The Shadows of Grace

3

L athaar followed the forest’s edge with aimless determination, only vaguely aware of its towering presence. Craggy, leafless branches grew tall and interlocked together, a natural gateway barring entrance into the gloomy dark within. Lathaar kept his swords sheathed, not for lack of enemies but for lack of caring. The ground was rocky and uneven with many roots breaking through the cold surface. He had hoped to remain alone; solitude was a treasure amid the thousands of displaced people of Veldaren. He was not granted his desire.

“A moping paladin,” Tarlak said, stepping out from a blue portal behind Lathaar. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

His yellow robes and hat seemed comical in the cold winter. His red beard flapped in the wind.

“I am in no mood,” said Lathaar. “Not today. Please, I need to be alone.”

“Don’t give me that,” Tarlak said. “What did you always tell me? ‘With Ashhur you are never alone?’”

“Yeah,” Lathaar said, smiling bitterly. When had he said that? While he was comfortable in Tarlak’s tower, safe and warm? “I say a lot of things.”

Tarlak sighed. They had camped for two days outside the Quellan forest, having had contact only once with the elves within. A single scout had promised to relay message of their desperate need for aid and council. Lathaar, normally a beacon of hope and strength, had sulked much of the time, turning away from any efforts to comfort. At last Mira had gone to Tarlak, begging for help, and the wizard was happy to oblige.

“I know Jerico was a friend,” Tarlak said. “And yeah, you do say a lot of things. You also say we mourn for our loss, not his. Jerico has gone to a better place. We both know that.”

“Do we?” Lathaar asked. He immediately looked to the ground, ashamed. “And of course I mourn for my loss. I have watched my brethren slaughtered, and when I am finally given hope, a friend who has also survived the struggle, that hope is torn and broken and slaughtered.”

“Pray for strength from Ashhur,” Tarlak said. “Pray to him, and…”

“And what?” Lathaar asked, cutting him off. “Hope? Cling to faith? What difference does it make if I wish upon a star or pray to Ashhur when the chance of an answer remains the same?”

“The difference is, the stars don’t love us,” Tarlak said. “Wallow in self-pity if you must. Those who love you await your return.”

The mage spun his hands and in a shimmering explosion of mist was gone. Lathaar shook his head, furious with himself. He felt similar to when the Citadel fell, sad and lost and lashing out at anything that once offered him comfort. He was foolish then, and he knew he was being foolish now.

“Forgive me, Tar,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. “Paladin or not, I’m still human.”

He heard the twang of a bow, but Ashhur offered no warning in his mind so he remained still. The arrow struck the ground by his foot, half the shaft burying into the dirt. Lathaar turned to the forest, where an elf in camouflage stood just within its border.

“Can you speak for the men of Neldar?” the elf asked in the human tongue.

“For most, yes,” Lathaar said.

“Whoever leads your rabble, tell them to prepare for an escort. They are to be unarmed, and no more than five. We will come at dawn. Is this acceptable?”

“It is,” Lathaar said.

The elf nodded, saluted with his bow, and vanished.

A n hour before the setting of the sun, the powerful leaders of the Veldaren refugees met to decide who the five would be. Antonil, former Guard Captain and newly named king, was the obvious choice. After a little prodding, Tarlak agreed to represent the Eschaton, his band of mercenaries, which had inflicted immeasurable damage against the invading army.

“I don’t want to go alone, though,” Tarlak said. “I’d prefer a friendlier, and prettier, face.” He pointedly glanced at the beautiful elf sitting beside him.

“Flattered,” Aurelia said. “But don’t hold any illusions. I will have very little sway.”

“At least we’ll have someone who speaks their tongue,” Antonil said. “I agree with Tarlak. Aurelia should go as well.”

“If we are to continue aiding you, then I go as well,” Deathmask said. He was the leader of the Ash Guild, a band of thieves that had saved hundreds from roving packs of wolf-men. “I promise to behave.”

“Lathaar,” Tarlak said, bringing everyone’s attention to the paladin. “You’ve already told the elves once you can speak for men. As one of the few here who has traveled outside of Veldaren, will you agree to go?”

Lathaar nodded. “I will.”

“That is the five,” Antonil said. “Any complaints?”

“I would prefer to go with you, my king,” Sergan said. With Antonil’s crowning he was the new leader of the human soldiers. “Who knows what treachery these elves are planning?”

“If elves are planning treachery,” Haern said, polishing his sabers as he huddled underneath his gray cloaks, “then I would prefer it be my sabers, not your axe, guarding the king.”

“Actually,” Aurelia said. “I ask that Harruq may be at my side.”

Many, especially those of the Ash Guild, gave her the strangest of looks.

“March a half-orc into an elven forest?” Deathmask asked. “You must be insane.”

Harruq, who had remained silent through much of the deliberation, had to agree.

“They’ve not exactly taken a liking to me before,” Harruq said. “I don’t want to ruin anyone’s chances for aid.”

“Ashhur knows we need it,” Lathaar muttered.

“Aurelia, care to explain yourself?” Antonil asked.

The elf only shook her head. “I will not enter without Harruq at my side. If you wish me to go, he goes as well.”

“Is it that important to you?” Tarlak asked. She turned to him, and her look made it clear it was. “So be it. I’ll toss my vote in for the big lug. We need a brute to ruin delicate diplomatic matters, otherwise it just isn’t a party.”

“Achieving delicacy through brute idiocy,” Deathmask said, standing from his seat beside the fire. “I wonder if the unpredictable reputation your Eschaton carry with them fails to describe your nature.”

“I always dreamed of having the people of Veldaren think us insane,” Tarlak said. “Alas, we saved too many lives and captured too many of your ilk to earn the title.”

“Enough,” Antonil said. “If Harruq is to go, one of us must not.”

“I’m going,” Deathmask said. “As long as you desire the aid of my guild, that is.”

“I’m certainly not leaving you unattended, Deathmask,” Tarlak said. “I’d hate for you to melt the face off some elven diplomat.”

“I will stay behind,” Lathaar said. “My heart is not in such matters. It will do me better to remain among the people.”

“So be it,” Antonil said. “Meet here again as the sun sets, and hold your tongues far better than you do now. Is that clear?”

“Of course,” Deathmask said, bowing. He and his guild turned and left, Antonil and his guards following suit. The Eschaton remained by the fire, Tarlak crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“For how crazy-headed he is, you’d think he’d learn to roll with the situation,” Tarlak muttered.

“What is with that guy?” Harruq asked. “I’ve never heard of him and his odd little buddies.”

“The Ash Guild,” Haern said, running his fingers through his hair. “Possibly the most dangerous combination of intelligence and power I’ve ever seen, no offense Tar.”

“Some taken,” Tarlak said.

“Little over a year ago Deathmask entered the Ash Guild, one of the weaker guilds,” Haern continued. “The protection money offered from the nobles was filtered throughout the entire guild, so naturally, the fewer the members, the more coin for all. Deathmask sought out a few ambitious rogues to side with him, then made it clear to the rest that it would be best to move on.”

“I take it he killed them all?” Harruq asked..

“Some,” Haern said. “Many voluntarily left, preferring poverty to death. Those higher up did their best to assassinate him, but failed. In less than six months he had gutted the entire guild and taken command.”

“This sort of thing happens every now and then,” Tarlak said, taking off his hat and scratching self-inflicted bald spot on his head from when he dropped a fireball at his feet during battle. “But those five… wow. Normally other guilds would assault such a weakened guild, but any that tried lost member after member. They had to stop lest they appear vulnerable. The Ash Guild became far richer than the others, and just as dangerous. I’m sure we have members of other guilds amid our merry band, but they were just street rats, ruffians.”

“You said five,” Aurelia asked. “I’ve only seen four.”

“They must have lost someone in the fight at Veldaren,” Harruq said. “Might explain why they’re helping us. They’re getting even with whoever killed their friend.”

“Perhaps,” Tarlak said. “I’m sure Deathmask hopes to set up shop in Mordan if we reach it. They’ve been kind enough to aid us, but make no mistake, they can be downright evil if it suits their needs. But enough chat. I need to be presentable for our lovely hosts. And you too, Harruq. Try not to look like a slob. The entire race of orcs is relying on you.”

“I’ll make sure to let them down,” Harruq said.

Aurelia swatted him on the head, then kissed where she had hit him.

“You know I love you,” she said. “But for once in your life, please, try to behave.”

B ehave, Harruq thought as he stood in his freshly cleaned armor, his swords missing from his belt, their absence an uncomfortable distraction. Just behave.

“Keep your mouth shut so you won’t do anything foolish,” Tarlak offered as they waited by the forest’s edge. “And if they ask you a question, think, what would Tarlak say?”

“If it’s a pretty elven lass, he’d ask where her room was and if he was invited,” Harruq said, ignoring Aurelia’s hard elbow to his side.

“How about, would Aurelia hurt me if I say this?” Aurelia said.

“A significantly wiser suggestion,” said Deathmask.

“Aurelia, I know you are of Dezren blood, but will any within know you by name?” Antonil asked. He was dressed in his crown and armor, fidgeting nervously.

“Pray they do not,” Aurelia said. “But yes, I believe some will.”

Before any could ask what she meant, a horn blew from within the forest. It seemed the trees themselves bent out of way as a hundred elves marched in perfect formation from within. They carried giant bows on their backs and gleaming long swords in their hands. Leading the way was an elf in flowing green and blue robes.

“Greetings, humans of the north,” he said, his melodic voice effortlessly carrying across the hills. “Bring your kings and champions forth that I might escort them to Quellassar.”

The five stepped forward, Antonil leading. The messenger bowed before them, and the one hundred raised their swords and saluted.

“Come,” the messenger said. “Follow me, and do not worry about your step. The trees will ensure no root or rock will bother you.”

They did as they were told while all around them the elven troops formed a perfect rectangle.

“Fancy shmancy stuff,” Harruq whispered to Aurelia.

He grunted, his comment clearly failing the will Aurelia hit me test.

Their path was far from straight. Harruq counted at least three full circles. The elves wanted their city hidden, though Harruq failed to see a need for such secrecy. If anyone tried sneaking through the wood unnoticed they’d have arrows covering every inch of their body. Judging by the looks the elven soldiers gave him as they marched, he thought he was close to that already.

The messenger gave quick commands to his visitors as he led them on.

“You will not leave the group.” They passed an enormous tree whose trunk looked wide enough for three horses abreast to ride through. “You will not speak to commoner or soldier, or advisors to the Neyvar.”

“Neyvar?” Harruq whispered.

“King,” Aurelia whispered back.

“Who’s their king?” he asked.

“Neyvar Ceredon Sinistel,” their messenger and guide answered, his sharp ears hearing the whisper with ease. “Warmaster of the Ekreissar, a true warrior if there ever was one. He has made truces with kings, both man and elf, and he is due your utmost respect, if not your silence.”

“Sorry I asked,” Harruq muttered.

The trail through the woods widened into a well-traveled road. The soldiers about them tensed. Only Aurelia knew why. It was a rare event for outsiders to enter the elven city, and no matter the terms, there was always the chance that Ceredon decided them a threat. Arrows, accurate and deadly, might await their entrance.

The trees suddenly parted, and stretching up and out in brilliant majesty were the three towers of Quellassar.

“Spank me silly,” Harruq said, his mouth hanging open.

Grown from seeds supposedly blessed by Celestia’s own hand, three enormous trees stretched far beyond the surrounding canopy, twisting higher and higher, as if reaching for the very heavens. Along their branches the elves had built homes, ladders, walkways and stairs. Harruq recognized the style from the elven homes of Woodhaven, where the walls and roofs curved and slanted as if a straight line went against nature’s desire. He craned his neck, his stomach twisting at the idea of climbing anywhere near the top.

“Where are we headed?” he dared ask. “It’s low to the ground, right?”

“You will not climb any of the three sisters,” their guide said. “Ceredon has agreed to come to ground to speak with you. I hope you appreciate such an amazing honor.”

The soldiers herded them to a large building beside the westernmost tree. It looked like a single room, perhaps a great meeting hall. Antonil slid in between Harruq and Aurelia as they walked, whispering as quietly as he could.

“Ceredon Sinistel,” he said, pronouncing the name as if in awe. “He arranged the truce at Woodhaven. He’s fought in every Horde War. Some even say…”

“He was there,” Aurelia said, interrupting him. “At the arrival of the gods, and the creation of man. He was there. Pay him respect. If any being in our world deserves it, it’s him.”

The five entered the giant room, and indeed it was a meeting hall. Flanked by guards in shining armor stood an elf, his skin pale and aged. He wore a crown of silver on his head. His polished armor shimmered with magic. At his hip hung a long, curved blade covered with magical runes. His eyes were a deep blue, and though everything about him was old, those eyes were young, vibrant and penetrating. His hair had grayed, though a bit of brown still gave it hue. The entire room was empty, lacking benches or a podium. Their footsteps echoed within, their voices carrying a sudden weight that unnerved them. The messenger bowed low, then gestured to the five.

“I bring you the leaders of the humans that camp at our borders,” he said.

“What are your names?” Ceredon asked. His voice was deep, earthy and tired.

At first they hesitated, glancing at each other with uncertainty. Finally Antonil stepped forward and knelt.

“I am Antonil Copernus, King of Neldar,” he said.

“King?” Ceredon asked. “The only king I know of is Edwin Vaelor, a foul insult to the dead kings of old. Have you claimed his throne, human?”

“He would not accept the fate, nor the responsibility, of his people and his land,” Antonil said. “He was murdered during the assault upon Veldaren, and with a heavy heart I have taken his crown.”

Ceredon nodded. He seemed puzzled by Antonil but let the matter drop. Up next stepped Tarlak, who removed his hat and bowed low, hoping no one would notice the bald spot atop his head.

“Tarlak Eschaton, leader of the Eschaton mercenaries,” he said. “With me are Harruq and Aurelia Tun, fellow members. We are honored to be in your presence.”

“And him,” Ceredon asked, gesturing to Deathmask.

“I am Deathmask,” he said. “I lead the Ash Guild.”

“I have heard of your guilds and mercenaries,” Ceredon said, crossing his arms. Harruq noticed how his hands casually rested on the hilt of his sword. “An interesting group, the lot of you. But to the task at hand. You have come to my land and camped outside my forest. Your great city is in shambles. What is it you desire from us?”

“We seek aid,” Antonil said. “Food and clothing so we may survive the cold winter. We trek to Omn, and we humbly ask for any help you may offer.”

Ceredon shook his head in a sad, sorrowful gesture.

“The Dezren elves fled their burned, ruined lands. Humans did not give them time nor aid in crossing the rivers. Did your king offer aid when they settled here? No. Humans ignored elves, yet now humans come asking aid from elves?”

Antonil frowned. He thought of what to say, but knew it would sound trite.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I offer no justification. No excuses. Just a desperate plea to save my people.”

“Your people,” Ceredon said, chuckling. He approached the king, staring eye to eye with him. “Are they your people? What of my people? Food and water do not come free, not even to us. Do I forget their losses? Their wounds? Their honor?”

“A simple yes or no would suffice,” Deathmask said. Harruq stared at him in shock, almost expecting Aurelia to elbow him.

Ceredon stepped back, not appearing insulted or upset, only tired. Elves grabbed Deathmask by the arms, who shook his head and chuckled.

“Lead on,” he said. When he was gone, Harruq glanced to Aurelia, who only shrugged.

“There is more going on here,” Ceredon said, turning away from them and walking back to his guards. “Isn’t that right, Lady Thyne?”

“Karak’s servants have taken the city,” Aurelia said. “And forgive me, but it is Tun, not Thyne.”

She grabbed Harruq’s hand and squeezed it tight. Harruq held on, his eyes bouncing between the two elves.

“Tun,” Ceredon said. “Such an ugly name. You fight alongside these humans?”

“I do,” she answered.

“After the sacrifice your parents made?” Ceredon asked. “After their blood, their magic, and their lives, you marry a man of orc blood and side with men who took their lives?”

“My life is my own,” Aurelia said.

“And your parents' honor is theirs. I miss them greatly, Lady Thyne. But for you to arrive married to cursed blood is an insult I am almost tempted to rectify.”

“Am I missing something?” Tarlak asked.

“No,” Aurelia said, shaking her head. “I will not listen to this. Forgive me, Neyvar, but I was there. I suffered in the cold. I journeyed with our people, not you. I can forgive who I wish, love who I wish, and I bring dishonor to my father and mother only in the eyes of those blinded by hatred.”

Tarlak’s mouth hung open. Guards moved to grab her and Harruq, but Ceredon waved them off.

“She has always carried a reputation of a fiery spirit,” he told them. “Leave her be. So Karak has destroyed the city of humans. So be it. It is not our matter, the quarreling between the brother gods.”

“But it is,” Antonil said. “For we have failed what we were always sworn to protect.”

At these words Ceredon stopped. His eyes narrowed, and his hand clenched the hilt of his sword.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The portal’s been reopened,” Tarlak said. “War demons flood into this world. Celestia’s protection is broken. Even your people are no longer safe.”

The elderly elf stared, his upper lip quivering with anger. Before he could respond, a messenger arrived, announcing the arrival of an honored guest. Aurelia visibly brightened as Dieredon followed, his bow slung on his back. He seemed surprised by their presence but hid it well.

“It is as we feared,” Dieredon said after bowing. “Orcs swarm north and west from Veldaren. Soldiers in crimson armor bearing the yellow fist have appeared, hailing from no known nation. Karak’s hand, I am sure of it.”

“Leave us,” Ceredon said to the visitors. “I will decide soon. You will be given accommodations until then.”

The guards escorted them out, leaving Dieredon and Ceredon alone in the great hall. Ceredon drew his sword, spun in a blinding whir of steel, and then thrust it into the stone floor. The loud crack echoed from wall to wall.

“They’ve doomed this world,” Ceredon said. “All through the frailty of human flesh.”

“It is my fault,” Dieredon said. “I should have tracked their assault. I thought the orcs’ numbers too small. Karak’s prophet rallied not just orcs, though. Bird-men, wolf-men, hyena-men, all under his banner.”

“Our priests talk of Celestia’s daughters,” Ceredon said. “They say two of them walk this land. What is happening, friend? How did we fail so miserably?”

“We failed because of inaction,” Dieredon said. “We failed because we have always watched, always waited, and always judged the cost. Give me the might of the Ekreissar. We can assault while their army is unaware.”

“You are rash and bloodthirsty,” Ceredon said, shaking his head. “I will not send so many valiant elves to die in vain. If you’d aid the humans, then go with them. Fight at their side. I will not stop you.”

“It is not that easy.”

“It never is, nor should it be.” Ceredon yanked his sword free. “We have lost much because of their hatred and fear.”

“Are we so free of it ourselves?” Dieredon asked. The words hung in the air amid a heavy silence.

“Give them food and blankets,” Ceredon said. “Travel with their king. As for our troops…”

The Neyvar sheathed his sword. “If war approaches then I will protect our home. Send word to Nellassar of what has happened. We must all prepare.”

The elderly elf turned and left. Alone, Dieredon cursed to the ceiling before storming after.

“W hat was that all about?” Harruq asked after they’d been relocated to their lodgings. They had been given three rooms, Deathmask by his lonesome, Antonil and Tarlak in a second, Harruq and Aurelia the third.

“It’s nothing,” Aurelia said, leaning her staff against the bed. “Just ancient history.”

“Doesn’t sound so ancient to me,” Harruq said. “Who were your parents? What did Ceredon mean by all of that?”

Aurelia sat on the bed, her face turned away from him. Her long hair masked her features, but Harruq could still see the faint edges of a frown on her delicate face.

“Is it really that important?” she asked.

Harruq winced, hurt by the tone. He started the lengthy process of undoing the buckles of his armor, pointedly putting his back to her.

“You hardly talk about your past,” he said. “Every time I bring it up, you brush me aside. You’re my wife, hon, and if you’re hurting because of it, I want to know. I want to help you…”

Soft hands grabbed his own, halting his harsh tugging at the leather straps. He felt Aurelia lean her head against his shoulder.

“I was still young, for an elf,” she said. “Everywhere we went, the fires followed. Forests, grasslands, even the deep caves filled with smoke and ash. King Baedan knew we would win a war of soldiers, but our homes…”

She wrapped her arms tight about him.

“I killed so many. They didn’t send soldiers, but farmers, hungry vagabonds, even criminals. They gave them torches and oil and let them burn. It had been a dry summer, Harruq. I’m not sure you’ve ever seen how fast a forest can burn, but I have. Breathtaking, and horrifying.”

Harruq turned around, his hands encircling her waist. She refused to meet his gaze, but that was fine with him. He could see the tears in her eyes, her haunted face a thousand memories away.

“At last we fled, thousands of us. Dezerea, our beloved home, was ash. And that was when King Baedan finally ordered in his troops. He didn’t want us gone, he wanted us dead, never to return. Hundreds of horseman crashed through our ranks. We’d kill them, but they’d be replaced by hundreds more. At last we made it to the Corinth River, the border between Mordan and Ker.”

Harruq gently guided his wife to the bed, where the two sat side by side, his arm over her shoulder. She tilted her head against him. He could hardly believe the sadness he felt pouring out of her. How long had he been completely unaware?

“What about your parents?” he asked when her silence stretched so long he thought she might not continue.

“Magic in elves is heavily based on bloodline, not trained like with humans,” Aurelia said with a sigh. “If either parent could cast spells, so could the child. We were never numerous, just enough to watch over nature and guide her growth. My parents were both casters, the strongest of our race. When we reached the Corinth Bridge, they demanded to stay behind along with eight others. We knew Baedan would have his troops follow us, no matter how far we fled. His entire army marched after us, ten thousand strong. Against those ten thousand, my parents made their stand.”

“Ten against ten thousand?” Harruq said. “No matter how strong they were, they had to know…”

“They did.” Aurelia said. “They knew. And they crushed more than two thousand soldiers before they fell, and slowed down their movements for days. It was enough for us to get away, to find our new home.” She sniffed. “They renamed it the Bloodbrick Bridge afterward. I wanted to stay, nearly demanded it, but they refused. I was one of the few remaining with the touch of magic. They thought it my duty to preserve it.”

Harruq hugged her as she fell silent once more. Her breathing turned slow and heavy, and he knew she was struggling to hold back tears.

“Their names?” he asked. “What were your parents’ names?”

“Kindren Thyne was my father’s name,” she said. “And Aullienna was my mother’s.”

At the sound of that name she broke, clutching at Harruq with a desperate strength as she sobbed. Harruq held her, tears in his own eyes.

“It’s been a long year,” he said. “But we’ll make it, Aurry, we’ll make it.”

“I miss our baby so much,” Aurelia said. “How she laughed, how she walked, how she, how she…”

She couldn’t finish. Too many memories, so many of them good. The way little Aullienna cried, the way she crawled, the way she giggled every morning inside her crib, as if her entire world lit up at the sight of her mother. All lost. All stolen by a cold stream and Qurrah’s madness.

“I miss her too,” Harruq said. “But we’ll be all right.”

Deep inside, he hoped that was true.

T arlak muttered as he heard someone calling his name. Too early, he thought. Way too early.

“Wake up. Six hours is more than enough sleep,” Dieredon said, nudging the mage with his bow.

“For you maybe,” Tarlak grumbled, burying his face in a pillow. “What do you want?” he asked.

“My scouts have returned from all corners of Neldar,” Dieredon said, jabbing Tarlak harder. The wizard looked up and glared with bloodshot eyes.

“Fascinating,” he said. “Tell me later.”

“Orcs march from Veldaren carrying the banner of Karak, but they do not chase after your refugees. There are several castles that might stand against them, if spurred into action. Both Kinamn and the Green Castle might prove powerful enough if warned in time. At worst, they must flee west with the rest of the Neldaren people.”

Tarlak sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes with his forefingers.

“What does this have to do with me?” he asked.

“I am Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves,” Dieredon said. “It is my duty to contain the orcs at all cost. But I cannot be in two places at once. Lend me your Eschaton. We can sound the alarm, and perhaps strike down many of the orcs before they can reinforce from the Vile Wedge.”

“What of my people?” Antonil asked, having been awake the entire time. Dieredon shrugged.

“Neyvar Sinistel will give them food, blankets and means for shelter. It will take a day or two to prepare, but you are weeks of travel ahead of the war demons. They will be fine without the Eschaton.”

“Much as I’d like to rest,” Tarlak said, “I find it hard to turn down a chance to get back at those who destroyed my home. When do we leave?”

“Now,” Dieredon said. “Wake the others. I will escort you back to your camp, and then we will be off.”

“Yes sir, boss elf, sir,” Tarlak said, offering a sleepy, off-balanced bow.

Dieredon left with a sigh.

As Tarlak prepared, Antonil stood and stretched, showing a bit of life that hadn’t been there the night before.

“They will help us,” he said. “Praise Ashhur, they’ll help us.”

“Try not to get too excited,” Tarlak said. “It’s just some food and blankets. They’re not going to war to protect us. They’re not offering escorts or troops.”

“They’re offering aid,” Antonil said, strapping on his belt and sword. “For now, that is enough.”

“I’ll go wake the others,” Tarlak said. “Let’s get the fun started!”

D ieredon didn’t bother with the twisting, looping pathways out of the forest. Instead, he led them in a straight path that took them directly to their camp.

“Ready your Eschaton,” he told them. “We leave in one hour.”

At the sight of their return, people swarmed toward them. With a bit of help from Tarlak, Antonil levitated into the air and spoke with a magically-enhanced voice.

“People of Neldar!” he shouted. “The elves will aid us! They will give us food and blankets as we travel west. We will not give up, and we will not surrender to the demons that give chase. Hold fast! Hope still lives!”

All around, hope kindled, weak but growing.

“Good speech, nice and short,” Tarlak said as he levitated Antonil back to the ground.

“Never been one for long speeches,” the king said.

The Eschaton and the Ash Guild met together shortly after, with Tarlak discussing Dieredon’s plan.

“Let me make sure everyone understands this,” Deathmask said after Tarlak was done. “This elf wants to send us to where we just came from, to the Green Castle tucked between the Kingstrip and the Vile Wedge, hopelessly surrounded by enemies?”

“Well, I’d prefer a bit cheerier spin on it than that, but yeah, that’s the idea,” Tarlak said.

“We’re all exhausted,” Harruq said. “This really a good idea?”

“If we can save more lives, we must,” Lathaar said. “I don’t see much of a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Deathmask said. “Whether you wish there is or not. We put everyone here at risk if we leave. We are followed by winged armies. How fast might they reach us?”

“Pretty risky leaving,” Mier said.

“Risky indeed,” Nien said.

“Well, then it is a good thing Dieredon invited just my Eschaton, and not the Ash Guild,” Tarlak said to the twins. “I figured I’d extend the offer on his behalf, but I should have known better.”

“You’re right, you should,” Deathmask said. “But you have fun running off to die. We’ll be here doing your job protecting the people.”

Deathmask, Veliana, and the twins left, so only the Eschaton and Antonil remained at their meeting.

“Such a happy bunch,” Harruq muttered.

“Forget them,” the king said. “Something weighs on my mind. I originally thought to follow the road northwest, straight to Kinamn. But with the supplies we’ve been given, I’m starting to wonder if that is our wisest path.”

“Seems smart to me,” said Harruq. “It’s a big city, right? Should have plenty of soldiers and supplies. There should be plenty to join us as we head for Mordan.”

“That’s the thing,” said Antonil. “I fear we’d lose more than we’d gain.”

“Too many will stay,” Haern said, realizing what the king meant. “They’re tired, hungry and scared. They’d rather be within walls than continue on.”

“Kinamn isn’t near as strong as Veldaren was,” Aurelia said. “It’ll fall. Anyone who stays is doomed.”

“Which is why I think I will take my people directly west, toward the bridges,” said Antonil. “Bypassing Kinamn completely.”

“That won’t be a popular decision,” Tarlak said, chuckling.

“I do what is best for my people, whether they agree or not. I am still their king.”

“Then we must send someone else to Kinamn,” Harruq said. “We’ve got to warn them, get the people to leave before the demons arrive.”

“We’ll handle it then,” said Tarlak. “Good luck on your travels, my liege. You’re going to need it.”

Antonil shook his head and punched the wizard in the shoulder.

“How will we travel after the orcs?” Haern asked as the king left. “By portal or by land?”

“To be honest… I don’t know,” Tarlak said. “Guess we’ll leave that up to Dieredon.

Turned out it was neither. Dieredon landed on the outskirts of the camp riding beautiful Sonowin, his winged-horse. A second landed with him, lacking a rider.

“Aw, no,” Harruq said as Dieredon dismounted. “Come on! We’re gonna get tossed, I know it.”

“Shut up,” Aurelia said, slipping her arms around his elbow. “It’ll be fun, trust me.”

“You know how to make an entrance,” Tarlak said to Dieredon as a crowd gathered round. “But I see only two horses, and I’ve got six of us ready to go.”

“Sonowin and Seleven can each handle three,” Dieredon said, patting his horse on the neck. “Any more and we will lose too much time.”

The members of the Eschaton gathered, and the elf glanced about, trying to decide what to do since there were now seven.

“I won’t go,” Mira said. She recognized the hard look he gave her. She’d seen it many times on the faces of the elves that visited her when guarding Elfspire. Dieredon knew what she was, and knew she was dangerous.

“It might be better for you to guard the people here,” the elf said, glancing to Tarlak for confirmation.

“Guess someone should keep an eye on Deathmask,” said the wizard, shrugging. That decided, the elf divided the remaining five by weight.

“Tarlak and the paladin will go with me,” he said. “Aurelia, Haern and your husband travel with you.”

Tarlak told him their plan of splitting into two groups, which Dieredon quickly approved.

“My three will go to Kinamn,” he said. “You take Seleven and head to the Hillock to warn the Green Castle. Once you finish, we’ll be waiting for you.”

“So be it,” Tarlak said. He looked at Sonowin, who nodded and snorted at him. “How do I get on?”

“Carefully,” was Dieredon’s reply.

He gave Aurelia the reins to Seleven, since the horse could understood commands given in elvish. Given the weight of the three, Harruq didn’t think it possible for them to fly. When Seleven’s giant wings stretched out, pushing them into the air with enormous strength, he thought differently. He clutched Aurelia’s waist and held on for dear life as behind him Haern grabbed his arms and grinned.

“I’ve always wanted to ride one of these,” Haern shouted into Harruq’s ear as they soared higher. Harruq just rolled his eyes as he shivered in the chill air.

“That’s because you’re insane,” he shouted back.

“He’s not insane,” Aurelia said, hearing their exchange. “I can show you insane.”

She leaned forward and whispered. Seleven suddenly banked toward the ground, wings pulled tight against his sides. As trees and hills rapidly approached, Harruq screamed for her to stop while Haern let out a joyous scream. A tug on the reins and out went the wings, and mere feet above the ground they banked and spun. Harruq felt his meager breakfast grumbling in his stomach. He turned to one side and vomited, all while cursing elves and their modes of transport. Never again, he thought, would he grumble about the disorienting effect of a portal.

Laughing, Aurelia guided them back to the sky, where they could see Sonowin flying northwest. In the distance, they could barely see a yellow-robed arm waving at them.

“Good to know Tar’s having fun,” Harruq muttered as they flew north.

M ira watched them go, her hands clasped at her chest. Part of her wanted to go, to be where her magic was most useful. But as her hands traced the dagger scar, she shuddered at the thought of meeting Tessanna again.

“You’ve shattered your mirror,” she whispered in the cold noon air. “But that won’t be enough for you, will it? Not until I’m gone. Not until you’ve won.”

She prayed to Celestia, just as Evermoon had taught her. On both knees, she put her face to the sky, her eyes closed, her mouth shut. She let her fears, her sadness and her shame lift to the heavens. She did not expect a reply, but she was given one, and it startled her with its clarity.

I am not done with this world, she heard Celestia say. If one prison is to break, then so shall the other. Let this world give me a sign. Faith amid disaster. Hope amid ruin. Stay strong, daughter of mine. You are not forgotten.

Mira opened her eyes, tears filling them.

“Not forgotten,” she whispered. “But still alone.”

Exhausted, she wandered back to the fires of the camp, desperately craving warmth.