The forests of Gruen did offer many an adventure unto the young princes, whose clandestine wanderings drew them far into her shadow-choked depths in search of scaled kobolds and other wicked sprites of childhood fancy. Yet none of these foul creatures were ever encountered, save for those their own minds conjured in the hush of dusk. Often, however, did they return to a cavern veiled by the moss-clad trunk of a fallen pine, where the earth yawned as though guarding secrets older than Methundor itself.

  “Shall we descend into yon cavern?” quoth Ceryd.

  “For what cause?” the younger replied. “Surely naught awaits within but spiders and filth, and perchance an ill-tempered badger.”

  “Nevertheless…” said Ceryd, his eyes alight with reckless purpose.

  Ceryd drew forth his lantern from his pack, kindling its flame with flint and steel, and slid through the moss-laden portal and down into the shadowy chasm. The golden glow flickered upon stone, but then vanished wholly from Cerenid’s sight, swallowed by the ancient dark.

  Cerenid lingered at the cavern’s mouth for what seemed to him an hour’s passage. With their mischief stilled and their boisterous noise absent, the creatures of the forest crept back to their doings. Squirrels darted amidst the boughs, a jay let forth its shrill call, and a doe emerged from the undergrowth of ferns and brambles, browsing as it drew near. The silence weighed heavily upon the young prince, for in all their adventures, they had made such noise as to drive away all animal danger. But now, with no sound save the forest’s own, Cerenid was alone, no longer a vanguard intruder but one consumed within the untamed wild.

  He called into the cavern to his brother, half in hope of urging him to return, half to startle away anything lurking nearby. But no answer came. He waited in silence yet longer, until the birds returned, then he called again, but the cavern devoured his voice without echo.

  As Sol dipped beyond the towering branches and the shadows deepened, a lone raven alit on a gnarled limb above and let out a ragged caw. It paused, as though awaiting a reply from the forest itself, then cried again, deep and sharp. Now Cerenid dared not raise his own voice, lest he draw unwelcome company. Instead, he slipped into a cluster of ferns and brambles, peering out toward the cavern’s maw. The moss hung there swayed like a tattered curtain, inviting him to enter, yet he felt a tremor seize him.

  Twilight pressed in. The forest’s shapes twisted—branches bent into claw-like silhouettes, roots coiled like serpents. Summoning the last of his courage, Cerenid crawled to the cavern’s edge and whispered, “Ceryd… Ceryd… pray come out!” Yet silence again met his plea. He huddled near the shrouded entrance. Again, a raven alighted upon a nearby branch, fixing him with its glinting, black eye. The young prince froze, unmoving. The corvid clicked its beak, croaked, then burst into flight with a rush of beating wings of doom.

  Cerenid felt as though the forest itself watched him, each shadow a sentinel, each whisper a warning. The world had grown vast and ancient around him, and he but a trembling child within it.

  Unwilling to tarry until night’s monstrous depth, Cerenid mustered the resolve to leave the his brother and return home alone. Darkness enfolded the path, and he quickened his pace. Brambles grasped at his tunic. His thoughts filled with visions of kobolds, their amber eyes gleaming from the hollows, their scaley fangs bared as they scampered in pursuit.

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  A chill washed through him and he quickened his pace. But soon he discerned that some presence did follow him— soft panting, the crunch of leaves, the whisper of padded feet. Wolves! Much as in the tales of the old nursemaids, their shapes flanked him in the dark: pale eyes flashing, silent save for their breath. Cerenid dared not avert his eyes from the path to look back. Had he stumbled but once, he knew the first bite would fall upon his legs.

  At last, wearied beyond endurance, he faltered and collapsed upon the trail, curling tightly upon himself. Darkness surrounded him, and the wolves panted as they circled close, their movements hidden in the forest’s black veil. As fear and despair consumed him, his thoughts turned grim. What pain would their fangs bring first? What fragments of him would remain for his mother to claim and bury?

  Yet as his heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breath grew steady. His tears ceased. He gazed upward, beholding only the tall silhouettes of pines reaching toward the gray ether. Clutching tightly upon the thorny branches, that he might thwart being dragged off, he prepared to meet his fate.

  Then came a voice. “Cerenid!” Still distant but growing louder, his brother’s cry calling through the twilight. Soon, the sound of Ceryd’s footsteps joined his calls. “I’m here, brother! Come forth!”

  Cerenid remained huddled upon the ground, too stricken with fear to utter a cry. Yet his brother, guided by his footprints, came upon him and raised him to his feet.

  “We must quit the forest ere the night devours us,” quoth he.

  “Didst thou seest the wolves, brother?”

  “Wolves?” Ceryd scoffed. “You’ve been reading too many books.” He dusted his brother off. “Reserve thy tears, for they shall serve thee better when we face the scourging that awaits us. I’m doubtless they have sought their king and prince for hours, now.”

  Cerenid wiped his streaked cheeks with his sleeve.

  “There… good,” said Ceryd with a nod. “I shall tell them thou wast brave.”

  “What didst thou behold in the cavern?” Cerenid asked as they made their way home.

  At first, Ceryd gave no answer. His eyes remained fixed upon the narrow path ahead. “Nothing, brother,” he said at last, though the unease in his tone betrayed him.

  “I do not believe you,” Cerenid said. “Why linger so long in darkness if there was nothing?”

  Ceryd froze, a pale silhouette in the fading light. Reluctantly, he yielded. “If you must know, I found a vein of crystal. It glowed like sapphire fire by my lantern’s light. I sought to loose a shard, but as my fingers touched it, I was… overtaken.” He lifted a hand to his brow, as though the memory itself weighed upon him. “A vision pressed upon my mind— vivid as waking, deeper than any dream. It swallowed all my thought.”

  Cerenid stepped closer. “What did you see?”

  Ceryd’s gaze met his, sharp and searching, as though he feared the telling more than he feared the vision itself. “I saw you, brother… standing alone in single combat. Yet I could not reach you, nor call to you. The world would not hear me…”

  “And then?”

  “And then…” Ceryd’s eyes searched his memory. “And then it was over.”

  A silence settled between them, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the pines.

  “Tell no one of the cave,” Ceryd murmured, voice low. “If word spreads, many will descend upon it and spoil what lies beneath.”

  And though he spoke no further of it that night, something in Ceryd’s countenance had shifted. A remoteness gathered behind his eyes, as though part of him still wandered the sapphire depths of the cavern. For the crystal had shown him more than any brother should behold— a shadow of doom, laid bare upon the path of fate.