Dann drew in a deep breath, the heavy, damp-soaked air of the woodland clinging to his throat like a wet sock. Cracks of thunder rumbled in the skies above the sweeping forest canopy. The group trudged through the dense foliage, thick vines, and enormous roots that coated the forest floor, with only the light of the baldír to guide them. At that moment, Dann was certain of one thing and one thing only – he fucking hated the Darkwood, or the Aravell, or whatever it was truly called.
There wasn't a single redeemable thing about the place, and of all the questions that burned in him, the one for which he was most eager to gain an answer was why in the void had the elves chosen this place as their home?
"I don't see it, do you?" he whispered, tightening his fingers on Drunir's reins as he leaned closer to the horse who walked along beside him. The horse didn't answer, which, of course, Dann had expected. But even without words, the animal was probably one of the most talented conversationalists in the group.
Therin and Aeson both walked to Dann's left, each with their horse's reins in hand. Ahead, Alea and Lyrei made their way through the dark woodland like kats, an orb of white light floating in front of them. The Angan, Baldon, was in his wolf-like form, keeping pace with the elves, walking on Alea's right, the crest of his back stretching an inch or so above the elf's head.
"Therin?"
The elf stared straight ahead.
"Therin?" Dann raised his eyebrows. "Therin, that's not going to work. I know you can hear me."
Aeson shook his head, a rare laugh escaping him. "Therin, please, for the love of the gods, answer him. You know he won't stop."
Therin turned his head, looked at Aeson for a moment, then at Dann, letting out a sigh. "This better not have anything to do with elves and beards."
For a moment, Dann was tempted, but he thought better of it. "No, but I still have questions about that."
"You always have questions, Dann."
"Fair point. What is it you're so afraid of here? The bards back home always told stories of Voidspawn and dark creatures that stripped flesh for fun and ate bones. If that's true, why in the gods are we here?"
Therin drew in a breath, tilting his head to the side, pondering. "There is truth in every tale, Dann. It is that truth upon which the foundation of myths and legends are created. An old magic permeates this woodland. It was here long before the elves built the city of Aravell. In fact, it was part of the reason they chose this location – an extra line of defence, if you will. There are… spirits that dwell in the forest's depths. In the Old Tongue we call them Aldithmar. They are neither benign nor malevolent. They simply are. How they came to be, I truly do not know. But whatever their origins, they defend this place with an unrelenting ferocity. Even the Aravell Rangers only travel the wood safely when accompanied by Angan of the clan Dvalin. The Dvalin seem to have an understanding with the spirits. While it is only the Nithrandír that keep the spirits from the city."
"You mentioned them earlier, Nithrandír."
Therin dipped his head beneath a low-hanging branch, coaxing his horse on after him. "Soulguard, in the Common Tongue. It will be easier to show than tell."
"Mysterious as always, Therin," Dann said, shaking his head. The elf always had a way of turning one question into a hundred and then had the audacity to be irritated when Dann asked for more answers. "Therin… one more question?"
Much to Therin's misfortune, Dann continued to ask as many questions as was humanly possible. Some for curiosity – others for fun. Even if Dann hadn't enjoyed seeing the annoyance on Therin's face, the questions were a welcome distraction from the world around him. But after a while, the questions dried up and the sounds of the Darkwood took over: snapping branches, whistling wind, deep rumbles, and the occasional cries of animals that had suffered the same fate he eagerly wished to avoid.
Dann tightened his fingers on Drunir's reins. "I'm not worried, you're worried."
The horse let out a soft neigh, but otherwise continued onwards, his hooves leaving an impression in the ground with each step.
Dann reached back, brushing his fingers along the fletchings of the arrows that sat in his quiver. He already knew there were twenty-seven; he'd checked them that morning. It was more a comforting habit than anything else. He touched his index finger to the string of his bow, then dropped his hand to the pommel of the sword that hung at his hip. He could wield a sword as well as any, well, perhaps not any, but most. Present company excluded. It was Calen who was the true swordsman. He always had been. Dann could barely remember a morning he hadn't seen Calen going through his forms before helping his dad in the forge. And then again most evenings. Particularly after Haem. Something had changed in Calen after Haem died.
Dann pulled himself from his thoughts, looking ahead to where Alea and Lyrei strode through the dark-shrouded wood, Baldon loping along beside them, his enormous frame blocking out most of the baldír light. Dann had spent a lot of time thinking on what Therin had said about elves and honour – about Lyrei. She still hadn't spoken a word. Not one. That in itself seemed like torture to Dann. It also seemed a strange sort of punishment. Back in The Glade, if Dann had done something wrong, his mam might have refused to speak to him, but him refusing to speak to her would've been a very short road to a very hard spank with a wooden spoon. And his mam was a kind soul – one with a wooden spoon of retribution.
Dann ground to a halt as something pushed against his chest, and he looked down to see Therin's hand pressed against him. "Therin, what—"
"Shh." The elf kept his hand on Dann's chest as he looked around, a tightness in his stance. Beside Therin, Dann saw Aeson's hands rise to the pommels of his swords.
He hadn't noticed it before, so lost in his thoughts, but now Dann could hear something drifting on the wind. It wasn't the sound he thought he would hear. No snapping, cracking, or vicious snarls as Voidspawn tore through the woodland. It sounded like… a song.
There were no words, only a melody, barely audible. Sweet, soft. It actually brought a smile to his face.
Up ahead, he saw Alea and Lyrei had stopped, the light of the baldír illuminating the raised hackles on Baldon's back.
Therin slapped his horse on the rear, doing the same to Drunir. Both horses took off like bolts of lightning, tearing through the forest in the direction of Alea, Lyrei, and Baldon, Aeson's horse following behind.
"Why in the gods did you do that?" Dann stared at Therin incredulously.
"They won't make it far with us on their backs. Now run." When Dann didn't move, Therin wrapped his fingers around the front of Dann's shirt and threw him forwards. "I said run!"
Dann stumbled forwards, still unsure as to what was happening. Aeson and Therin followed him, pushing him onwards, their swords now drawn, their pace increasing. Up ahead, Alea, Lyrei, and Baldon were doing the same, flitting through the undergrowth like kats, a baldír floating along beside them, matching their speed.
"Therin, what's going on?" Dann pushed the words out through heavy breaths, constantly swivelling his head around to see what they were running from, his pulse racing, his mouth going dry.
"Keep moving." Aeson looked behind them as he spoke, leaping over the trunk of a half-rotted, fallen tree. "Don't stop until we say."
Dann's heart thumped in his ears, each heavy step sending vibrations through his legs, the crunching of branches and shifting of foliage beneath his feet suddenly sharp and crisp. The light from both baldír grew dimmer as they ran, Aeson and Therin's attention drawn elsewhere, allowing Dann to see no farther than a few feet from his face before darkness swallowed everything. Ahead, through the dark, he could still make out the others' outlines, the second baldír causing their shadows to dance as they moved. Fear coiled in his stomach, twisting and turning. He could barely see, he didn't know the ground beneath his feet, and he had no idea what he was running from, but he was absolutely certain if he stopped, he would die.
"The first line isn't far!" Alea roared back, turning her head only slightly. "Just keep—"
Whatever words the elf had intended never left her lips as a shape erupted from the dark, crashing into her, a swipe of its long limb knocking her to the ground. One look at the creature, and Dann's heart stopped.
It stood at least seven feet tall. Its limbs, long and thick, looked as though they had been carved from shattered segments of tree bark. Its arms reached as far as its knees and ended with long broken-ended fingers. Its eyes, set into a head of gnarled, moss-covered wood, pulsated with a pure white light that misted into the air like fog. A shroud of black smoke moved with the creature, mimicking its shape.
The edges of the creature's bark-covered arm shifted and changed as it moved to strike at Alea, sharpening to a fine edge. Lyrei swung her sword, slicing through the bark-forged blade. Carrying her sword through its arc, she brought it back down, dropping to one knee as she cleaved through what looked to be the creature's calf, causing it to unleash an inhuman shriek as it stumbled forwards. The noise sent shivers down Dann's spine. As the creature staggered, roots that coated the forest floor lifted from the dirt, tangling around themselves before connecting to the stub of the severed leg. When the roots had twisted into place, the creature pulled itself free with a snap, its leg renewed.
What in the name of Heraya and Varyn…
Another spirit – that was what Therin had called them, but how true it was, Dann had no idea – stepped from the dark of the surrounding forest, only for Baldon to crash into it, tearing at its chest with his claws and fangs, ripping it to pieces while Lyrei heaved Alea to her feet.
As two more of the spirits stepped into view, Aeson charged, his blades shimmering in the light of the baldír. The spirit closest to him reached out its bark-covered arm, its fingers launching forwards, spiked roots flying through the air. Aeson sidestepped, the roots crashing into the ground where he'd stood. The creature let out a roar, only for it to be cut short as Aeson took its head from its shoulders.
Before the spirit's head had hit the ground, arcs of blue lightning streaked from Therin's fingertips, crashing into both spirits, their bodies igniting in a blaze of orange-red fire.
"Can you run?" Aeson roared as he reached Lyrei and Alea.
Alea nodded, her chest rising and falling in heavy sweeps, her breaths laboured. "The Nithrandír are only a few hundred feet. We can make it."
"Go," Aeson said, pushing Alea forwards. "Go!"
Dann stumbled over a low root, catching himself with his hand before he hit the ground, scrambling forward. As they ran, Aeson turned, pausing so Dann could pass him, before a column of roaring fire erupted from his hands, illuminating the dark-obscured woodland like a signal fire. The blood in Dann's veins ran cold. Dark shapes loomed out of the forest, eyes of misting white, charging towards them. More than he had the time to count.
What the fuck am I doing here? His lungs burned as he begged his legs to keep running – to run faster.
As they ran, Aeson turned sporadically, hurling pillars of fire, casting shadows in bursts of orange-red light. But as Aeson turned once more, roots erupted from the dark, plunging into the man's calf and bursting through the other side, burrowing into the ground. Aeson let out a howl, stumbling and crashing to the ground. Dann stopped, his heart clapping like thunder. A fraction of a second, and Lyrei streaked past him, her curved elven blade glinting in the blended light of Aeson's fires and the baldír.
Every bone in Dann's body told him to keep running. He wasn't a mage. He wasn't a ranger of the Aravell. Run. He glanced towards Therin, Alea, and Baldon. The three were still running; they hadn't noticed Aeson fall.
Dann's foot twitched, urging him to turn. Neither of them even like me that much. He couldn't just leave them. "Fuck."
Dann shrugged his bow from his shoulders, nocking and loosing three arrows in quick succession. All three found their mark, gliding over Lyrei's head and crashing into the gnarled face of the spirit charging towards her. A burst of white light erupted as one arrow sank into the spirit's pulsating eye. The spirit roared, the blow causing it to hesitate for only a moment before it continued its charge. But that moment was enough for Lyrei to cleave through its legs, take its head, and reach Aeson.
Dann slung his bow back over his shoulder and charged towards Aeson and Lyrei. The elf had sliced through the roots that held Aeson in place and was lifting him to his feet.
Two more spirits erupted from the darkness, crashing into Aeson and Lyrei. Shouts rang out behind Dann, drowned out by the thumping of his heart.
Dann's hand reflexively went for his sword, but he stopped himself. Steel only slows them.Fire. Fire kills them.
Not stopping, Dann leapt into the air, bringing his foot down hard on one of the fallen creatures' burning limbs. Like any branch, it broke away with a snap. Snatching the burning limb with one hand, Dann rushed towards Aeson and Lyrei, who had managed to drag themselves to their feet, blood pouring from their wounds.
Dann charged past his companions. Heaving as much force into the swing as he could, he slammed the makeshift weapon into the closest spirit's face. A plume of sparks and flames burst into the air, and the creature howled, reeling backwards. Dann slid forward, his legs coming out from under him as his momentum and the damp earth betrayed his footing. He hit the ground with a slap. His fingers carved furrows in the muddy soil as he scrambled to drag himself back to his feet, panic burning in his veins. What a stupid fucking idea.Get up. Get up. Get up.
A flash of light burst into life above his head. Arcs of blue lightning. Piercing shrieks scratched at his ears. Fingers wrapped around the back of his shirt, heaving him, pulling him. Lyrei's face was streaked with blood as she pushed him forward, her mouth twisted in pain. Dann stumbled and staggered, catching his feet on vines and upturned roots. Ahead, Alea and Baldon stood beside Aeson, who lay crumpled in a heap, his face pale. They're not moving. Why aren't they moving?
"Run!" Dann roared, his throat dry and cracking. "Run!"
He glanced over his shoulder, Lyrei's fingers still clutching the back of his shirt. Therin ran amidst a sea of glowing white eyes that hung in the dark of the forest, illuminated by arcs of lightning that streaked from the elf's hand. More shrieks rang out behind Dann.
Lyrei's hand tightened, clutching the back of Dann's shirt into a clump, then she heaved him forwards, knocking him off balance. He staggered, his foot kicking something hard on the ground, sending him careening towards the others, his arms flailing. The dirt and mud rose to meet him, slamming into his face and chest with a wet slap, knocking stars through his eyes, his lungs gasping for air.
Get up.
His head spinning, Dann pushed himself up from the dirt and scrambled to his feet, slipping and sliding as he did. Lyrei lay face down in the mud beside him, her breathing laboured, dirt and blood coating her face and body. Dann ripped his sword from its scabbard, turning towards the creatures that loomed from the dark. There was no chance of him outrunning them now. If this was where he died, the least he could do was slow them down. Therin better tell stories about this.His chest heaved, his body shook, and the sound of his own breathing was heavy in his ears. The misting white eyes of the spirits pulsated in the dark before him, the outlines of their bark-like faces visible in the dim baldírlight.
"Come on!" he roared, willing his legs to stop shaking.
But the spirits didn't move. Dann tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. He glanced down at Lyrei. Blood pooled around her.
"They won't cross the line, Dann," Therin said, dropping to the ground beside Lyrei. The calm in his voice was unsettling. "Help me with her."
"What line?" Dann looked to Lyrei, then back at the host of spirits that stood no more than six or seven feet away, black smoke shrouding their frames, their white eyes glowing.
"Dann." Therin's voice was firm. "She's going to die if I don't heal her. I need you to hold her down while I pull this out."
"Pull what out?" Panic set in as Dann turned and dropped to his knees to see a long snapped-off segment of intertwined roots jutting through Lyrei's stomach, blood spilling from the wound. When did that happen? Dann let go of his sword, dropping to his knees in the mud.
"Hold her wrists," Therin said, not taking his eyes off Lyrei.
"How bad is it?" Aeson stood over Dann, Therin, and Lyrei, drawing in short, faltering breaths, one hand held against a wound just below his ribs, the other around Alea's shoulder. The muscles in his jaw were twitching as he ground his teeth, the wound in his leg still leaking blood.
Therin ignored Aeson, catching Dann's gaze. "Dann. Wrists."
Dann nodded, swallowing hard in an attempt to grant some moisture to his cotton-dry throat. He slowed his breathing, in through his nose, out through his mouth, just as his dad had taught him. The spirits still stood in the same place, but now Baldon stood only a few feet in front of them, his hackles raised, his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl.
Dann wrapped his fingers around Lyrei's wrists holding, gripping them tight. The elf groaned. "Please… Gahh!"
With no warning, Therin yanked the gnarled section of root free, tossing it over his shoulder in the same motion. Lyrei howled. Dann looked down to see a gaping hole in her leather armour, a hole that carried through into her flesh and deeper into her body. But blood didn't spray or spurt from the open wound. It didn't so much as trickle.
Therin held one hand to Lyrei's side, the other over her wound. "It's going to be all right, my child." The elf's jaw clenched. "It's going to be all right."
Coils of dread turned in Dann's stomach. It didn't look like it was going to be all right.
"Therin." Aeson pulled his arm from around Alea's shoulder and dropped beside Therin, grunting in pain as he did. "Therin, that wound is bad, and you're already weak."
"I'm not letting her die," Therin growled. "You hold back the blood flow. I'll knit the wound."
Aeson looked between Lyrei and Therin, closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded, his expression cold and stoic. To Dann, Aeson looked far weaker than Therin.
Dann softened his grip on Lyrei's wrists and looked up to see Alea standing over them, her eyes wide and bloodshot as she looked down at her sister.
"By the gods," Dann whispered as he watched Lyrei's wound knit itself together from the inside out, blood vessels pulling together, muscle fibres stitching, tissue and skin weaving. Dann had seen Therin heal before – Therin had healed Dann's shoulder – but he had never seen anything like this. How in the name of Heraya was it even possible?
Lyrei groaned, her eyes flickering beneath closed lids.
Therin dropped forward into the mud, his breathing heavy. "We need to get her to Aravell," he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose and shaking his head as though trying to keep himself awake. He leaned back, bringing his arms around his knees and tilting his head back, allowing his breathing to slow. "Aeson, we need to close the wound in your leg. We're going to have to use fire."
Alea knelt beside Lyrei. She brushed her sister's hair aside and ran her fingers along Lyrei's cheek.
Drawing a deep breath, Dann hauled himself upright, picking up his sword and wiping the mud from the blade with his trousers. He slid the blade back into its scabbard as he turned towards where the creatures had been standing and found nothing but darkness and the faint outline of trees and undergrowth looking back at him.
Baldon still stood watch, though he was on two feet, having taken his more human form – more being the operative word. Blood and dirt matted the shapeshifter's grey fur, which was tangled with strips of wood and bark. A low growl emanated from his throat.
"Why did they stop?" Dann asked, still trying to calm his breathing and slow his heart. He had barely exchanged two sentences with Baldon since the Angan had appeared at Durakdur. Now was as good a time as any to change that.
"The Nithrandír keep them at bay," Baldon said, his voice harsh and cold. He turned his head, gesturing towards something to the right, his golden eyes gleaming in the white light of the baldír that hovered around Aeson and Therin.
Dann followed the Angan's gaze, finding himself lost for words, which didn't happen often. He wasn't sure how he had missed it at first – likely the lack of any natural light – but before him was what looked like an enormous statue, at least ten feet tall, wrought from thick roots that wrapped around each other like coiling snakes. The roots took an almost human-like shape, though the shoulders were disproportionately large, and the chest broad and deep. Thick silver plates of decoratively ornamented armour covered the statue's back and shoulders, along with its chest, arms, and legs. The plates looked almost twice as thick as any Dann had ever seen, their edges trimmed with gold. "What is that?"
"The souls of old elves who gave themselves to protect their descendants. They ring the entire city."
"I don't—"
"Dann, now is not the time," Aeson called out. "We need you to help carry Lyrei. Aravell isn't far. We need to hurry."
Dann rolled his neck, groaning as his bones cracked and his muscles ached. He carried Lyrei in his arms like a small child. Though she was no small child, and his arms were not built for carrying. He had initially made to toss her over his shoulder, but that had elicited a sharp look from Alea. He had tried to protest but, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was the only one not suffering an injury. On any other occasion that would have been cause for celebration, but at that time, with his arms and shoulders burning from Lyrei's weight, it seemed more a punishment.
"Why can't you carry her?" Dann rolled his shoulders, shifting Lyrei so he could look at Baldon, who walked along beside him with a languid gait, long arms swinging.
"I'm not one of your pack animals," the Angan replied, his golden eyes gleaming, the movement of his mouth showing his razor-sharp teeth.
"And I suppose I am?"
Baldon gave an almost imperceptible shrug, turning his attention back to the path ahead.
"It's not far now," Alea said, walking with a slight limp. "Just up ahead."
"Just up ahead? I think we need to work on your idea of what that means." All Dann could see past the roots, vines, bushes, and trees illuminated by the baldír, was all-consuming darkness. "I'm going to have to put her down soon. She's heavier than she looks." Dan squinted, turning his head away as a blinding light filled his vision. He shook his head, shifting Lyrei in his arms so as not to drop her. As his eyes adapted to the newfound brightness, blurred images and lines began to take shape. The rhythmic sound of running water filled his ears, mixing with birdsong. He felt as though he had been tossed upside down, his stomach threatening to empty its contents. When the sharpness of the light faded and Dann's vision returned, he stumbled backwards, the breath fleeing his lungs. "What in the gods…"
The Darkwood was gone. Above, the sky still held dark clouds, but the sun rested along the western horizon, illuminating the world in a soft glow. Before him was an enormous platform of white stone that spread out in a semicircle, framed by a low white-stone wall. A chasm-spanning bridge connected the platform to a truly gargantuan set of gates that looked as though they had been carved from solid bone and inlaid with an intricate vine-like pattern of gleaming azure stone. The gates rose almost two hundred feet into the air, their tops curving like the antlers of a stag. Two cylindrical, flat-topped towers framed the gates, connecting directly to a wall of smooth natural stone that spread for miles in either direction, rising and rising, connecting to cliffs on either side, as though the city contained within was protected by the landscape itself.
"This can't be possible…" Dann trailed off as he looked around. The forest still stood at his back, as dark and gloomy as ever, but it now lay on an enormous incline as though they had been walking downhill for hours. "I've lost my mind. That's the only explanation," Dann said, gazing towards the massive bone-wrought gates, where there had once been an endless sea of woodland. A sense of relief flooded him as his eyes fell on Drunir. The horse's grey and white dappled coat glistened in the light of the sun as he and the other two horses stood by the low stone wall. "I'm very happy you're all right, but I've finally lost my mind."
He caught Therin's eye, cursing himself at the pure smugness on the elf's face. Therin hated answering Dann's questions, but he delighted in Dann relying on him for explanations. It was a bit of a paradox, really, now that Dann thought about it.
"The most powerful glamour in all Epheria," Therin said. His shoulders were still drooped from healing Lyrei, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, his breathing slow and heavy. But he managed to form the makings of a grin. Dann knew that Therin knew that Dann was going to need more of an explanation than that. "You remember Belduar? The cave in the mountain pass."
Dann nodded. He remembered being just as irritated at the lack of explanation back then as well.
"The magic is similar, though far more powerful. It has kept the Aravell safe for centuries. Even from dragonback, the Darkwood is all that can be seen unless the dragon's underbelly scrapes the forest canopy. The main drawback with glamours of this magnitude is they cannot be locked with a key – as the one at Belduar was. It is a sight-glamour and not a touch-glamour, to put it crudely. Smaller, more concentrated glamours can be gifted with true physical manifestation."
"I see." Dann didn't have a clue what Therin was talking about but Therin didn't need to know that. The elf was smug enough as it was.
The sound of steel on stone drew Dann's attention towards the bridge. His first instinct was to reach for his bow, but since his arms were currently preoccupied with the dead weight of an unconscious Lyrei, he decided against dropping her to the stone.
Ten figures walked across the bridge. Six wore gleaming steel plate, smooth and sleek, looking almost too light to be of any use, swords strapped to their hips, spear-like weapons with long curved blades gripped in their fists. One wore the same leather armour as Alea and Lyrei, green cloak flapping behind them, white-wood bow slung across their back. Another wore long green robes embroidered with gold along the collar and cuffs of his sleeves, and his snow-white hair fell past his shoulders. The last two, who marched either side of the elf in green robes, were garbed in plain white tunics and loose green breeches, their hair cut short.
"Alea, Lyrei!" The elf who wore the leather armour broke into a run at the sight of Alea and Lyrei. "What happened? Where are the others?"
The elf met Dann's gaze, holding out his arms to take Lyrei. His left eye was a milky white. Dann recognised him from the last time they had been in the Darkwood. His scarred face and glassy eye would have been hard to mistake. He was the one who had ridden the black-antlered stag. Taking as much care as he could, Dann let the elf slide his hands under Lyrei's back, taking her into his arms.
"High-Captain." Alea bowed her head, her posture stiffening. "From what we know, Vaeril is still with the Draleid." She paused, her words catching in her throat. "Ellissar and Gaeleron have been welcomed back to the earth."
The High-Captain shifted Lyrei so her head rested on his shoulder. His jaw stiffened. "You have lost the Draleid?"
"We were separated at Belduar, Thalanil," Aeson said, grimacing. "That is why we are here. We require escort through the Aravell, to the Svidar'Cia. We must leave as soon as possible."
Thalanil looked down at Lyrei, who lay in his arms, then towards Alea. He made to respond but was cut short as the other elves reached the group.
"Welcome." The elf in the green robes spread his arms in greetings. He glanced towards Lyrei, then turned to the elf in the white tunic, who stood on his right. "Inform the healers to be prepared." The elf turned his attention back towards the group. "It is truly an honour to lay eyes upon you all." He inclined his head towards Aeson, enough to be a show of respect, but nothing more. "Rakina, your brothers and sisters will have full hearts when they hear of your arrival. And Baldon of the clan Fenryr, may the spirits of the gods guide your light. Clan Dvalin will be most warmed by your presence."
"Halmír, we don't have time for pleasantries," Aeson said, interrupting the elf as his eyes fell on Dann. "We need an escort through the Aravell towards the Svidar'Cia. The Draleid is in danger. As is my son. Please."
The elf held his gaze on Dann for a moment, then reluctantly nodded to Aeson before letting out a subdued sigh. "Very well, Rakina. I will bring you directly to the Ephorí."