The towering doors of the council chamber creaked slowly open, pivoting on their ornately carved bronze hinges. The artful display of wealth in this city was staggering and the sprawling room before them was no exception, resplendent in masterfully inlaid marble set before a backdrop of a grand sweeping colonnade. An angled shaft of light pierced the murky shadows and marked their obvious destination in the center of the chamber—a flat circular stage about a foot tall and made from a single piece of rose quartz. The scene was clearly meant to impress, and Thomas’s eyes popped for what seemed like the tenth time that morning.

The two hundred elven children had been interviewed first, the largest segment of their refugee group, followed by the thirty human children they had rescued at Dnarden Grove. Then the forty Windfelld villagers. Finally, it was time for Thomas and the other leaders of their ragtag group to go before the Grand Council of Forranwen.

Thomas glanced at his friends beside him. They certainly defied common convention. Nell, the beautiful eighteen-year-old woman of Windfelld: a fledgling mind mage with her cloud familiar, Misty, wrapped into bracelet form on her upper arm. Garen Hawken, the nineteen-year-old aspiring cadet of the Sky League, along with his superior, Commander Chints, the military-hardened forty-year-old woman that led their group more often than not. The family of Victor Lanrey, fleeing from the machinations of the evil Mage Rankel. Brogan, a teenage dwarf from Dnarden Grove looking to prove himself. And finally, Gina, Thomas’s own pet dog, fused with a spatial bag and a creature of the endless void, forming a fiercely loyal companion with infinite storage space and the ability to teleport between shadows.

He chuckled to himself. Goddess help whoever tangled with them now.

I hope this council of elves can keep an open mind.

The sore point was that the elven children had been rescued by humans. The elves had long considered themselves proudly independent from the human race. Humans were rare this deep in The Wilds, and even when the occasional merchant or traveler made it to the far-flung kingdom, they were instantly rebuffed. Most of these elves hadn’t seen a human for centuries, if ever, and rumors constantly circulated that all humans had been corrupted and were in league with the elves' ancient enemy: the demons. So the matter of humans rescuing two hundred of their own, and children at that, was very poignant indeed.

Thomas carefully kept his aura clamped down to level twelve as his old mentor Tyrek had taught him. He even went so far as to hide the fact that he was a half-elf himself, from his mother’s side, and could understand the elvish language perfectly.

After talking it through with the other leaders, they all agreed Thomas should hide his knowledge of the language as they could be privy to the elves’ unfiltered thoughts about them. If the elves thought the humans couldn’t understand them, they were more likely to let some vital tidbit of information drop.

It wasn’t precisely deceitful. Nobody specifically asked Thomas if he could speak elvish, so he never had to tell an outright lie. Besides, they had to use every tool at their disposal right now.

True, they had freed a large group of elvish children, but they were still a long way from a trusting relationship with these elves. Especially the ones here in the capital. From the scant few conversations Thomas had heard on the way in, these were far snobbier and less trusting of humans than the smaller elvish clans they had passed through in the outer reaches of the forest.

Their group climbed the single shallow step and gathered together somewhat defensively on the lit stage. The shaft of light was angled intentionally into their squinting eyes. It meant they were utterly exposed and thoroughly blinded to the chamber audience in the shadowy depths beyond.

Thomas reached out with his mana sight, sweating a little as he simultaneously kept a tight guard on his aura. The shadowy depths were covered in a shimmering veil that resisted his perception with surprising strength. He squinted his eyes, concentrating, and his mana sight pierced beyond the barrier to reveal an astonishing number of elves in the chamber. As many as two hundred were seated on ascending semicircular rows about fifty feet away. Many of them appeared to be quietly talking amongst themselves, but all Thomas heard was a deadened silence. Far in the upper back of the amphitheater layout were a dozen box-shaped structures that appeared to hold special significance because of their elevated placement and the ostentatious dress of their occupants within.

Thomas caught himself staring and immediately looked at the floor. He was supposed to be acting as a lowly level-twelve magic user, not someone that could pierce a high-quality perception barrier. Fortunately, Garen and Nell were standing in front of him and they appeared to be taking the brunt of the attention. As he glanced stealthily about, the elves in the veiled seating area disregarded him entirely. Just the way he liked it.

A tall male elf with long black hair ascended the stage and came into their view. He was regally dressed, with a finely embroidered velvet vest atop a green silk shirt and billowy linen trousers. Yet, for all the warm colors he wore, his face held an icy gaze, his pointy nose raised practically to the sky. The thin lips of his mouth were pursed in a cruel smile and his eyes were brimming with condescension.

As one, their group fell to one knee with their faces turned to the floor.

They had agreed on that action beforehand. They didn’t know if they would be greeted by the elvish equivalent of nobility, but everyone agreed a posture of humility would be a good start. Commander Chints and Garen were champing at the bit to return to Astra. However, Victor’s family aimed to make this their forever home, safe at last from the long reach of Mage Rankel. It would do them well to make an excellent first impression.

That simple action caused the elf to pause before he spoke.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Rise, humans from the west,” he said in a clipped tone.

His enunciation of the Adarian language was perfect, although he spoke the words with an odd cadence and a lilting accent. It reminded Thomas of his mother.

Their group rose to their feet and Brogan sheepishly raised his hand.

“... and dwarf,” said the elf.

Thomas thought he saw a sliver of mirth cross the elf’s features for a fleeting moment, but it was gone in the next instant, replaced with the same cold look as before.

Victor stepped forward as their elected spokesperson. He took a step forward before flourishing one of his perfect bows. “My lord, we are at your service.”

The elf acknowledged him with a slow nod, his head tilted at an angle. Then his eyes flashed and narrowed.

“My name is Moranon. I am the Speaker for the council today. You may refer to me as ‘Speaker’ for the time being, per council tradition.” Then he looked Victor straight in the eyes, bearing down on him with an air of authority. “Although I hold many other titles of great import. You would do well to remember that.”

Then Moranon raised his voice and turned about, addressing the entire chamber. “The council has convened to decide your fate. It seems some elves of questionable ethics in the outer reaches have been spinning some tall tales. Tall tales indeed. Of a considerable demon threat that has somehow remained undetected yet swallowed countless unregistered villages.

“Then your unlikely group mysteriously appears from The Wilds, destroys the battalion, and rescues the remaining children without asking for any reward. A most suspicious tale during a time of unrivaled menace from the human threat in the west. What have you to say for yourselves?”

Thomas’s fists were clenched tight in anger, but before he could speak, Victor’s smooth response rang clear, instantly mellowing the tension that had sprung to the air.

“A mere misunderstanding, dear Speaker, I assure you. We have proof of the demon threat. If we may?”

One eyebrow on the elf’s forehead arched up and he sported a haughty grin. “Proof? On behalf of the council, we would love to see such proof of the demonic presence on our borders. The ancient enemy that our elite ranger force has yet to detect. The threat that our Mages of Far Seeing have somehow completely missed. Please, good man, enlighten us with such evidence that would validate such a preposterous fable!”

The elf stretched his arm to the side where a small plinth of solid quartz materialized out of thin air.

Victor paused with his mouth open for a moment. “The evidence is … erm, quite large, dear Speaker.”

The elf released an audible “hmph” before waving his hand again. The plinth disappeared to be replaced with a sturdy table about ten feet long and three feet wide.

“Perhaps, the floor would be a better option?” said Victor.

The elf’s sarcastic grin morphed to a frown of pure annoyance. “By all means, use the entire stage if necessary!”

Victor winced. “What about the floor around the stage?”

The elf stood there, glaring at them for a full thirty seconds. Finally, he waved his hand again, dismissing the table. Then he pulled back the embroidered sleeve of his robe to reveal a strikingly-beautiful mana slate, covered in gems and winking with silver filigree in the light. He tapped it three times in quick succession, causing the angled light above them to enlarge and encompass an extra thirty feet around the circular stage on all sides.

Victor looked around and shook his head. “Well, it’s not perfect, but we’ll have to make it work. Gina, if you would be so kind? Speaker, you may want to stand back.”

Thomas lowered Gina to the floor from where she was slung around his shoulder, then hurriedly retreated from the stage and onto the floor with the rest of the group.

The elf’s brow knitted together when he saw a stylishly furred woman’s purse ambling toward the center of the stage. When he saw the rest of their group step off the stage and back away, he snorted and pointedly took a single step back.

“That may not be enough, Speaker,” said Victor, a good twenty feet away from the stage now.

“Human, I assure you whatever tricks you are playing, they will not be well received here,” said Moranon, raising his voice with indignation. “I have stood on this council for over a hundred years. When Garbrook the Destroyer was sentenced, I pronounced his judgment from this very position. No matter what your feeble minds have planned, it will fail!”

Victor shrugged, stepping back and calling loudly, “Gina, he’s all yours.”

Then Gina erupted.

A deluge of troll’s blood blasted onto the floor in the middle of the stage, splashing all over Moranon’s rich robes. The flood quickly covered the entire stage, pouring over the edges to stream in rivers across the floor.

The elf screamed in disgust, but Gina was just getting started, vomiting out as many as ten demon corpses per second. Within no time at all, she was clambering atop a small mountain of them, spewing more bodies about her that tumbled down the hill to hit the bloody platform of quartz.

The corpse mountain steadily outgrew the stage and began encompassing the surrounding floor. Thomas and the rest of their group had retreated to the furthest edge that remained lit by the mysterious light from above, but the bodies kept coming.

The blood mostly drained in the direction of the hidden audience so Thomas was at no risk of getting soiled, but he estimated the current mountain of demons wasn’t even close to being all of them. It was only forty feet tall.

“Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!” the sodden elf shrieked, desperately clawing away from the heap of carcasses.

Gina stopped the deluge without any further instruction. After all, she understood Adarian perfectly. Then she barked down toward Thomas, who nodded and spoke into Victor’s ear.

“That’s only about half,” said Victor loudly. “Would you like us to deposit the rest of the bodies somewhere else?”

The angry elf shook out his sleeves before activating a cleaning enchantment. A sudden breeze blew through his robe, considerably brightening its gems and filigree, yet the fresh stains didn’t disappear.

“Ugh, troll’s blood? No enchantment will work against that. You have RUINED my finest council vestment!”

Thomas tightened his fists in anger at that, but Victor beat him to the punch once again.

“No, dear speaker, that was not us,” he said, tossing the fuming elf a wink. “That was your own pride.”