PROLOGUE

Creon, King of Eldora, and all the Westmen, gazed implacably at the man responsible for the breach of peace in his realm. Gronthin, a rebellious upstart from the far province of Parnin, within the kingdom of Shardan, lay strapped out on stakes over an enormous ant hill in Shardic wastes. Coated with honey and sugar, the fierce stinging ants of the desert were forcing Gronthin to endure agonies Creon only wished to prolong. Gloating at his triumph, Creon saw before him a treacherous and callow man, browned from both the infernal sun in this land of devils and destitution, and from his inferior place in the world.

Discontent and evil always sprang from the South, whether it was the terrifying might of Plaga Erebus or the incessant rebellion that lurked within the heart of every man not historically allied to Eldora. Time and again, Creon had crushed the rebellion of Shardan and Hagar, only to see it spring back, like a vile weed in his otherwise tidy garden. The original wars of pacification had gone well, but with heavy cost. Shardan had fought stubbornly and tenaciously. Only after fifty-nine years of struggle was the great Treaty of Jelani signed by the Northmen from Kozak, Westmen from Eldora and the lords of Shardan. The great peace of the South, as it was colloquially known, had lasted for decades, but now this one rebel leader threatened all. Slaying both the King of Shardan and the Eldoran ambassador, Gronthin's fate was sealed the moment the concealed knife left his hand. The interrogation of Gronthin yielded no profitable information and his refusal to cooperate was as much to blame for the manner of his end as his deeds.

Now, as the day began to wear to a close, the words from the prostrate, writhing figure became more disjointed and less intelligible. An official interpreter was there along with scribes to write down every word the condemned man uttered in hopes of learning of the conspirators that must surely exist within the desert. Gronthin suddenly paused, and Creon leaned closer to hear the dying words of this minor nuisance. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of the dying man and ignoring the fierce heat beating up from the sands despite the shades held over his back by sweating local servants, Creon waited with grim elation for this foul creature's last utterances. Instead, Gronthin began speaking over and over again, a chant that sounded as if it were some vile incantation.

"What is he saying now?" demanded Creon of his interpreter.

"He is not making any sense, my King. He is saying, 'The dark one is coming, the dark blue one whose powers can move heaven and earth. Atanar save me from the pain, save me from the men of the West.' He continues to repeat this over and over again."

Muttering under his breath, Creon took a step backwards, confident that the time for this leader of a rabble was swiftly coming to an end.

Creon suddenly felt tremendous fear, an icy cold tremor that raced down his spine, compelling him to retreat from the mound of horror. Turning and literally running across the desert, he left behind his aides and interpreters as he blindly stumbled across the sands and broken stone, breath rasping from his sun-dried lips. Pausing after a few hundred yards, Creon looked back and saw nothing that had not been there before the blind terror overwhelmed him. Furious at this lack of will and fortitude, he began striding back toward the fugitive writhing in the sun. He then felt the hairs on the back of his arms and his head stand straight up, as an incredibly loud high pitched sound like tens of thousands of mosquitoes pressed upon his skull like a vice. And suddenly the sound was gone and all the men looked around wondering what had happened. Lightning split the dry desert airs just beyond the figure of Gronthin and a rush of unbelievably cold air expelled from a foggy void now poised above the desert sands.

A vast blue figure appeared, nearly twenty feet tall over the sands of the desert, with lightning emanating from his form, slaying all that was near, and a bolt flashed outwards to Creon, falling just short of the King. Creon was nearly bowled over by the tremendous thunderclap. He felt the heat of lightning on his face and braced himself against a tremendous wind that began to blow and began muttering a prayer to the Earth Spirits against this horrible apparition. A great black cloud billowed from the shape, concealing all but the figure itself as several men, unable to flee, were slowly and inexorably dragged into the maelstrom. Arrows snapped and hissed toward the Blue Apparition but were reflected back from the edge of the great blue cloak the shape wore and, instead, returned even more swiftly to the men who had sent them on their way. Screaming as the arrows cut them down, the shape raised their slain forms from the sand, moving them in a macabre dance of death as the bodies slowly disappeared within his blue cloud.

The blue figure put forth his power and Creon felt the strength of its mind pushing and pulsating against his spirit, hungering for his very soul, and devouring the men who were closer at hand than the King. Few men were left alive when Creon, rising to the challenge, strode forward. His guards pulled at his robes and armor, begging him to remain where he was. Creon's gaze remained fixed upon the midnight blue form that called to him, mocking him and offering to contest the mastery of Nostraterra with him, if only the King had enough courage. Slowly drawing his ancient sword, Creon saw lighting flicker off its timeless edge. Ignoring the pleas of his courtiers, he strode toward the maelstrom, determined to settle the mastery of Nostraterra once and for all. Greater and greater bolts of lightning flickered around the King and his courtiers were horrified to see his form disappear into the blue black cloud of cold and mist.

CHAPTER ONE
A LONG DESERVED ARRIVAL

Bran awoke to the sound and smell of rain blending with the hiss of fragrant seas and another sound almost wholly unfamiliar. As he slid out of his bunk on the Elven ship, he heard the strange sound again, and a thrilling chill spread throughout his body. While trying to recognize the faint cries, he recalled where he was, and the identity of the sound sprang into existence with great clarity. "Gulls," he cried in his mind, "Gulls of the sea!"

He hurriedly dressed and climbed the smooth white ladder before him to emerge onto the main deck of the ship. Glancing upwards, Bran saw a grey curtain of cloud swirling above the mast top as cool rain drops fell lightly and steadily upon the ship and the sea. As Bran breathed in the strange but delightful odors emanating from the rain and wind, he was swept away by the enchanting sounds of the gulls. Feeling as though he were dwelling in a dream upon waking, he found he could not move. A momentary fear gripped his chest so that, for a brief period, he did not dare to breathe. Soon, the sound of the gulls faded, leaving only the sound of the seas growing to a roar in his mind as the chill greyness covered his eyes with mist, both seeping into his heart. Bran would have collapsed against the railing or the deck if only he could have moved.

Suddenly, Bran felt a cool yet invigorating draught placed within his lips, which swiftly cleared the fog from his eyes. Bran tasted sunshine and the fruits of the garden, smelt the sweet clover moving beneath the buzzing sound of bees laden with pollen. As suddenly as the flavors appeared within his mouth, they were gone, replaced with a newfound strength coursing through his limbs. As memory of the smothering greyness retreated, Bran knew that he had been closer to death than at any time in his life save one: the deadly swoon within the valley of the Brunna Hatan, the Fountain of Hate, with the raging torments of the fountain lashing the ground and nearby hills with their streamers of purple fire, beleaguering him and his remaining companions on their journey up to the refuge of the Blackened Hills. Bran looked up and around him to find Raghnall, last and greatest of the surviving Elven wizards, standing there with a grave expression upon his face.

"Are you all right, Bran?" asked Raghnall. "You gave us a terrible fright that we had come to your aid too late to save you," as he studied the mortal that was still in his charge.

"I am fine," said Bran faintly. "what happened to me?"

"You survived the enchantment of the Last Leaguer Seas," said Raghnall. "we sailed into the enchantments that protect the Elven island of Elvalon from all but the Great Elves." As Raghnall said this, he placed a small crystal phial that shone golden as if a newly risen sun was trapped inside a crystal of adamant on a fair summer's morning, within the folds of his white raiment. At that moment, Bran realized that he had been given a small sip of the cordial of Phoenicia. The liquor had coursed through his veins, unlocking his limbs, while chasing the entrapping snares of grey death from his heart.

Bran thought for a moment about Raghnall's question and, unconsciously, felt an ache from his recently healed wounds. Seeing the body of the Gracie Wizard erupt into flames as his apprentice crumpled to the ground once again in his mind, Bran recalled how close he had been to death on so many occasions. This time, however, even among the Elves and his friends, was as frightful as any of the other times due to its complete lack of presage and it's amazing rapidity. Recovering his breath and not enjoying the evasive answer, Bran stammered angrily. "What happened to me, and why are you not surprised?"

Raghnall said, "Do not be angry, Bran, for only by the designs of the Great Elves have you been saved from the ceaseless vigilance of the Last Leaguer. If I was late in coming to your aid, it was only because these barriers are not perceived by the naked eye. We scarcely noticed there had been any change in the mists upon the seas, not until I felt the magic touch my body, did I know exactly where we were. As to your surprise, if you had paid more attention to Elvish lore during your journeys with the Great Elves, you would have remembered that the path to Elvalon is protected behind great enchantments, which slay all but the Great Elves who make it this far.

"Initially, as we passed over the deep waters during the night, we grew closer to the deadly fogs that bar the path before us. Now we have passed through the barrier and soon you will be the first mortal to see the ancient home of the Elves, feeling the life and warmth of Elvalon around you.

"Enough talk of the dangers now behind us. Think instead of the wonders you may see in the Immortal Lands. No mortals have ever set foot upon the immortal isle; you shall be the first," said Raghnall.

"What shall I find there?" asked Bran. "Even the songs of the Elves only provide the vaguest of descriptions, like autumn leaves blowing across a field that describes the life of an entire forest."

"Any description I could give would only increase those leaves in your mind by a small number," said Raghnall. "I will let you come to it without foreknowledge so your mind can behold its beauty with fresh eyes."

"Once again you answer my questions with riddles," said Bran. "I would wish now that the time for the hiding of true thoughts is past and you would answer my questions fully."

"What would you have me say?" said Raghnall. "When I say that what you will see is beyond your comprehension," retorted Raghnall. "A brief approximation I shall give, as even Elvalon has changed throughout the ages and much that was may be no more, and much that has yet to pass may be in full flower. Let me say that if you can recall the moment you first set in the Elven realm of Phoenicia, the differences between Nostraterra and Phoenicia that you perceived at that moment are much smaller than the differences between Elvalon and Phoenicia. For in Phoenicia you saw a dying echo, a fading dream of former glory. Even at its height it was only a small remembrance of the radiance of the Eternal Isle. Ask the other Elves aboard ship for their memories and perhaps you shall learn enough to satisfy your curiosity. Now, if there are no further questions, I must speak with Aradia." Without waiting to see what Bran would say, Raghnall quickly ascended the nearby ladder to the next deck, leaving Bran with his thoughts. He followed Raghnall up and across the main deck of the Ship, until he found a quiet place to reflect upon the tremendous events he experienced.

Long had they journeyed, Bran, his cousin Arwel, and the wizard and his apprentice, bearing the talisman of the Gracies. A small crystal vial, filled with water of the deepest blue from the Scateo Spero, the Spring of Hope that all Gracies prized dearly. While their small land was surrounded by two rivers, whose waters contained the River Spirits that safeguarded them against outsiders, the Spring of Hope was unique. Containing water found nowhere else in the world, it was said by the Gracie mystics to contain the very secrets to life itself.

Keeping these secrets to themselves, most Gracies went about their daily lives without giving the spring much thought, but whenever a Gracie or one of their animals fell ill, they journeyed to the spring and begged the mystics to allow them to take some of the water from the sacred spring. Those waters had served the Gracies well, completing the magic cycle that freed Nostraterra from Magnar and his dark magic forever.

Bran considered the terrible pain he had endured when the magic cycle, completed in the Dale of Despair caused the Fountain of Hate to explode out of the ground like a serpent of lightning, killing nearly all those that had journeyed there. His cousin Arwel lasted long enough to be free from that terrible land, before gasping his last breath on the rocky sands of the Blackened Hills. Bran escaped alive, but wounded bitterly in both body and spirit. The time spent on the ship of the Elves and in the presence of Aradia and Raghnall had aided him in his healing. He no longer wept with the pain of his burns, but nothing could restore the hearing in his left ear, and he was still incredibly frail. The poison of the dark magic had burned deep and only the healing unguents of the Elves and the magic called down from the skies by Raghnall himself had saved his life. Today he had tasted death for the second time, and this time it seemed so empty, so empty. Bran hoped he would be spared its cold embrace on the Immortal Isle, "yet I long to be free of the pain of my body as well," he thought. Turning away from the rail of the ship, he returned to his cabin to finish his morning wash and put on some fresh clothes.

Once he was dressed, there was a swift knock at the door, and after receiving a command to enter, a slender Elf entered the cabin bearing several dishes from which the distinct odor of splendid Elvish cooking emerged. "Ah, Raghnall said that I would find you here," said Rinden, a Lesser Elf of the Northern Forest. "Today I am your humble servant, bringing you food upon which to break your fast," he said with a laugh and a twinkle of his eye.

"Laughter," replied Bran "is something that I shall never tire of after my dark journey. But how is it that you, Rinden, are serving breakfast to me? Now that I am out of my sick bed, I have always taken my usual place at table below," asked Bran.

"After this morning's terror, my Queen bids me to bring you your morning meal. As it is through the carelessness of the Elves that you nearly perished before your time," responded Rinden with a grave expression upon his fair face. "It is a small measure of recompense against the great sacrifices you have made in your mortal life. It compels the Elves to be forever in your debt, for you were able to accomplish what we alone could not, the final destruction of Magnar and the end of evil in the world."

"Alas," said Bran. "If only destroying evil were that simple, my heart would be glad. But I fear that evil has not yet left Nostraterra completely, and good shall fight evil once again. We can hope that this time there is no power greater than that which resides in the strength of Men, Elves, and Dwarves, and that is all that is required to vanquish it into the shadows from whence it came."

"As for me," said Rinden, "I know little of these things. I have lived my entire life within the Forest, and only now have journeyed beyond its borders because of my love for my Queen. Eat now and be comforted as the Enchantments are passed and there is no barrier before us as we sail to the Immortal Lands." As he said this, Rinden departed, pulling the cabin door closed behind him.

After eating and drinking until his hunger was sated, Bran fell back asleep. Later Bran ventured out of his cabin and, climbed up onto the main deck of the ship. Sitting in a comfortable chair, Bran was able to see the great ocean that lay around them. There, he gazed out upon the sunlit seas, as the last vestige of the great enchantments slid over the Northern horizon. A fair North wind strengthened, filling the great sail above them, snapping the shrouds and sending a quiver throughout the ship. A faint whistle began whispering throughout the ship's rigging as the breeze freshened around them. Bran's eye was drawn ahead, looking at the endless waves dancing upon the sapphire seas.

Three days later, Bran was standing at the far rail of the ship, listening to the wind sigh softly through the rigging. The cerulean waves hissed as they caressed the hull, welcoming it onward into strange seas the timbers had never known. Dawn was breaking and to the east a golden glow filled the sky. Shafts of rose and pink, saffron and salmon streaked across the sea, blending with darkened waters. Silver foam climbed upward from the crests of waves, blown westward to fall like heavy raindrops upon the water. Bran's heart gave a great leap as he saw in the crepuscular light a range of white tipped towers impossibly high against the still midnight blue sky of the south. In their lee lay green isles, their living presence felt like a mother's kiss on your first scraped knee. Peace and hope radiated from them, and he saw small ships put out from their shores, tacking into the northerly breeze, eager to greet their brethren from the cold and distant shores of Nostraterra.

Over all were the towers of Myrddin, the city of the Immortal Lands. The Towers rose from white castles and battlements, their tops covered in crystals that sang with the morning breeze. "You are the first mortal to hear the music of immortality," said Raghnall, quietly standing by Bran's side. Bran was astounded at their song, coming to him in the flutes of birds, the pipes of musicians, voices of otherworldly spirits mixed in with the noises of wind and weather. A great cacophony of life and hope, portending the tremendous magic and power that he would find flowing through this land.

As the day wore on, the ship drew nearer to the isle and the Elves in the welcoming boats swarmed up the sides like squirrels up an oak tree. Many presents they brought and their clear voices bid them welcome to the undying lands. Raghnall and Aradia were on deck then and great was the joy in the meeting of friends and family that had been sundered from them for so many years.

Dorphin was there to greet his sister Aradia. In wonder and disbelief, she asked, "How can this be? You were slain two hundred years ago on the marches of the Northern Forest."

"There is time enough, fair sister, to tell you my tale, and you shall tell me yours. We have had rumors of great doings in Nostraterra, but all we know is that Magnar departed and that you and the others here played a great part," said Dorphin.

"Great indeed," she replied, still not believing her eyes. "None greater than Bran of the Gracies." Aradia spoke as she indicated Bran's slender figure standing next to the rail of the ship. Feeling small in such august company, Bran did not know what to say, but he thanked Aradia for her kind words.

Standing at the rear of the ship, Dorphin stood tall, even taller than his sister. His dark hair and youthful countenance would confuse the unwary into thinking he had only recently come of age instead of having seen all the ages of the world unfold around him. His grey eyes were startling in their intensity. In them, if you looked closely, you could see the age and strain of the millennia there, along with unbridled joy, the echo of distant fear and the underlying loss that made his happiness even more palpable.

Addressing the entire ship's company, Dorphin spoke. "Finally you will now be at peace. All of you are welcome here in the Immortal Lands. Here you shall find the rest denied you in the dying lands, your wounds of body and spirit shall fade quickly where there is only healing and life."

Bran felt the warmth of the Immortal Lands surround him and for the first time in months, the dark depression that had always dwelt in part of his mind began to fade, replaced by an uncertain hope despite it having been so sought after. It was never the fear or the despair that had been his greatest foe; it was the hope. Hope that someday he would be at peace, knowing his land and his kin were free from danger and free from destruction. That hope had been taken away and given back so many times that he feared its return more than any darkness he had faced. Gladly would he have strode into darkness again, if only he knew for certain his hope would not be betrayed. Today, for the first time since he had left home, he felt he could truly have hope again.

Soon, they were at the quays of Solana, the great harbor on the north shore of Elvalon where there were Elves uncounted to greet them; amongst them Phaidan, High King of the Great Elves and Aradia's grandfather, and chief of the house of Phaida. A fragrance, unlike anything Bran had ever experienced, blew from the land. It exuded life and love, healing and caring, so that those dwelling here need never be sad or unwhole again. Bran was taken to a great feast assembled on the quays of Solana where Phaidan, rose and gave a great speech, telling all who had sailed on the ship they were welcome here in the Immortal Lands and that their journey had ended. For many of them, their journey ended where it began.

Later that night, Bran found himself sitting alone on the pier, gazing out at the water. "What is happening in Platonia?" he wondered. "What are the Gracies doing tonight? Are they safe and enjoying their evening meal?" Bran thought of the families of Merfyn and Paddy the chief Gracie wizards, and the family of Arwel losing their loved ones to help save their homes and their lives. Not for the last time, Bran found himself wondering if he had made the right choice in coming here, wondering if his sacrifice would be worth the cost he had paid. Still, tomorrow held their journey to Myrddin, where he would at last see the great city of the Elves.

CHAPTER TWO
IN PARADISIUM

Aradia stood on the quay contemplating the nearly two hundred years that had passed since she arrived in Elvalon. Many things had surpassed her hopes and many things had exceeded her fears. One of these fears was for Bran whose time was failing. Sensing an inner voice that she must be with Bran now, a small part of her mind remained tied to his, in honour of the great sacrifice he had made. She strode quickly from the harbor to the house of Bran, and was saddened to see that Bran's death, which had rapidly approached in the past few months, was now upon him.

"How are you, Bran?" asked Aradia.

"Old and weary, but not so weary that I am ready to depart for realms unknown. I feel my life slipping away again, but I am afraid my lady, afraid that Platonia is in danger again," he replied.|"Danger?" asked Aradia, "Why would you think that Platonia is in danger, from whom or from what?"

"A dream that I have had these past few nights, of Gracies in thralldom and Platonia taken by outcasts and vagabonds, it was so clear. I am so afraid now that my sacrifice was in vain and that my home is in great danger. Please, as my final request, watch over my people even if only from afar." To this request and Bran's fear, Aradia did not know what to say.

"Where is Raghnall?" asked the ancient Gracie. "I would see him before I go."

"Here I am, Bran, I bid you peace on your final journey" replied Raghnall, striding into the room.

"Peace," muttered Bran, "peace I shall have. But who will give me hope that what I gave my life for will not be in vain"

"Bran, why do you believe that your dreams are anything more than that?" asked Raghnall.

"Gracies have relied on the Rivers always to protect them from the outside world. Even before I departed, the power of the River Spirits had begun to fade, we were forced to rely on the goodness of Men, to honor their great treaty giving us Platonia in perpetuity for our part in destroying Magnar. I fear that we have grown complacent again and that we do not listen to the old stories well enough," said Bran. "Who will look after the Gracies if Men fail in their promise and allow others to take Platonia for themselves?"

"Why would Men covet your small lands?" asked Raghnall. "Nostraterra is vast and even now I am certain that Men have not filled all the corners. Besides, the Men of Eldora and Kozak are for the most part honourable and true, they will protect your land against intruders in thanks for the great part that you played in freeing all of Nostraterra from the Terror."

"Bran, I do not have the answers to your questions, but perhaps we can ask the most recent Elves from oversea if they have heard any tales. Hold on while we send a messenger," said Aradia.

"My lady I am trying to, but I feel my life departing quickly now; help me to stay."

Aradia exerted herself again and clutching both of Bran's hands, she began to link her spirit with Bran's, trying at the last to bring her powers of healing and life to bear, holding on to Bran to keep him in the here and now. Inexorably, she felt Bran's spirit slip away and the tighter she tried to hold on, the faster his spirit seemed to ebb. Cursing under her breath over the loss of her many of her powers, she offered a prayer to the gods, to aid her in her quest. Silence was all she heard in response to her prayer and anger flooded through her as Bran pulled away from her.

Suddenly, his eyes staring around him, Bran said, "I am so cold my Lady; I am so frightened, I can't see anymore."

His breathing grew thin and rapid, his tiny chest heaving under the blankets, gasping for air. One final word, "Platonia', and he sighed his last breath in Elvalon. All who were there wept for Bran and long it was before Raghnall said, "Go in peace my friends for the spirit of our beloved friend is now at rest. Let us honour him with our memories. There shall be a feast in his honour within Boreas, the holy grove of air in seven days time."

Later that day, Aradia found Raghnall standing on one of the small hills contained within the city, looking out over the waters. Raghnall turned towards Aradia as she approached, nodding his acknowledgment of her presence.

"Hail and well met Raghnall," said Aradia. "Did you ask the Elves who came from over sea if there was anything to substantiate Bran's fear?"

"I did not yet, I was waiting for them to sleep and wash away the burdens of the mortal lands before asking them if they knew of anything that would substantiate Bran's fears. Bran and the Gracies were not the only ones to sacrifice much in the Great War. I have lost my friends, my family and my home, what more can I lose?" he asked aloud.

Returning from his thoughts, he asked Aradia, "Why was Bran afraid his sacrifices were in vain? Magnar is defeated. The Hraban, the terrible Black Cavalry of Magnar perished before the walls of their land. The great Southern army that was once united in purpose and destruction fled in dissaray, pursued by the armies of Men. All of the elemental Spirits and wizards that aided Magnar have been defeated, their avatars and bodies destroyed. The Dark Elves, who survived the war, were sent fleeing into the utter east; none of the great evils that once sought to dominate Nostraterra survived the fall of Magnar. Bran succeeded beyond his knowledge. Not only did he help destroy the Fountain, but he saved his own land from destruction. He asked us to look after Platonia after his passing and I intend to do so, but I do not know what threat could come to mortal lands now that the immortal powers have been removed."

"You believe that the powers of Men are pre-eminent and all other ancient powers removed?" she asked after listening to him. "You do not know your history as well as you say. Search the histories, you will find that immortals live among the mortals and even those who are greater in power than Elves are alive and well in Nostraterra. While we immortals may have little use for Platonia, there are those mortals in Nostraterra that covet what they have and will stop at nothing to possess what they desire. Think only of my daughter suffering horribly at the hands of Men"

"Those Men were not and are not representative of the Westmen, most of them are honorable and trustworthy. But you are saying that the rule of Men, even those such as the Westmen is flawed," said Raghnall. "That they are incapable of governing themselves?"

"No, I am saying that while Men were deemed capable enough to govern themselves, although that too is open for debate, what guarantee is there that Men will govern the other creatures of Nostraterra with wisdom? Not only the other mortals, but the Elves who remain; the remnants of the Great Elves striving to rebuild our city of Phoenicia. As Men continue their pathway to preeminence and all others fall under their sway, what of them?" asked Aradia. "Even Emedius, Elf Lord of Phoenicia must bow to the weight of Men as they alone of all the races of Nostraterra survived essentially intact, their cities still standing, their people alive and well. All others, Lesser Elves, Dwarves and Gracies will have to determine how they will live amongst the dominion of Men. How will a race who has always fallen, when given half a chance, succeed this time? Will they become benevolent leaders or despicable tyrants? Regardless, they will have power above all others in Nostraterra and where will that power lead them? Not for naught did Bran state his fears. I only hope there is something to be done against the tyranny of Men, for that is how I look upon it. What of the other free peoples of Nostraterra? How will they have leave to govern themselves? These are the questions I will be asking," said Aradia. "Will you?"

"I will do so within the boundaries of my authority," said Raghnall. "I do not wish, however, to defy the will of the Council of Elves in this regard."

Aradia laughed. "I cannot tell you the extent and nature of my defiance of the powers throughout the ages. Despite their recent aid in understanding my daughter better, I have always listened to my heart in these regards. I will go to the Tower of Sight within the harbor of Solana and look into the master Acies, and see what is to be seen. Perhaps there is information the seers cannot see for themselves and I will do what my heart bids me then."

Aradia knew that she must look elsewhere, literally, for her solution. Bran's deathbed soliloquy had the ring of truth to it. Unselfish, unadorned, the naked validity was there for all to see. What had Bran seen in his last days in Elvalon? Was it a true vision or the ramblings of an ancient Gracie afraid of an uncertain future? Aradia knew there was only one way for her to find out for herself. She owed it not only to Bran, but to all those left behind in Nostraterra.

Aradia passed swiftly across the city of Myrddin, where she began to climb the hill on which the Vistus Castellum, the Tower of Sight stood. Years beyond count had it been since the last time that she had set foot on the steps of this tower and as she approached it, she beheld the shimmering light of the tower. A great beacon had been placed there to hold the light of the sun and moon at all times, and it lit the sea for dozens of leagues at night so that any ships tarrying in the darkness need not fear losing their way. Aradia again marveled at the immense crystal tower whose pipes and flutes powered the beacon. The crystal tubes embued with the magic of the Elves, took energy from the very air and changed it through sound into a great heat and light. The beacon waxed and waned as the wind coursed through its beautiful tubes. A deep powerful song was sung by these tubes, often plunging in tone to beneath hearing, resonating in the body with powerful waves. Indeed, the Elves could not long withstand the power of the song of this mightiest of crystal towers. Guards were exchanged several times per day, yet still the tower took its toll and the Thunder Elves as the guards and beacon tenders were known, looked old in a land of perpetual youth. Aradia stopped at the entrance to the tower and spoke to the guards that stood there.

"I wish to enter the chamber of the Acies, I have brought with me permission from the Council of Elves." said Aradia. Carefully scrutinizing the parchment, the guards summoned the master of the tower to see to her needs.

"My lady, you are welcome to view through the Acies and go where you will in the tower with one exception. Please do not enter the room where the beacon is ensconced, as its heat and sound damages those who do not know its ways," said the master.

"Fear not. I only wish to look out from the tower," replied Aradia. Aradia knew that only certain smiths of the Great Elves were allowed to tend the crystals of the beacon, making certain that the tubes sang with the right song to keep the beacon lit, and none of them were on the island today, having gone to the feast. Greater in smith craft and magic, the Great Elves were the distant cousins of the more numerous Lesser Elves. Great was their skill in the Ancient Days, when magic was fresh and ran freely in the world, building the great city of Myrddin in Elvalon. Their greatest smiths had created the Acies when they were still young in their craft, before the final and fatal masterworks, the Crystals Towers of Air, were born of their hands and hearts.

Now Aradia ascended the many flights of steps and, standing a thousand feet above the sea, she gazed at the beauty of the Immortal Lands. Descending a flight, she came to a room that had been described to her but that she had never entered. Here dwelt the master pipes of the Acies, and she knew that there were other Acies within Elvalon, and one still in Phoenicia, rescued during the destruction of that city. There was still need of them now, if an urgent message or summons needed to be sent and one of the air spirits was unable or unwilling to be a messenger, but for the most part, they were not used very often. They all looked to the master chamber and much of what occurred in Elvalon could be seen from each Acies.

The Master Crystals could see through all the Acies at any time, still connected to the Acies that were sent oversea to Nostraterra. The three Acies given as a gift to the Westmen included a larger Acies, which would link all of the Acies in mortal lands together. Only one of these Acies was known to survive, the lesser Acies of Titania. The other Acies were lost beneath the waves or buried under wreck and ruin.

Aradia was going to use the master Acies herself to see, if she could, what was occurring in Nostraterra. Her grandfather had warned her of the ban of the Council, which forbade anyone in Elvalon from contacting any mortals in Nostraterra that might be looking into the Acies, still held in the land of Eldora, and Aradia had no intention to do so. "Who were the Council to order me the most powerful sorceress in the world?" she thought rebelliously. Knowing these thoughts could have her exiled again, before she finished healing and regaining her powers, she kept them in her heart. But as she entered the room, she thought there might come a time again when the purposes of the Council and her heart were not in alignment, and she did not know what she would do if that time came. Besides, there was no ban on communicating with other Elves, particularly those who had once been in the Immortal Lands.

The room was simply furnished with chairs set around a small marble table, where large crystal pipes hung down from the ceiling in an ornate chaotic mass. Small valves and stoppers adorned them, with over a hundred of them covering the pipes and flutes. Some of the flutes were several inches across, producing deep tones and others were tiny, smaller than her little finger making sounds so high pitched that reputedly only dogs and other beasts could hear them. By opening and closing the valves and stoppers, Aradia knew that literally an infinite variety of tones would emerge from the crystal set. Most of these tones, possessing little magic would do nothing more than change the mood of those that would listen and simple crystal sets were common in Elvalon, but the great complex ones, could do much more than that. One of which created the giant beacon on the tower top, other massive towers covered the towers along the sea coast projecting the enchantments of the Elves across the water so that none but the Great Elves could penetrate their magic barriers. Here in this tower, was the master Acies, and the combination of tones and sounds needed to produce the distant visions was known only to a few of the Elves, those of the royal house of Phaida. Aradia spent nearly an hour walking around the room adjusting the pipes and flutes to create the silvery sounding tones that indicated that the crystals could and would produce the visions. A sphere of light burst forth from the Crystals forming a globe many feet in diameter and Aradia could walk around this sphere, bidding it show her events both near and far. The magic had a will of its own and while it could be directed by someone as powerful as Aradia, the images revealed were not always in present time, but instead could be the past or the future as well.

Aradia looked into the light sphere immediately beneath the crystal set and first saw little, except the sea and views from the other Acies located in Elvalon. Slowly, she became able to direct her gaze and ever northward did it lie, until she cast its glance towards Phoenicia, where Emedius dwelt. Seeing him, she was able to read some of his thoughts and learned much concerning the remaining Great Elves and those who dwelt in Phoenicia. The sphere took her further afield from the city of the Great Elves and she saw swirling smoke, trees that were in motion, Gracies on short horses, some with weapons, and bedraggled Men standing in weak sunlight. These images were confusing and disturbing nonetheless, as the sphere was unclear as to the sequence of the events and their specific location. Still, these images were enough to validate some of Bran's concerns.

The sphere then took her north-eastwards to the Icy Mountains, where she could see into much of the mines, but not into the minds of Dwarves. She saw enough clear visions of Nerea, the great Dwarf Mine to concern her gravely. Looking north to the Dwarves of the Bastion and those of the Sandy Hills, she caught her breath in terror. "No, it cannot happen again, not after all these years!"

Looking away from the sphere, she paused, regaining her inner mental strength before she returned her gaze to its task. This time, she was able to focus her thoughts more clearly and looked into the realm of the Westmen, Eldora. Many images of Man flickered and died, each more foul than the last. So, this is the legacy of the Westmen, this is what we all fought and died and sacrificed for, the rule of Men at the last. Though sickened by what she saw, it did not surprise her, only feeding her belief about the ultimate fate of Men, even those of the west. "Why?" she thought. "Why are they acting this way this time?"

Bidding the crystals to help her in her question, they mysteriously took her east and north, past Plaga Erebus, the land of the Wounded Darkness, through the realm of Shardan and into the Eastern Waste of far Azhar. Here she saw Dark Elves dressed in skins and rude cloths, their actual kind and purpose unknown, praising a figure garbed in blue robes. Shimmers of light and darkness came from his outstretched hands, glowing and fading, serpentine bands of radiance and emptiness vying with one another in their quest for supremacy. Steadily those intertwining bands twisted and turned their way outwards from the figure, remaining whole despite their apparent opposition in kind. "Perhaps there is a similarity in function?" she thought. The mirrored reflection of the same will or purpose that took different hues and forms, facets of an unknown power of thought and focus.

Many of the people were touched by these emanations and some writhed in pain as they died. Still others changed into forms that seemed to change themselves. One thing was certain; none of those who came into contact with the billowing strands of nightmare were able to survive without catastrophic change to their corporeal forms. Feeling the evil presence of this figure, she pulled her gaze away, directing it to another figure. This one was also garbed in blue, but of a darker hue.

This figure contained a vast brooding presence, more powerful than the other blue figure surrounded by supplicants, but standing without displaying any power or making any movement. Little could she see of his interactions with his subjects or slaves, but their rhythmic forms moving in a sequential dance gave evidence of his control over them. Aradia was left with little doubt that those bowing in front of him were truly his creatures, completely devoid of individual will or thought. Swaying in his darkness though standing in the bright sunlight, the creatures turned their faces to the sun. They silently screamed their denial of the light, only wanting the absence of light, the pallor of color, so only he remained to guide them. Pulling beasts towards a crude altar, the Dark Elves slew the helpless animals and anointed themselves with the blood, offering the heart to the figure before them. He gestured slightly and those closest to him fell screaming, their bodies melting and blazing in the darkening sky, forcing the others to cry out. Dragging a young female, a child of Man, into view, she became another sacrificial victim upon their altar and her heart, still beating in the fingers of the Dark Elves who had torn it from her flesh, was raised to the figure. This time he did not slay his followers, but instead imbued the closest with an unearthly hue. Dark light flickered across their limbs and upturned faces. They grew in stature, their craven faces gleaming with an unholy light, and their eyes blackened slits, fingers turning into claws as they sang to the maker of their madness.

Suddenly she saw his cloaked head rise and his gaze under his hood seemed to reach out to her across the vast distances. Cold and calculating was that blind stare; a chilling stab thrust at her mind as the figure tried to make contact with a presence that it seemed to feel. The strength of that dark mind was astonishing. She felt a pale shadow, a weak echo of the madness and hatred that dwelt there, and a dark desire that wanted to feed on her soul. Aradia fortified her mind from all of the years of her struggle. Snapping the outstretched tendrils of hateful cunning that searched for her without eyes, she was able to withdraw before she was made captive of that most powerful evil.

Wrenching herself from the sphere of light cast by the crystals, she withdrew her gaze and collapsed, exhausted, back onto her chair. Resting for a moment, she got to her feet, and turned off the valves in the crystals and flutes, ending the visions that had filled the room and her mind just a moment ago. Exiting the tower, her grandfather's servants helped her to a room where she could rest. The next day she descended the tower and returned to Myrddin. She stopped to greet her family and to thank them for letting her use the stone. Seeing the fatigue in her face, Aradia responded to their questions that she had not estimated the strength required to use the Acies and that she was still weary from her loss her magic power that had gone into the Crystal of Air, the mighty talisman that had been used to destroy the Fountain of Hate. Smiling indulgently, her family bade her rest for a few days with them to recover her strength. Only her brother, Dorphin, looked as if he had doubts as to her veracity, but wisely kept them to himself.

As she lay in her bed that evening, Aradia began to shake with fear and anger at the visions that she had seen. "Perhaps they shall not come to pass," she thought, "as the future is always undefined." In her heart she knew that if the visions began to come true, she would be called upon to make a decision that would determine her future and those of others, forever.

The next day, she found Raghnall and told him what she had seen; the destruction and war that would soon engulf Nostraterra again. Neighbor upon neighbor, race upon race, a great conflagration that would burst forth from within the realms of Men, Elves and Dwarves, and from without, fueled by the blue figures who had nearly seized her soul and frozen her heart.

"You were correct," said Raghnall, "but I think that I know why you have seen what you have seen. When the great evil of Magnar was vanquished, you and I, along with others of the Greater Elves, thought that the price we paid was worth the accomplishment. One thing we overlooked, however, if your visions are truthful, is that of the unifying effect of Evil."

"Of course!" exclaimed Aradia. "When Magnar was a power in Nostraterra, Men, Dwarves and Elves put aside most of their differences, allied in a common goal to defeat Magnar and his army. Now, without such a pervading evil, all sentient beings are free to revive old differences and create new strife from them. Even each race has its divisions and now, without an external structure, they will descend into chaos and war. Strong-willed leaders, only wishing to enhance their own glory, will emerge here and there, carving out petty realms and tearing asunder the stable fabric of Nostraterra. In the end, the blue shapes may succeed with their dark armies and create a realm worse than that of Magnar." Sinking onto her knees, from the bench where she sat, she looked at Raghnall. "What can we do this time, for we no longer have our powers, our realms, or even access to Nostraterra?"

"There is time my Queen," Raghnall said. "If we begin now to communicate with those in Phoenicia through the Acies, perhaps they can gather the information necessary to warn the different races of the fate that may await them. But we must remember that the Acies, show things that have not yet come to pass and still may not. The future is not set in stone, but we must begin now. Come. We must speak with your grandfather, the eldest of our house, and take his counsel."

They journeyed together, seeking a way to prevent all of their past efforts from becoming pointless, allowing Nostraterra to descend into chaos and destruction from which it might never recover.

CHAPTER THREE
THE FALTER OF FAMILIAL FEALTY

Creon, High King of Eldora, looked around the Council table, noting his two sons, Alfrahil and Daerahil were present, but sitting upon opposite sides facing each other. Tall Creon was, tall as the ancient Kings from the earliest days of the realm, as yet unbent from age. His hair was black and full, streaked now with silver these past fifteen years. His pale face still had that fair Elven countenance he had inherited from his mother and the glow from his finely formed features was unworldly in its beauty. He had his father's eyes, however, and like polished chips of sapphire blue, they glanced outwards from a craggy brow. His eyebrows had become a bit wild with age and it was a look that served him well in these times. Piercing was his stare and few could abide his gaze if he fixed his mind upon them. There were none within the land that could lie to the King and few who would even dare. Strength of purpose was in his every fiber and he carried his authority well, the King of Kings, ruler of Eldora, and High King of Men.

Creon ruled from his throne in Titania, one of two surviving cities of Eldora, the other the northern city of Aurora. Estrellius lay in ruins, bridging and spanning the river Aphon, while Hiberius had been occupied by the Dark Elves and other creatures of Magnar, the Dark Lord of Plaga Erebus, the land of Wounded Darkness. Today the Council chamber of Titania played host to the meeting of the King's Counselors and Ministers as well as his two sons, Alfrahil and Daerahil.

Few there were who would oppose him, even at his own Council table, and none could withstand his mind if he focused it upon them. Today, however, one of the few that dared to openly criticize and defy him was present. Daerahil, the younger of his two sons was certain to voice his opinions again on the Shardic campaign, while his older brother Alfrahil would never contradict the King in public and rarely even in private.

While his two sons were very similar in appearance, Alfrahil,

Crown Prince and heir to the throne, was the elder, tall like his father, yet slender like his mother. Hints of Elven beauty came to the mind of a careful observer. The dark hair over the soft blue grey eyes of his grandmother were clear and bright in his face, which was lined with the tiniest of wrinkles around his eyes allowing the appearance of thoughtfulness to dominate his handsome face. Looking like a man less than half his age, Alfrahil, along with his twin but not identical brother, Daerahil, had recently celebrated their seventy-fifth birthday and he looked forward to another century of life at least.

Daerahil, shorter and stockier than his brother, also had dark hair, but his eyes were brown, and his face tanned darkly and deeply from his time in the Shardic wastes. "Yet another reason that he irks me," thought Creon. "He looks too much like those foul rebels and upstarts that he was supposed to suppress." Despite his son's unfortunate attitude, nothing could hide the brilliant mind of Daerahil for long. "No matter how misguided," thought the King. "Even now he looks interminably bored with our Council business, but if he was as clever as was claimed, Shardan would be peaceful now."

Lord Mebron, trade minister of Eldora, went on at length about the minute details that concerned a most recent treaty that allowed some goods from a Frostfields village to pass through the interwoven territories and be subjected to a slightly lower import duty due to the distance that they must pass. Barely stifling a yawn, Daerahil glanced around the table and saw the usual crowd of ministers and their sycophants standing behind them, eagerly refilling wine glasses and placing succulent tidbits before their master's plates. "Old, dull, and fat," thought Daerahil, "only concerned with their profits and their immediate pleasures.

"None of them care for the realm, except for my brother and my father. Even my father has been seduced by limitless power and seeks only to subject all of Shardan to his will. If he had only seen these men and the way that they lived, he would understand that while many in Shardan would not care for a foreign Overlord. There were enough who would fight Eldora tooth and nail, fighting with anything and for everything for the sake of opposing an occupying army with their pale white skins and sharp steel. He refuses to listen to my counsel, how the country of Shardan could be made peaceful and profitable with little loss of future life. Trade and respect for the local customs would bring much of the populace around in renouncing violence. Even where there still was violence, rich local merchants would then gladly trade in the names of the rebels and collect a reward, knowing that at least for fruit and meat merchants there was little profit in rebellion."

Daerahil himself had proved that this tactic would work in the Shardic provinces directly under his command, reducing the violence against coalition soldiers by nearly ninety percent. This, however, was regarded as placating the rebels, and his father demanded all of the violence stop before trade begins. "How incredibly foolish," thought Daerahil, "for it is difficult to be peaceful and happy when you are starving and faced with the physical oppression of foreign soldiers day after day. Still, if it were not for my father's counselor, Mergin, I might have some better success."

Early on Mergin and Daerahil had taken an immediate dislike to each other, which had rapidly escalated into a quiet hatred that had soon spilled out publicly. Unfortunately for Daerahil, Mergin had first taken over the position of junior minister to the King by extorting and then exposing the larcenous activities of the unfortunate junior minister above him. Within two years, another series of revelations into the personal and public lives of one of the least popular full ministers had allowed Mergin to replace that man and there had been no stopping him then. First, he assumed the tedious yet important task of assistant minister to the messenger corps, allowing him access to the private messengers that flowed through the realm. Then after exposing a plot amongst Shardic sympathizers he had been rewarded as his father's First Minister. It was only a matter of time before he had the Messenger Corps report directly to him, so now he was privy to all of the secrets of the land that flowed in from the various intelligence gathering services. Only one other success was needed before he was also appointed commander of the Shadows, the legendary messenger assassins. This gave him yet another tool with which to gather information and a small but extremely deadly cadre of men who could and would enforce his rules without question.

It was clear that he had become the second most powerful man in the kingdom behind the King himself. His undying loyalty to the King had only furthered his power and he was able to defeat Daerahil's attempts to sabotage him. Even worse, he was able to contrive several incidents where Daerahil had been less then discreet in his actions and deeds, making them brutally public at the most opportune moment.

Daerahil knew that his brother, Prince Alfrahil, was one of the only other men in the kingdom who could contest the will of Mergin with impunity as the King loved his eldest son above all others and trusted him equally. Alfrahil was quieter and more thoughtful than his brother. While not as talented, he had the ability to see both sides of an issue and find common ground, allowing him to find compromise where others saw only conflict. Still the two brothers had clear differences on how the kingdom should be run both internally and externally, but Daerahil bore his brother no ill will. He knew that his father's attitudes were not the fault of his brother and Daerahil resolved to continue to support his brother who would someday be king. Not for the last time did Daerahil wish the order of their birth reversed, with his kind and thoughtful brother becoming the senior ambassador and foreign minister of Eldora. Even this position had never been officially bestowed on Daerahil and he doubted that, so long as he opposed the will of the King so frequently, it ever would be. Pausing in thought, he glanced at his brother across the table and gave him a tired smile.

Alfrahil acknowledged his brother's smile with one of his own, but saw that there was new trouble brewing. Mergin was looking increasingly smug, while Daerahil had the impudence to put his head down on his arms while Lord Mebron was talking. Finally, when Mebron stopped speaking, there was a brief adjournment for the Council members to take care of their personal needs and bid their servants to fetch new delicacies and fresh pastries to salve their hunger.

"Trade agreements might be dull," thought Alfrahil, "but they were important nonetheless." While his brother might wish to be dispatched back to his armies in Shardan, Alfrahil knew that with his father's current attitude, Daerahil was to be isolated from the men under his former command and let his father's new policies be enforced. This had only recently been decided and most of the men around the Council table had been informed, but not his brother. Alfrahil knew that his brother believed that within a fortnight, he would be dispatched to pacify additional Shardic provinces, enjoying all of the delights of the high plateau. One of the many reasons that the King did not approve of Daerahil or his methods was the fact that he embraced many of the customs and traditions of Shardan, most markedly the food and the women.

Alfrahil shuddered again when he thought of his brother's relationship with a Shardic woman, formerly a prostitute and now his brother's kept woman. Even Mergin did not know of these facts, or else he would have reported this to the King by now. King Creon was renowned for adhering to strict rank and protocol where social relationships were concerned, and would refuse either of his sons to marry outside of the royal families of Eldora, much less a Shardic woman of ill repute. Alfrahil offered a silent prayer to the gods that Daerahil's relationship with the Shardic girl remain quiet until Daerahil came to his senses and peacefully ended his relationship with her.

Soon the meeting was rejoined as more and more details, both foreign and domestic, were reported by their various ministers. The most disturbing came from the Minister for the Outlier Provinces. "Sire," said the minister, "I regret to inform you that the good citizens of Nexus and other villages north of the mountain spur known as the Thumb, within the Cataract River valley have rejected your latest claim that they as Eldoran in origin acknowledge your over- lordship. They also decline to pay any further taxes."

"This is outrageous," retorted Mergin. "We should dispatch the Army to quell these upstarts and remind them that Eldora is to whom they belong and owe their allegiance."

"Perhaps, my good Minister, you can tell me where we can spare the troops to bring these sheep back into the fold?" inquired Daerahil. "Clearly the rebellion in Shardan and the skirmishes along the Azhar frontier are keeping all of our men along with those from Kozak fully engaged. Except of course in the two provinces of Shardan that I have recently pacified," he said smugly.

"My dear Prince Daerahil, it is precisely your softness in Shardan that has led to these upstarts outside of Shardan to rebel against their lawful King, is this not so?" asked Mergin.

This question being directed at the Outlier Minister, he prevaricated for a moment before replying. "Yes Lord Mergin, they specifically cite the guarantees that Prince Daerahil made to the rebellious provinces of Kraylor and Voth, which acknowledge the sovereignty of their lords, who pledge fealty unto Eldora. The Council of Traders from Nexus have announced that they have formed a Confederation and thereby ask that any and all foreign troops remove themselves from their towns and farms in any official capacity, but all are welcome to come and trade with them."

"You are responsible for this my son?" asked the King ominously. "You gave sovereignty to two separate provinces in Shardan? I cannot believe that you would thwart my will in this matter. Thankfully your prior actions have made my next order necessary and today's news only demonstrates how quickly I must put a stop to this seditious nonsense."

Nodding to Mergin, the King put into play the strategy that he and Mergin had devised between them. Mergin said, "It has been decided my Lords and Ministers that the Shardic campaign has reached a point of stagnation and that a more bold approach must be taken to solve this problem once and for all. Prince Daerahil, you are hereby relieved of your command of the First Host of the Shardic army and are hereby promoted to command of the Great Host of the army of Eldora. There you will conduct a rigorous inspection tour identifying waste and mismanagement. You will begin by inspecting the out companies guarding the outlands between the City walls and the Ad Pratum, the out-walls and only after a thorough review of these fortifications will you extend your tour throughout the realm of Eldora. Your schedules of review will be sent to you after we have reviewed your reports from your first assignment. Do you have any questions?"

Daerahil was speechless, he had expected to be given command of both the first and second Hosts of Shardan, and by designation the second in command of the entire Shardic army. Now he was "promoted' to a sentinel position as commander of the Eldoran Army. While any other soldier would look upon it as an actual advancement, Daerahil knew that his command position reported directly to the King and his ministers. This meant that he would have substantially less freedom in his movements and reforms then he did while he was only a Host commander. Plus, he would be mired in Eldora reporting in and out of the Council chambers at the whim of that vile serpent Mergin, who would use this opportunity to harass Daerahil at every opportunity. Speaking aloud, he asked -

"My Lord King, clearly this idea has originated with you, though doubtless there are many who would disagree with your decision. My brother until recently has held the post of Commander of the Eldoran Army, may I ask where he is to be dispatched?"

"You will address your comments to me, my Lord Prince," said Mergin silkily, "not the King." Ignoring Mergin, Daerahil looked at his father directly and again asked his question. This time Mergin restated his point with much less silk and more venom in his voice.

"Silence you vile little worm, if you were not my father's treasured errand boy, I would have had you face my wrath long ago. I am speaking to my father, the only man that I answer to in this kingdom."

Anger flashed across Creon's face; this was not proceeding the way that he had intended. Instead of attacking the King's decision and openly defying him, Daerahil had shifted the focus on the authority of Mergin in relationship to the Princes of the land. Creon knew that he had been out maneuvered as the law forbade anyone, no matter their rank from ordering a Prince of the Realm to do anything at all; only the King had that authority.

"My son, you will show more courtesy to our faithful minister Lord Mergin, but to answer your question, your brother has been appointed first ambassador and minister of state. He will soon begin an extended tour of the neighboring realms expressing our interests to the Lords and Ambassadors of lands both far and near."

"My lord King, who then will take over my position and see to the reforms of the Shardic campaign?" asked Daerahil.

"Prince Daerahil, your reforms have not achieved the effect that you claim and they shall be terminated forthwith. In fact, in light of today's news, more disorder than I could possibly have imagined has come as a result of your intransigence in this matter. Your royal cousin, Prince Frederic of Amadeus, shall be given commands of the first and second hosts of the Shardic army in hopes that my will and that of our Council will be more clearly followed."

"Frederic?" exclaimed an incredulous Daerahil. "With all due respect for our royal cousin, he can barely manage the peaceful realm of Amadeus, much less command men in the Shardic campaign. The stories of his errors would fill many an hour if they were read together."

Creon's face darkened. "Do not presume to lecture me on the disposition of the commanders at my disposal. Be thankful that I do not hold you more accountable for the dismal lack of progress in Shardan, and this new rebellion that I must quell amongst our own trading colonies."

"Lack of progress my Lord?" asked Daerahil. "Please, Majesty, you might not have had access to all of the information from the land, particularly if Lord Mergin is deliberately shielding this information from you. Let me show you the latest figures of casualties, pacified cities and towns, trade revenues from my last six months as commander of the First Host." Daerahil gestured behind him and one of his trusted advisors handed him the scrolls prepared for this meeting. He was about to read them, when Mergin played his last card.

"My Lord, while I am certain that Prince Daerahil had some minor successes in his endeavors, in addition to giving partial autonomy to two of the provinces that I have mentioned, he failed to instill complete obedience from those foul rebels and even sided with three of their tribal leaders against his own troops on three separate occasions. Worse, he ordered the Royal Governor of Voth to reduce his taxes and recall his own guards to his own barracks so that the Prince's troops could exercise the authority actually given to the governor."

Daerahil was speechless, for while this information was true, he thought that it had been carefully hidden and that the overwhelmingly powerful results of his actions would deflect any questioning of his methods or orders.

"Is this true my son? Have you actually sided with the rebels against the loyal forces of Eldora and taken over the governance of one our provinces usurping our distant cousin, the Royal Governor of Voth?" asked Creon.

"I would not phrase it that way, my Lord. The disputes that are mentioned by Lord Mergin were gross disobedience by three separate local officials, and the Governor's guards were ransacking and looting the provincial city, fomenting great hatred amongst the populace. I was able to pacify this city and the surrounding province by curtailing the inept greedy actions of the Governor."

"So you willfully admit that you have disobeyed my orders and exceeded your authority," said the King. "Is this so or not so?"

"Yes my Lord," said a flustered and angry Daerahil, "but"

"I have no desire to listen to the justification of your actions. You openly defy my orders, side with known rebels, and now argue about assuming your new command. Even today I hear that your seditious ideas have spread beyond Shardan, creating more chaos and disorder for me to deal with. Be silent for the rest of this Council; we shall speak privately about your actions."

"What is to be said in private that cannot be said here?" demanded Daerahil. "My policies and plans are successful. Your blind insistence on total subservience from a conquered people has led us to our current predicament. It is clear that I am the only one who can quell this rebellion. Give me leave, my Lord, to take command of the entire Shardic army and I can pacify this country and bring our troops back home within a year. Furthermore, the good citizens of Nexus and the trading Confederation exist outside the borders of Eldora and are beyond both our jurisdiction and our control."

"You dare imply that I am the cause of the failure of the Shardic campaign? You defy me yet again in open Council! You claim that these upstarts from Eldora that have founded this vile Confederation have the right to govern themselves? Your contagion will spread like a plague before a dark wind if it is not stamped out like weeds in a garden! Be gone from my sight and be prepared to take command of your new post on the morrow. Now get out!" roared the King.

Daerahil stood and was about to say something, when he saw the fear in his brother's face. Without bothering to salute or ask permission to leave, he turned on his heel, and was about to stride out from the Council chambers, when he heard Lord Mergin's mocking laughter. Glancing down at his plate, he walked back to this place at the Council table. He picked up his goblet of wine, moving as if to drink from it, but he instead threw its contents into Mergin's face. "I call you out again coward, and if you have any honour or backbone at all you will meet me on the morrow with your sword in your hand upon Sisera," he said.

Roaring, Mergin leapt from his chair, when the King ordered silence again. "Prince Daerahil, you are fined fifty gold pieces for your disruption of the Council chamber and your insult to Lord Mergin, apologize at once."

Daerahil reached into his purse and counted out one hundred gold pieces, placing them on the table. The King looked at him quizzically, and said sarcastically, "It was fifty, my son, not one hundred. Has your time in the desert addled even your mighty mind?"

"No Lord, I am merely paying in advance for my next fine for disruption." With that remark, Daerahil reached over to a jar of pickled fish and hurled its contents at Lord Mergin, splattering one of the other Ministers in the process.

"Now I will take my leave, my Lord, and assume my new command tomorrow."

Striding from the hall, Daerahil ignored his father's raging command to return and apologize, and headed out from the first district to his favorite tavern in the fourth district of the City. He knew that he had lost his temper and that he would be subjected to further recriminations from his father and from Mergin, but he could not sit there and stomach any more of their machinations and out-right foolishness. Still, he felt better for putting out into the open what many had whispered about for the past two weeks, and perhaps there were others on the Council, including his brother, who would speak on his behalf. Daerahil had few illusions that he would be sent back to Shardan anytime soon, but hoped that at least some of his policies would be kept in place once his deputy had an opportunity to read them to the Council.

Tramping down on his own two feet instead of taking his horse was giving him a chance to clear his head and let his anger begin to fade away. Citizens of the City goggled as they saw their prince stride by, absent his usual guard detachment, not wearing a sword, but only a small dagger thrust into his belt. Many people did not recognize him unless they looked at his tunic closely and saw the red and silver raiment that only members of the royal house were allowed to wear in public. Daerahil gazed about him, enjoying the noise and clamour of the common people. Striding briskly down the short steep steps that ran in a criss-cross fashion, Daerahil came to another of one of the inner City walls, separating the third district and its hill from the flat plain that contained most of the City and its citizens. Daerahil knew that the City had originally been several small villages scattered on the City's seven hills, but as more unrest spread through out the lands, more and more Westmen gathered here. Still there was originally little unity and some of the small states on their hills actually went to war with each other over trade rights and other petty matters. It was then that the first walls were constructed, each walling off a hill-set village, but using the great plain between them primarily for agriculture which remained un- walled until the first war between the races occurred over a millenia ago.

Dwarves and Westmen began the conflict, fighting over rich mineral deposits in the Encircling Mountains set just north of the City. Men prevailed, besieging the Dwarves in their mines and forcing them to concede the mines and territory to them as a price of the peace treaty. It was with great irony that Daerahil thought that now the Dwarves were back in the same exact place, delving into the mountains, and paying men a small but significant royalty on their mines and their product. Ironic because wanting something is certainly not the same thing as having something. While Men wanted the mines and their treasure of gold and other metals, they were poor miners and several small collapses and cave-ins led the mines to lay dormant for over two hundred years until Men had the foresight to ask the Dwarves for help. Initially reluctant and still smarting from their defeat in the wars, the Dwarves had asked for exorbitant prices for their help and it was nearly a hundred years later that the current treaty was signed by the Dwarves and Men, allowing the Dwarves to lease the mines from Men, and giving Men one tenth of their processed ores and gems as payment. Daerahil recalled idly that this treaty was soon to be re-negotiated as the Dwarves wanted additional money to invest in opening up several other mining sites in the mountains.

The Dwarves also had discovered the Caves of Edelhohle, the Jewel Caves nearby, the colloquial expression for the caverns of wondrous bliss and beauty, a living representation of the wonders that their creator had bestowed upon them. Daerahil recalled that only the priests of the Dwarves took this creator nonsense terribly seriously, but like all things endemic to a culture, you had to take it into account when you dealt with them.

Wondering why his thoughts were wandering to ancient history, Daerahil recalled that he was thinking of the walls of the City and that the great wall surrounding the entire City was constructed in part because of the Dwarf wars, and because it was much easier to tax a population when you could control the access points of goods and services through gates in the City walls. Even today, the tax men were stationed at each main gate of the City making certain that goods were taxed and labeled accordingly, with all commerce and peoples eventually moving in and out of the great south gate of the City itself into the rest of the lands. The City had another gate on the northern wall, but this gate led only into the interior of Eldora proper which was surrounded on all sides by mountain ranges, which drew close, forming the plain of Sisera, which was nearly fifteen leagues wide and ten deep. Small rivers ran down from the wild mountain sides to the east and west of the City and exited the City from one great canal, that had been reinforced with huge rough blocks of stone and a reinforced metal grate, too small for anything or anyone but rats to exit. The southern wall was made of indomitable stone, smoothed and without joint or seam, rising fifty feet above the plain, with only the Great Gate as its only breech in its mighty barrier between the world and Eldora.

Now, striding down onto the plain proper, Daerahil tired of walking and approaching a messenger stable, acquired a sturdy, undistinguished mount and rode the mile to the hill of merchants, east of the Citadel and its battlements and towers. Riding up to the gate that divided the sixteenth district, the plain, from the fourth district, a wealthy merchant district, had two smaller districts on its hill, Daerahil gave his horse to another of the messenger stables that stood near the entrance to this minor wall and gate complex. Striding up the stairs, he found himself near the top of this district and walked into a small discrete tavern, which he actually owned through many of his more private investments. So private that the proprietor did not know to whom the tavern belonged, only that he must keep an excellent selection of wines on hand at all times no matter if they sold or not and that his Frostfields ale must be kept crisp and cold as well. Shaking his head over this waste, the proprietor came to attention and gave Daerahil a slightly lax salute, as they had come to know each other casually over the past several years. Glancing at the rich wooden barrel that housed his favorite ale, Daerahil took his customary table in the back of the tavern gently nodding and smiling at several of the notable merchants that came here to enjoy wine that they could drink nowhere else in the City.

Daerahil was well into his third tankard of ale when he heard the tramp of light boots on the floor behind him and knew that his brother had arrived, which was unexpected. The tavern owner who was used to Daerahil's desire for not standing on protocol was conflicted once he saw the Crown Prince enter his modest establishment. Shuffling forward, the tavern owner asked after Alfrahil's needs with fawning obsequiousness, and Alfrahil asked for a bottle of Dwarven ale. The bar keep blanched for a moment when he recalled that they probably had one dusty bottle or so left, but that it would not be in top condition. Waving him away, Alfrahil sat across from his brother and ignored the incredulous stares of the common folk in the tavern.

"Well, my brother, you certainly have done it this time," said Alfrahil.

"Indeed?" asked Daerahil quizzically. "What happened after I left?"

"Our father was quite beside himself with anger. He has fined you five hundred gold pieces and revoked your annual leave this year, compelling you to remain on duty until you have redressed the grievance that you have caused. Furthermore, he has ordered that you do not leave your inspection from the Ad Pratum to return to the City at any time until your reports are reviewed and approved. You could be stuck there in the outer barracks for quite some time."

"It is nothing that I did not expect," said Daerahil. "At least I had the satisfaction of humiliating that vile serpent Mergin."

"That you did," said Alfrahil, "but you and I both know that he is not going away. You might as well call a truce in your dealings with him before he can find another way to humiliate you in public again."

Daerahil's face moved into a darker shade of red and Alfrahil knew that his brother was on the verge of another outburst.

"Peace brother," said Alfrahil. "I do not disagree with your feelings, but you must learn to be more circumspect in your actions."

"You do disagree with some of my feelings brother; we disagree on how to end the rebellion and bring home our soldiers from abroad. You would have a series of fortifications built along the borders of Eldora and Shardan and keep our troops in Shardan only in large groups to suppress the most visible elements of the rebellion. You also do not approve of the Trade Confederation governing their own affairs."

"Yes," said Alfrahil, "I believe that your methods give too much power away to the rebels and would allow the rebellion to infiltrate all of Shardan and spread into Azhar and even into South Eldora. Clearly your ideas of governance have already permeated the Trading cities, emboldening them enough to revolt against us here in Eldora. Additionally, there is no guarantee that the rebels in your pacified provinces or the Traders in their cities would not use their new found wealth to continue the struggle to overthrow Eldora's rule."

"I believe that the only way is to let Shardan rebuild itself from the ground up and establish warlords loyal to trade and to Eldora for supplying such trade. The people in the Trade Confederation are citizens not just of Eldora, but men from Kozak, Chilton, and other distant towns. Why, even a few Dwarves have moved there, renouncing their allegiance to The Bastion and helping set up the new alliance. There is little to be done to stop the Traders. We must forge commercial and then political alliances with them so that our northern borders are fortified with a strong buffer from any incursion from the South."

Their disagreements grew heated and Daerahil was about to say something that he would later regret, when Alfrahil interjected. "On this as on many issues, we must agree to disagree, but I had hoped that we could agree on the necessity of creating a true Shardic front."

"Front? What Front?" snorted Daerahil derisively. "Think of the history of our occupation and tell me how we can create a Front with the situation as it currently is?" Both brothers paused in their arguments, remembering the history of how the rebellion had begun in the first place.

Fortifying the border had been an option mentioned in council by Alfrahil. Their father had listened briefly, then offered his own opposition as to how and why a great border wall would not work for many reasons, not least of which is that it would take decades to construct fortifications over a hundred miles long and they did not have the men to man it.

"Nay," his father said. "We must crush the spirit of these rebels once and for all, and we shall succeed even if we have to kill every single Shardian" This rash statement had triggered great debate around the table, before the King, bowing to the political pressure of his own Council had retracted the remark, stating that he said it only in his frustration with the situation.

Alfrahil thought back to the teachings that he had received as a child. The original wars of pacification took nearly sixty years to conclude with the signing of the Great Treaty. The supremacy of the Lords of the West and North was acknowledged by all of Shardan, with local Lords given dominion in their lands. A new charter was created, forging the Lords of Shardan into a new confederation, with the Lords being allowed one year to choose a king amongst them and to have their King send formal ambassadors to Eldora and to Kozak.

The Lords had fought and died for their place to be king, and only after many of the current Lords had perished in brief but savage military encounters or individual combat challenge with one another was a King of Shardan chosen. Alfrahil's teachers said they had wished it had been anyone but Karnag.

"Karnag the weak," thought Alfrahil, as history has come to know him. For Karnag had been exactly that. A clever politician from an ancient Shardic family, he was the least offensive choice amongst other more powerful warlords. While he had some autonomy, he could scarcely call his capital city of Harath his own. He could do little to control what occurred within his own city, much less bring stability to a country that desperately needed it. Still, he had maintained a peace for many years with the consent of the other Lords, and slowly Shardan had begun to rebuild itself. Waterways and roads, farms and fields began to spring up and all seemed well with the rebuilding of the southern lands.

Then, approximately one hundred years ago, a small but noisy Lord from the farthest southern of the Shardic provinces began to talk of rebelling against Eldora and Kozak, of declaring war against the foreign invaders. This man, Lord Gronthin, had been ordered to Harath to explain himself to both King Karban, son of Karnag, and his Council as well as the ambassadors of Kozak and Eldora.

Lord Gronthin had come peacefully with only a small guard and had been brought before the Council of Shardic Lords and the King Karban. King Karban and other Lords of Shardan had spoken to him and Gronthin had seemed to repent of his ways, recanting his desire for war, saying, "I do not know from where or why these thoughts came to me unbidden."

Approaching the throne, he bowed and accepted King Karban's pardon. He was about to return to his seat before the feast began when, according to witnesses, a great flush came over his face, his eyes rolled briefly back into his head and he had to grip the table for support. Suddenly, he turned and screamed, "Shardan will be free!" Plunging his hand into his sleeve, he had withdrawn a small throwing knife and turning, he had thrown it into the chest of King Karban as one of his guards drew a similar blade and hurled it into the throat of the Eldoran ambassador. Gronthin was wrestled down by the other guards and Lords as his entire guard was slain in the affray.

The King meanwhile, began to twitch and foam at his mouth, his face mottling into terrible colours. The Eldoran ambassador did the same, the knives being poisoned, and soon their lives vanished even as healers from Eldora and Shardan burst into the room. As King Karban and the ambassador of Eldora died, so did the peace of Eldora. While Karban, son of Karnag, was very similar to his father in his weakness, the nobles around the table used him as more of a mediator; he and his father kept the peace for nearly ninety years after the end of the last wars.

Within weeks, the nobles fell to feuding amongst themselves and Karban's young son was assassinated, along with his mother and two sisters. This left the nephews of Karban as the only legitimate heirs to the Shardic throne and none of the Lords could agree as to which nephew would have their support in ruling the land. The country rapidly degenerated into civil war, with each Lord occupying his own small demesne, refusing to agree about anything and with anyone except for their hatred of Eldora and Kozak.

At his trial, Gronthin said he remembered nothing of the events of the room after turning to bow to the King. Derisive laughter and jeers had come from the witnesses that had seen him personally assassinate the King, and he was swiftly convicted and sentenced to a horrible death in the southern desert wastes. Alfrahil vividly remembered the tale of the terrible blue figure that slew all the men around the form of the condemned man, save one. Creon had entered into the circle of power put forth by the creature and was thrown out from the circle a few moments later, with lightning flickering over his body as he lay unconscious on the ground. His sword, Caelestus, was dark and discolored, no longer the bright shining flame of freedom. One of the more daring guardsmen had rushed into the circle of mist and cold, drawing Creon forth as the black mist thickened and darkened, obscuring everything that lay within. The King regained consciousness the following morning but would not speak of what he had endured when he challenged the creature.

As daylight grew the next day, the King and his escort saw that there was a perfect, black circle nearly two hundred yards across burned into the desert sands. There was no trace of Gronthin, but the bodies of the guards and the archers had been placed in a pile on top of a curiously designed piece of stone made from the newly fused sands of the desert. The bodies of the men were hideously disfigured with ancient runes and archaic symbols and an odor of corruption and death made the survivors wretch and heave. The guardsmen from Shardan tried to throw sand and place stones to cover the dead, but the grains flew into the air when they were a few feet from the bodies and the stones hurtled backwards, injuring some of the men in the process. Eventually the King and the representatives from Eldora and Kozak left, the guardsmen of Shardan muttering under their breath at what they had seen. The bodies continued to decompose under the Shardic sun, adorning the odd stone sculpture with their bleached remnants. No one, not even the wise men of Eldora, could explain what had happened there. Only the legends of Shardan provided an answer, no matter how improbable it might be. Rumors of blue devils who could melt the earth and air, transforming men and animals into hideous shapes, had been ancient legend in Shardan and now they were held responsible for the conflagration that filled this small corner of the desert. The tale grew in the retelling, and even today there were rumors of horrible deaths and mysterious disappearances of the soldiers that patrolled the farthest reaches of Shardan, Hagar, and Azhar. The execution of Gronthin, as bizarre and uncertain as it was, was only the beginning of the current problems. The King refused to ever voice his opinion over what had happened, forbidding the topic of the "Blue Vesper', as he had come to be known, in his presence. The King was deeply affected by his experience, and it coloured everything that he did and said regarding the East from that day forward.

Gronthin's presumed death did not stop the flow of invective against the foreign powers that dominated Shardan; if anything it seemed to inflame it. Nearly overnight, secret societies had sprung up from Men from all ways and walks of life, with "Shardan shall be free' as their rallying cry. Few Shardics, however, would exchange the peace of the past nine decades with war, even if it meant their independence from Eldora, and the movement initially had little popular support. It was then that King Creon had made a fateful decision, perhaps fueled by his great uncertainty over the origin of the Blue Vesper.

Enraged over the death of his ambassador, he had declared martial law in Shardan, assembling the army of Eldora and requesting aid from Kozak. Three months passed before the army had been able to assemble and mass below the Plaga Erebus, Seventy Five thousand Eldoran troops, with twenty five thousand Kozaki. Three months where the diplomatic corps of the two powers and the petty Shardic Lords had wasted their time squabbling and fighting over the succession to the Shardic Kingship. As the army was about to depart, the diplomats accomplished what was perceived by many as a miracle.

The Lords of Shardan had agreed to a nephew of Karban as the next King of Shardan, and he had been escorted to the palace with great fanfare. It seemed that war was to be averted as his first proclamation was that the land would be peaceful and the Lords of the far southern province of Parnin would be offered up along with half of their goods to Eldora as recompense for Eldora's loss. This was the traditional way of settling great disputes and rebellions in Shardan and had been so for centuries. The new Eldoran ambassador from Shardan and King Creon's closest foreign advisors had counseled him to accept these terms: The Eldoran army would stay on alert, patrolling the Shardic border, but the troops would stay north of the borders and not violate Shardic territory.

Creon then made a decision that confounded Alfrahil when he thought of it. The King rejected the terms and insisted that the soldiers of Eldora occupy the principle cities of Shardan and that the eldest sons of each Lord of each province of Shardan serve as hostage in Eldora. If any soldier of Eldora or Kozak died, these sons would be put to death. These terms were very harsh, harsher than any imposed upon Shardan since the days of Eldora's original primacy in Nostraterra.

The insistence upon occupation proved to be the stone that began an avalanche of rebellion that Eldora, Kozak, and even Shardic Lords loyal to Eldora could not stem. Rebellion swept through Shardan, inflaming the countryside and moving swiftly into the cities of Shardan. Indeed, the allied army sustained severe losses as it tried to hold the cities of Shardan with too few men. Eventually, the Lords of Shardan began to return some semblance of order to Shardan and the soldiers of Eldora patrolled the roads between the provinces, as the rebellion now returned to the countryside, whence it had begun.

The cost to the soldiers and the people of Shardan had been tremendous and even today, hundreds of soldiers were killed while chasing rebels and over a thousand a year were injured, some so severely they could not return to war. While the Lords of Shardan all publicly decried the rebellion and ostensibly aided the forces of Eldora and Kozak in their quest for pacification, there were few, in or out of Shardan, that believed in their sincerity. The initial debate about continuing the occupation had stormed through Creon's Council chambers and briefly out into the streets of Titania. The debate ended with the report that over a hundred wounded soldiers on their way home to Eldora had been captured and tortured, their mutilated corpses disfigured and desecrated in the foulest ways. This ended the initial debate in Eldora and the offices of the army were flooded with young men willing to volunteer for the army and take the fight to the Shardian.

"Nearly another hundred years has passed and little has changed," said Alfrahil. "The war still rages on and on and there is no end in sight."

"I agree brother, but you and I disagree as to how best to end the killing and the King will not listen to either of us, despite our personal experiences there," said Daerahil.

Both Alfrahil and Daerahil had served with the army, and both had been wounded and nearly killed along with Bernadus of Kozak when he was First Komandir of the Northmen and not yet King. Both brothers had come away with their own impressions of the land and its peoples. Alfrahil thought them an endless source of struggles and violence, a foreign people who were truly too different to ever expect them to conform to the ways of Eldora. Still he had no lingering dislike of Shardan or its peoples, and he privately hoped for another treaty that would bring the army home and end the war.

Daerahil, however, had found many things about Shardan he enjoyed: the food, the coffee, and especially the women. Shaking his head, Alfrahil hoped for what seemed the hundredth time his brother would curb his tongue about his solution to the southern war and simply allow his father more time to sort it out. He had little hope for his brother on this tangent however, but he hoped nonetheless.

Returning from his thoughts, Alfrahil took a sip of the Dwarven brew, and smiled appreciably at the bar keep though the beer was past its prime.

"How can you drink that vile concoction? It smells like a stable even from here," said Daerahil.

"How can you remove three wine stewards from your private estate in the past two years, demanding that they learn their trade more deeply before meddling with your precious casks and bottles again?" retorted Alfrahil.

"Aye brother," said Daerahil, with a dark smile. "We both have our own vices, but really you should come to my apartments more often and let me teach you about food and wine."

"And you, brother, should learn diplomacy from me and my advisors. You would not be in the constant trouble that you are in now if you followed my advice," said Alfrahil. Both of them now smiled tiredly and shook their heads at each other's stubbornness in all aspects, not just foreign policy and wine and beer.

"Regarding taxes and trade," began Alfrahil, and their conversation continued along this line for a while. It then moved on to foreign relations with the Elves and Dwarves, where they were actually more in agreement than on anything else. Finally Daerahil said, "Well brother someday these will all be your problems and I will do my best to support you when you are king."

"But you would wish to be king in my stead if the order of our births were reversed?" asked Alfrahil with a sardonic smile. "You believe that you could be a much better king than I." Shrugging his shoulders, Daerahil did not deny his brother's assertion, but speaking it aloud would be considered treasonous, especially in a public place. Daerahil knew that his brother was goading him again on something that they had spoken about privately.

Shrugging his shoulders in return, Daerahil said, "So rumor would convict me, but yes, if the kingship fell into my hands I would not refuse it and do my best to lead this country down a road only I can take them."

"Skillfully said, brother," laughed Alfrahil, "but I am glad that I can count on your help someday." Rising as if to go, Alfrahil leaned in and whispered, "One last private thing brother: end your relationship with your Shardic girl before Mergin finds out and you are in a predicament far worse than you are in today."

Hissing back, Daerahil said, "My personal life is none of your business. How did you find out and what have you said to anyone?"

"I have said nothing to anyone," said Alfrahil. "As to how I found out, there was a joke from minister Zarthir a few weeks ago when he was throwing a dinner party and he intimated that you and he were business partners, saying that he had helped you find new enthusiasm in "all things Shardic'. It didn't take much digging for me to find out the truth. Thankfully for you, the King and Mergin are completely preoccupied with the rebellion and have not spent much time delving into your personal life, but beware. After today, you can expect Mergin to have you watched much more closely, so keep things quiet until you are recalled from your new inspection tour and can end your relationship with her honourably and quietly. Also, if you are partners with Zarthir, keep that even quieter. He treads on the boundaries of conspiracy of corruption much of the time and it is probably only a matter of time before he is brought to justice."

"Your loathing of Zarthir is on record brother, as mine is of Mergin," said Daerahil, "but each of us has need of those that we can trust, and for some reason you believe that you can trust Mergin and I believe that I can trust Zarthir. Who knows if we can trust any man, even each other."

"I did not wish to make you angry," said Alfrahil, "but to warn you of making too many friends in the wrong places. Take heed of my words before you suffer yet another banishment from the City, or worse at the hands of Mergin and our father."

"And I would bid you return to the Citadel and curry more favor with Mergin and our father, for clearly you will side with them against me as well," said an angry Daerahil.

Alfrahil rose, his face set into a stoney mask and was about to leave, when Daerahil spoke. "Peace brother, I appreciate your advice and your fears for my future, but I can take care of myself."

Shaking his head sadly at his obstinate brother, Alfrahil left the tavern, heading out on foot to the royal stables where he kept his horse.

Daerahil waited a few more moments, finishing his fifth tankard of ale. Swaying slightly, he turned and left several silver pieces on the table to cover the bill for both of them and headed down to the fifteenth district where his girlfriend Hala dwelt. Tipping the hidden guardsmen at the entrance to the apartment, Daerahil climbed the stairs until he reached the third floor where he knocked lightly. Almost at once Hala appeared. Short, slender and dark, with a lovely brown complexion, she was willowy and graceful, something that never ceased to amaze Daerahil. Even now, as she closed the door behind him, he began to relax and accepted the glass of wine that she poured for him from his private stock.

"Tell me what is troubling you, Lord, and then let me bring you joy," she said. Hala sat on the long divan and had Daerahil place his head in her lap. She began a gentle massage to his face and neck as Daerahil began to rail against his father and stubborn brother. Soon after finishing the glass of wine, she bade him sit up and began to move them both to the bed in the small back room. Daerahil knew that the day and the night were about to become much more comfortable.

Waking the next day, he left Hala sleeping comfortably and slipped into his soiled clothes from the day before. Daerahil left the apartment quietly, again cursing the fact that he could not leave any evidence of his visits to Hala for any to find. He was taking enough of a chance by sending his wine down there for their mutual enjoyment. Dawn was not yet breaking the sky as Daerahil strode steadily up to his private apartments, not seeing or noticing that a Shadow had followed him the day before and now was following him home, soon to tell his tale to Mergin.

Daerahil strode into his apartments and seeing the first of his servants rising, he bade them prepare a bath and some breakfast and to be quick about it. Marda, his head woman, was just emerging from her small room off of the great room in the middle of his dwelling. She approached him with a small bow and said, "I hope your night was restful, Lord, after all of the ruckus that you caused in the Council chamber yesterday."

"Has rumor of those events spread that quickly?" asked Daerahil

"Yes, my Lord. All of the City is abuzz with your insults to Lord Mergin, so be careful Lord, I beseech you."

"Even you, Marda? Now you sound just like that brother of mine."

"You should listen to him my Lord, for he is always in good odor with the King and his ministers. Speaking of odor, where were you last night?" she asked as she sniffed at his clothes and saw his tousled appearance.

"You know very well where I was, I was on "official business'. Let us say no more about it."

"Yes, Lord. Come, your breakfast is ready."

Daerahil bathed, ate, and put on his mail, preparing for the first day of his new command.