“Never?” Creath’s voice was tight with fear. “But we must! We are—”
“Be still!” commanded Rand. “We will face this like men.”
With the smoke wrapped around them, time ceased to exist. Then, ever so slightly, a breeze began to blow. Bit by bit, the men began to see outlines of each other, their horses, the trees. A sudden gust cleared the air completely except for a few wisps around the horses’ feet. In the blink of an eye, that was gone as well.
A man stood before them.
He was of slight build and indeterminate years, clad simply in a bluish-gray robe. His eyes were gray, a shade darker than the cloak he wore, and reflected the agitation of the men dispassionately. Finally, he focused on Rand and nodded his head, as if granting him permission to speak. The King, with his usual diplomacy, thundered, “I’ll have your head!”
“In that case, I must be brief.” His tone was light as he faced the five men squarely. “You are trespassing in aSikestra. You must leave at once.”
“We can’t find our way out!” cried Anjhest.
“Silence.” Rand, for all of his rashness, was no coward. “I’m in charge here.”
“You look familiar,” The man’s tone was mildly curious.
“I am your King!”
“You are a trespasser in a sacred spot.”
“This is folly. All lands are mine.”
“Even kingdoms have limits. You’ve reached yours.” The man ignored the collective gasp which followed his statement, choosing instead to brush a feather from his sleeve. He seemed not in the least embarrassed; in fact, his attention was caught up in watching it drift to the ground. “The Eld Forest belongs solely to Jah.”
“Who are you to make such an assertion in the face of the High King?” demanded Creath, his face ablaze with outrage. “We are nobles, sirrah, and unused to taking orders from a peasant covered in feathers and lice.”
“Allow me to introduce myself,” said the man. “I’m the Gibbor, Seer of the Blue Stone and Sikestran of the Eld Forest. Perhaps you have heard of me.”
“You are a myth,” said Fulcruchen flatly.
