prevent. So, he now fails to understand how they have vanished and to where they might have gone. He can find no answer until he remembers the fog he saw earlier in the evening. It is like the memory of it is trying to vanish just like the couple, and the mist has done.

He now fears that perhaps he should have taken more notice of the fog and that by ignoring it, he has cost them. Not just Helthi who they care for like a brother but also their Guardian and perhaps much more besides. Now he cannot understand why he felt the need to ignore the fog, and this keeps niggling at him, making his way back downstairs while managing to avoid banging his head Syl-Roth slumps, somewhat uncomfortably, into one of the chairs in the main room. Here he ponders how he can tell them that they are now missing and that it might just be HIS fault that they are. How can he ever explain his mistake and expect their forgiveness, considering how much this may cost them?

Eventually, Syl-Roth decides that he needs to face his brother, who is likely to be the angriest of anyone, as he has spent so long chasing the fog and whoever controls it. He is unable to shake the feeling of his failure, even though he knows that if the fog had not arrived, the two people he loves like a brother and sister would most likely be dead. If not now, then in a day or two. This fact fails to make him feel any better and yet.

There is no answer he can think of, save one, for the fog and this one provides a slight hope which he clings too. The fact that maybe, just maybe whoever can create the fog, kill Viehu warriors and avoid all attempts to find them, can also save them both and then return them alive and well. Or maybe this fog was simply the Gods taking them to the next life. With now no Guardian left, who is going to protect them, WILL the prophesy come to pass causing the Gods return, to destroy everything so they can start over again? Has their very victory indeed heralded their doom?

All these thoughts and many more pass through his mind on his slow walk back to the tavern. A few villagers, and many different warriors, greet him or bow to him, but he sees none of them so lost in his contemplation does he remain. Finally, he can drag his feet no more, and after taking a deep intake of breath, he pushes the door open and steps inside. The tavern is still full even though there is little laughter or even celebration going on. Feeling a slight relief at the fact that no one seems to be taking any notice of him, he pushes his way through the crowds of people to the back where he knows they will be waiting for him.

Once he has pushed through, his friends turn to face him their eyes shining with hope. A hope that quickly fades at his hunched stature and crestfallen expression. Vyl-Roth touches the arm of one of the serving maids and orders another round of ale. They then move up, letting him slide onto the edge of the bench. Xunago passes him a freshly filled mug of ale, and then they wait for him to speak. The air becomes filled with expectant hope, which he feels is pushing him down and crushing him just as his news will do to them. Silently he sighs then takes a sip of his ale to calm himself.

The wait eventually gets the better of them, and they ask, almost as one, What news? How are they? Do we have to morn two more deaths now?

Without looking up, he answers, They’re gone!

His words seem to knock the wind out of many, each maiden begins sobbing, soul-wrenching sobs, and rest against their partners for comfort. They, in turn, are struggling to contain their own emotions and a couple even being to cry. Theirs are silent tears which fall onto the table forming puddles, even as they seek comfort from holding their maidens yet find none.

Even Vyl-Roth looks to be struggling to hold his emotions in check. He is the one who finally asks the question they all want to know, When?

When what? Syl-Roth queries, suddenly looking up again and facing his brother with puzzled eyes.

The older prince baulks slightly as the words confuse him, so to clarify he asks again, making the question very clear this time, When did they die?

While they wait for the answer, they look to be holding their breaths, and even the maidens have stopped sobbing.

Syl-Roth finally states very firmly and clearly, They are gone, missing, not there, GONE, NOT DEAD! He then adds quietly, Not yet at least.

His words confuse, and they look around at each other puzzled, trying to understand what he has said. Not sure if they give or take the slim hope they have been clinging too.

How can they be missing? It’s not like Helthi was in any physical state to get up and walk away, Feltur points out, taking a quick and very nervous glance at a group of Dwarves sitting not far from them. In turn, this makes him wonder how in God’s name, he will be able to tell them that their prince is now not dead; but instead missing.

Before anyone can ask anything else a kind of realisation passes over Vyl-Roth’s face and he both states and demands, It was the fog, was it not?

Syl-Roth nods then hangs his head in shame, and he is surprised when many say firmly, "Not your fault;