"Would there?" Rain countered. "They've been using the Well of Souls. Gaelen already told us the Eld have spies in every court in the world. It would be a simple enough matter for those spies to arrange secret transports through the Well."

"And what of their armor? If the Eld had been building such an army, Koderas would have been lit long before now."

"Who's to say it hasn't been?" Rain gripped the hilts of his meicha scimitars. "Teleos, how long has Eld been covered in cloud mist. The Celierian great lord raised his brows. "Clouds cover Eld every autumn and spring. That's been the way of things ever since the forests grew back after the scorching of the world."

"So six months of every year for the last seven centuries, the skies over Eld have been blanketed with mist... which provides excellent cover for a great many things. Including——as I discovered today—smoke from the great forge's fires."

"You don't seriously believe they've been planning this attack for seven centuries?" Gaelen asked.

"All I'm saying is it's possible. The Eld have had plenty of time to build an army in secret—without raising suspicions. Think about it: A Truthspoken Mage has compared this new Elden army to the Army of Darkness. Add that to everything we know—and everything the Eye of Truth has shown us. What choice do we have but to assume the threat is both very great and very real?" He cast a somber gaze around the room, meeting each warrior's eyes. "Koderas is lit. An overwhelming force of Eld will strike Kreppes and Great Bay within a month. King Dorian must be told."

"Agreed," Teleos said. "But how will we get the information to the king when my couriers are disappearing and the Warriors' Path is compromised?"

"Ellysetta and I will deliver the message in person. The Mage came too close to penetrating our defenses for my comfort. Narena and Faerah"—-he turned to the shei’dalins— "must return to Dharsa and share what you've learned with the Massan. Tenn must set aside his differences with me. War is upon us. All the Fading Lands must fight."

Narena bowed her head. "We will go, as you cannot, my king."

"My thanks." Rain hesitated, then asked, "Did the Mage know anything about your sister?"

The shei’dalin’s thick lashes fell to cover her eyes. "Our quintets slew him before we could ask about her fate."

Ellysetta's fingers knotted. Guilt weighed heavy on her conscience. The warriors had killed Torvan because her unwitting interference had drawn the attention of the High Mage.

"You have my word, Narena, that if she is alive and we discover where she is being held, I will send warriors into the heart of Eld itself to bring her home."

"Beylah vo, Feyreisen."

Rain held out an arm. "Come. I will walk with you to the Mists. I also have a message for Loris v’En Mahr, if you would agree to deliver it."

As Rain and the others filed out to escort the shei’dalins back to the Mists, Ellysetta turned to Gaelen. "I need a word with you, please." She waited for the rest of her quintet to depart before speaking, and even then she couldn't bring herself to voice the request aloud. On a private Spirit weave spun between his mind and hers, she said, «1 need you to tell me everything you know about Mage Marks and how someone can tell if their mind is being controlled by the Mages.»*

Celieria ~ The Borders, north of the Verlaine Forest

Shadows moved in swift silence, darting across the moonlit ground, keeping to the cover of the trees at the edge of the dark Verlaine, western Celieria's greatest and most haunted and frightening forest.

The shadows moved fast as a pronghorn racing on long, powerful legs, only the shadows ran on two. Slender, black, shrouded in darkness, they ran. Miles swept past beneath their silent footfalls in scant chimes.

A small farming village sat nestled in the bosom of rolling hills. Thatched-roof cottages huddled together as if in camaraderie against the night. The windows were dark, the villagers' lamps blown out for the night.

The shadows left the forest to fly across the cultivated fields like a volley of arrows loosed from archers' bows. Six dozen of them. Three shadows for every thatched cottage.

They circled the village ... then converged.

They moved with unhesitating precision. Magic glowed in the night. Latches on doors and windows gave way, and the shadows slipped inside.

One farmer woke to find a dark shape standing over his bed. His cry of alarm died with one fierce slash of a blade. Beside him, his wife's eyes flew open as a second blade drove through her heart.

Within a few chimes, the shadows gathered in the center of the farming village. Fire sparked in pale hands. Pale lips pursed, and with an Air-powered exhalation, blew tiny, glowing red-orange embers into the sky above the village. The shadowy figures then departed as quickly and as silently as they'd come. As they reached the forest's edge, the last one glanced back. Bright moonlight from the Mother shone down upon his pale, faintly luminescent skin and the curve of the scar that marred the beautiful perfection of his face. Bright steel glinted on harnesses that crisscrossed his chest. Glowing eyes whose pupils had lengthened and widened like a hunting cat's quickly scanned the moonlit fields, finding nothing, he turned and plunged into the concealing darkness of the Verlaine Forest.

Moments later, a c**k crowed to announce the coming dawn, but in the village where the shadows had been, the roar of the flames engulfing every thatched cottage drowned out his song.