Andor swallowed his anger and turned away, his pupils and their parents trailing behind him. He found himself busy issuing explanations to parents and promising another tournament to the children. Caladon and Bergil were more taciturn than the usual, moving away the targets with the help of Nolar and Bragol, while Findir made sure that the children would each pick up their own arrows and Elia collected their bows to store them in the wooden rack.

The training grounds emptied much slower than what Andor had expected. It seemed that today's events had quickly overtaken whatever curiosity people might have had about yesterday's task. Andor wasn't quite sure if that was actually a good thing or not, given the fact that this tournament might well be remembered as one of his most embarrassing moments as tutor.

"Tell me you aren't brooding, are you?" Andor could feel Elia's lingering gaze on him as they worked side by side separating the damaged arrows that were still worth fixing.

He shrugged, throwing a sideways glance to where Olear strode from one of the food stalls towards Meril and Tin, offering pastries to both of them. Tin bobbed up and down excitedly, stuffing his mouth with the delicacy, Kendra's threats apparently already forgotten.

"Don't let her get to you," Elia said, "you know that she is only bluffing. She isn't the one who decides whom you are teaching."

Andor sighed. "I know, but that doesn't mean that she will stop trying."

Caladon and Bergil approached them, waving good bye to Nolar and Bragol, who had taken a seat at the food stall that served refreshments, and were now ordering drinks, gesturing to Findir to join them.

"It's a shame Tin didn't embed his arrow into that fancy backside of hers." Caladon's snarky remark earned him a smack on the head by Bergil.

"What? It's true!" Caladon grumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

"It's stupid and would have just made everything worse."

"But it would have served her right, that bitter old crone," Elia hissed.

"See, even Elia agrees." A smug grin dawned on Caladon's face. "And that must mean something, because she basically has made an art out of disagreeing with me."

Elia didn't get a chance to fire the retort Andor was sure she had already prepared, because Caladon suddenly pulled out a small bag from his pocket and dangled it in front of Elia's face. "An offering of peace," he said, a twinkle in his green eyes. "Roasted almonds with cinnamon. I know they are your favourites."

Elia narrowed her eyes at him and Andor wasn't sure if this would earn Caladon another smack, this time from Elia, but to his surprise, she took the bag, the corners of her mouth curling into a feline smile.

"Thank you," she said, jabbing a finger at Caladon's chest. "That doesn't mean though that I will stop disagreeing with you."

"No worries." Caladon grinned, his auburn hair gleaming in the autumn sun. "I can handle that."

Bergil stifled a laugh and Andor could have sworn that the tip of Caladon's ears had turned a rather dark shade of pink.

"So, what are we doing now?" Caladon seemed to be extraordinarily pleased with himself as he watched Elia pop an almond into her mouth.

"I don't know what you are all doing, but I have some business to attend to." Andor reached out for his bow and quiver on the top rack and strapped both to his back.

"If you think that you are getting rid of us that easily you are on the wrong track." Bergil crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

"I'm sorry, but I really must be going." Andor tightened the strap on his quiver, his fingers working with nimble precision.

"I don't like this secrecy business." Elia drew her brows together in a frown. "Is it something the Council demanded? Is that why you cannot tell us?"

Andor exhaled a long breath. "No, it doesn't have to do with the council, not directly at least." He knew that he owed them some sort of explanation, but he needed to choose his words with care. "Serande asked me to do something for her and she made me promise that I would not tell anyone. I don't know what she is planning and there is nothing more that I can tell you without putting myself and all of you at risk of her wrath."

Caladon and Bergil exchanged a worried glance and Elia swallowed the almond she had been chewing.

"I am already treading on thin ice as it is. I shouldn't even be telling you any of this, but you are my friends and I trust you with my life." His eyes went from Bergil to Caladon, resting on Elia for another beat before he kept going. "So, please, all I ask of you is that you trust me too. Let me do what I must and don't keep pressing me for more. If I could speak freely, I assure you that I would."

Elia was the first to answer. "If Serande has you bound to secrecy then you must do as she says. She surely will have her reasons."

Bergil and Caladon nodded their agreement and for once Caladon seemed at a loss for words.

"Just stay out of trouble, will you?" Bergil leaned forward to squeeze Andor's shoulder.

"I will." Andor assured himself of the knife sheathed in his belt. "Tell Tin that I'm sorry that I had to leave so abruptly. Oh, and could you give Olear the bundle of arrows to be fixed?" Andor smiled apologetically. "I'll pick them up tomorrow."

"I guess that means we are dismissed," Caladon grimaced, easing back into his light-hearted self.

"How about you spend the day doing something useful like hunting and we meet at the summer glade at sundown? I wouldn't mind some nice pheasant tonight." Andor raised his eyebrows suggestively. He was honestly looking forward to a relaxing moment with his friends where none of the council members would be breathing down his neck.

"Don't show up late," Caladon teased, "unless you don't mind just sticking to bones and feathers."

Elia nudged him in the side, her hawk-like eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What? I'm only joking!" Caladon raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. "Or did Serande forbid that too?"

The corners of Andor's mouth curled into a smile. "I'm sure Serande has more important things to do than to outlaw your sense of humour. And don't worry, there's no way I'll miss those pheasants tonight."

With those words he bade them farewell, hoping that his last words were not just an empty promise.

Andor left the training grounds behind, both relieved and apprehensive in equal measure. Now that he was alone and had no distractions from his task ahead, doubt flickered briefly in his heart. What if he was walking into a trap? Although Serande was a seer, her wisdom highly regarded by his people, he wouldn't put it past her that she might actually be using him as pawn in one of her obscure machinations. But there was no way back for him now. He would need to see this through until Serande deemed his task done.

He looked up into the orange dome of leaves above him, the autumn sun still high in the sky. His feet treaded through the carpet of leaves, the rays of sunlight painting the pathway in shades of ochre and terracotta. He picked up his pace, glad that there were not many elves crossing his path as he headed towards the portal tree which concealed the entrance to their world from the eyes of the humans. The king's hateful words rang in Andor's ears like an ominous echo, the fanatic speech about spilling their mortal blood sending a chill through Andor's veins.

In all his five hundred and ten years of existence he hadn't bothered to think of humans as anything else but the reason for their own exiled life underground, hadn't felt a shred of pity for those who had been sacrificed before, deeming it only just that they were to pay with their lives for what had been done to his people. But somehow he couldn't quite ignore the unsettling feeling stirring in his stomach. What if this was only a prelude to a much grander scheme? What if all those sacrifices were just the forerunners of worse things to come?

He had to stop his thoughts from spiralling out of control, before his doubts would overtake whatever resolve he had left to see Serande's request through.

Andor could already spot the giant oak ahead of him, its roots snaking along the forest floor. It was strange to see it now so completely empty when just last night the whole area around it was brimming over with an excited crowd welcoming him back.

He pressed his palm against the bark and the solid surface dissolved beneath his touch, allowing him to pass through. When he emerged on the other side he took a deep breath, the crisp autumn air filling his lungs. His fingers scraped gently over the bark, finding comfort in the warmth and roughness.

But he couldn't linger, not now that he was in the human world, although his people kept most of the forest under their control, weaving their magic through its trees and the earth beneath. He swiftly made his way past the tall pillars of birches and beeches that silently stood guard, until the vegetation thickened, the trees and bushes growing denser and more crooked, the rustling of leaves accompanying his every step.

Powerful magic hummed through the air when he finally stood facing the entrance to the Heart of the Forest. Whatever Serande's plan was, it must be of considerable importance, if she was willing to use her powers to grant him free passage into the sacred glade, a place that was sealed off and heavily guarded by intricate enchantments. He closed his eyes, steeling his mind for what he had set out to do. Just one more task, just this, then he would be free. How difficult could it be to find a bag and take it to Serande? It's not like she had sent him to the Swamps of Sadness to hunt for sandlizards, whose vicious fangs contained a highly sought after venom, so why was he hesitating? He could do this, for his family, for his friends.

Taking a deep breath he stepped through, the ripple of ancient magic licking at his skin like cool flames. The glade lay before him as peaceful as yesterday. Everything was serene and quiet, an image of flawless perfection, and yet all it did was unleash a storm of unwanted memories in his mind. The buttery light and mellow colours could not disguise the fact that guilt clawed at his heart like an iron vice and there was nothing he could do against it. His eyes shot to the place where Rose had stepped into the glade yesterday, the spot now bearing no reminder of her existence.

The uncountable heads of tiny white flowers that dotted the green grass seemed to follow him like reproachful eyes as he waded through them, his own eyes focussed on the murmuring fountain ahead. No, he would not look down, would not let himself be distracted by their presence, no matter how much his heart told him otherwise. He treaded softly and with careful steps, the warm grass tickling his bare feet, when suddenly an eerie silence blanketed the air around him. An icy chill crept into his very bones, the hair on his neck standing on end. It was as if nature itself had gone utterly still, birds stopped chirping, leaves paused their rustling, butterflies fluttered no more. He had to force himself to keep on walking through what increasingly felt like a graveyard to him, a beautiful, but haunted place devoid of life.

Find that bag and get out of here, he told himself. Get out before it was too late, before whatever was at work in this glade might do him harm. His skin prickled, the infallible sign that something was off. He would have reached for his bow, would it not have been considered a sacrilege to draw a weapon on these sacred grounds. Luck seemed to be with him nevertheless. He peered around the massive boulder and there it was, Rose's bag, as if she had just dropped it there, a discarded item of someone that would never come back to reclaim their possession.

He bent down to pick it up, ignoring the tightening in his throat. The leather was supple and smooth beneath his fingers, and then he gave himself a push and took a peek inside. Once Serande got her hands on the bag, he was sure that he wouldn't get a chance to look at it again. He peered over his shoulder and scolded himself for entertaining the thought that someone might be watching him. No one was here.

Andor pulled out a light coat that appeared to be made of a strange material he had never seen before. He ran his hands over the cloth and brought it to his nose. It smelled foreign yet strangely familiar.

He quickly shuffled through the contents of the bag, the overbearing silence closing in on him. Between loose papers, a wallet, a brush, a dangling keychain and a good many other items which he had no idea what they actually were, he finally found what he had been looking for. A book bound in dark brown leather. He curiously turned it around in his hands, the leather worn with age and shiny in places where hands had held it time and again. He inspected it from all angles, the cover bare of any title. Two golden symbols were embossed into the leather, a flower and a leaf facing each other, twins to the engravings on the boulders that marked the entrance to the glade. Despite its obvious age it appeared to be in surprisingly good condition. He carefully browsed through it, scanning a few pages, his eyes widening at the sight. This book wasn't just any book and it definitely didn't belong in the hands of a human.

It was written in the Ancient Tongue of his people, a language that had fallen into near oblivion and only a few of his kin still could master, Serande being one of them. Andor himself only could decipher a few words, an odd sentence here and there, but it was enough to make him realise that this book might be a dangerous weapon if it fell into the wrong hands. Matters of life and death, spells and incantations alongside drawings that were both beautiful and disturbing sent Andor's heartbeat racing. There was even a map and a near perfect depiction of the Heart of the Forest, drawn with utmost dedication to detail, down to the fountain and the boulders surrounding it. His fingers were trembling, his blood a roaring river in his ears. How in the name of Atunar had this old tome ended up in Rose's hands? A dreadful suspicion awoke inside him. Had Rose known what awaited her in this glade? And if she had indeed been aware, why had she come anyway? If she had gone willingly to her own sacrifice, then—

No, he cut off that thought before it could take root and fester inside him. He snapped the book shut with such force that a folded piece of paper was blown out from between the pages. It danced through the air like a white leaf and landed on the grass before him.

The air was so still around him that he barely dared to move, but his curiosity got the better of him.

He bent down to pick it up, turning it around in his hands and then unfolding it carefully. It was a child's drawing depicting four people, the strokes simple and the colours bold. There was a man and a woman and a girl holding hands with a small boy beside them. Their eyes were oversized black dots, theirs mouths simple lines, upturned into big smiles, their limbs sticking out from their square bodies likes branches ending in something that looked more like twigs than fingers. A house with a red brick roof and a smoking chimney was drawn beside them and in front of the house there was a four legged orange creature, although Andor could not make out what type of animal this was supposed to be, even by peering at it from different angles. 'Happy Birthday Rose' was scribbled in scrawny letters above the heads, the word 'birthday' crossed out and rewritten several times until it was correctly spelled.

A sick feeling roiled in his stomach. He shouldn't have looked, should have kept his curiosity in check. The girl with her blonde curls could only be Rose as a child. The two adults had to be her parents and the little boy, whose hand she was holding, must have been her brother. Rose's family, a family who would never see their daughter again. He closed his eyes, crumpling the paper in his hands as anger and resentment fought in his chest. He wanted to throw it as far away from him as possible, but couldn't bring himself to let go. Instead he smoothed it out again and slid it into the pocket of his tunic. Maybe he would burn it later, and with it all memories of Rose.

The chill in the air had turned to lead. It was time to go.

Andor stuffed the book as well as the coat back into the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He did not look neither left nor right, but made straight for the exit of the glade, the preternatural silence pressing in on him.

This wasn't a peaceful stillness. It was the calm before the storm.