Leadership isn’t quite what the songs and stories present. Giving rousings speeches, leading armies into battle, crushing your enemies and soaking up credit for a job well done… not only do they not occur often, but they can even be signs that you’re doing the job rather badly.
The real job involves far more mundane frustrations. There are the repeated meetings which often feel unnecessary. There is the bureaucratic entanglement that comes with delegation as orders trickle down through the ranks. And there is the omnipresent heart of true leadership: convincing those who follow you to both work harder than they should have to and take less than they deserve for it because that’s what the circumstances require.
I walked along the stone paths that had been broken away from the walls by our earthshapers, surveying the work around me. The earthshapers had made broad stairways between the three levels of the cave, and widened the central shelf while flattening the floor there. They’d begun the process of cutting out chambers for sleeping in, though I doubted this would be done by the time everyone needed rest.
White wisps of light hovered in the air of the cave, and the faintly glowing mist seeped in through both entrances before dispersing. The channelers guided mana from outside the cave into the wells that the earthshapers and everyone else drew from. Elves carrying stone were seemingly everywhere, and there were still many untidy piles of the earthshapers’ leavings. I gave my attention to anyone who wanted it—but only a little of it.
Most often, this meant that I told people no.
The wildhearts wanted to send their own picked scouts along with Valir’s hunting parties to do a psychic survey of the wildlife we might soon wish to use to our advantage. No, I told them gently: some of our people needed to increase their level limit quickly, and so for now we simply needed a few of them to warn of incoming danger and help our people find prey. An accounting of the tamability of local fauna would have to wait.
The warriors wanted wood, and plenty of it: barricades, towers, arrows, even makeshift sleds built to carry more wood—all these things would all be possible if we just cut down a few hundred trees. No, I told them, not yet—the nearest forests were still far enough, and dangerous enough, that nothing the timber would gain us was worth the expense of so much time spent by our hunting parties.
The parents all wanted more keys and more essence for their children, who were only level 5. No, I told them—they would have [Armor] skills soon enough, but strong children defended by weak warriors stand less of a chance than weak children defended by strong warriors.
And almost everyone wanted to be a part of the hunting parties that Valir and Zirilla were assembling. No, no, no, I told them—not yet, but soon.
I couldn’t blame them for any discontent. They’d come to the new world, these elves who had so many skills, and I’d asked them to be little more than pack mules, first organizing our supplies and now carrying rock, channeling mana, and waiting.
I sent Valir and his people off. With the [Sight] keys I’d gathered, our telepaths could make [Psychic Sight] with of their [*Mind] cores, allowing them to stay in contact with one another over relatively long distances despite their low levels. It meant that they could rely on telepathy, and not flares or elemental signals, to call me in case of an emergency—and thus they could range farther.
Valir was going to lead his people along the stream, assessing the threats of the forest that lay between us and the slopes of the mountain. The presence of the air elementals meant that we would likely be looking for a permanent settlement in or near the mountain range, and so we’d be leading our people through that forest, soon enough. What was more, now that I could fly far I’d be looking to harvest keys on the more distant mountains—leaving the slopes of this one, and the wyverns there, to our hunters. The other hunting parties would be moving across the plains and through our layer of the mist, hoping to find more [Missile] and elemental-type keys.
I sent them off without much pomp, not wishing to instill in them any belief that now was the time for glory. They needed to get the numbers up and raise the limit of our strength, and they needed to be cautious about it.
Then I made the rounds inside the cave again, where I found myself telling a great deal more people to stick to their orders despite their good ideas.
Seriana found me in the midst of all of this, while I spoke with some of the weavers of the main level. Soon I had turned my attention to her.
“I’ve time enough to see you now,” she said. “What do you need?”
“Only to speak with you,” I said. “Come. Let’s walk.”
I turned and led her toward the main entrance, which incidentally brought us past most of the elves. I was happy to be seen with her. In the long term, one of the worst threats to the colony was internal division—and Seriana’s husband was a traitor. She had been the first to rise and declare that she would follow me, but that would be easy enough to dismiss as a calculated act on her part.
When I said nothing further, Seriana cocked her head and asked: “What did you want to talk about?”
“How fare the weavers?” I asked.
The [Weave] aspect allowed one to make many skills which let them bestow benefits on others. Pure [Weave] was a powerful boost to [Focus] that helped with maintaining such spells. In our current circumstances, the weavers could help shore up the weaknesses of our warriors’ low levels.
Hassina, however, had given them none of the keys I’d collected, instead focusing on filling the skills of our other classes to get our hunting parties out as soon as possible. It was a decision I agreed with, but I knew that the mages would likely feel otherwise—hence why I’d asked.
We needed something banal to talk about while we were within earshot of the others.
“They grow impatient,” said Seriana. “They feel their talents are wasted. With the right investment, they could make a party of our level tens function more like level fifteens, and they know it. But Hassina asked Valir and I, and it was decided that more hunters would be better than stronger ones, at least right now.”
“I know how much they can contribute,” I said. “It can’t be easy, being asked to wait.”
We made it to the cave’s entrance, moving past the guards and into the mists. Seriana didn’t question where I was leading us. She was silent now that we were outside, perhaps understanding that our previous conversation had been little but a show.
When we’d got far enough, I pressed out with my claim—Seriana relinquished her own and I encompassed us in a sound-muffling patch of air.
“I want to talk,” I said at last.
“About what?”
“Anything and everything, Seriana. I want to know your thoughts and feelings. I want there to be clear air between us as we move into the days ahead.”
Seriana was quiet for a moment. “As I see it, the air between us is clear, Lux Irovex. I am your archmage and serve at your pleasure. Inasmuch as the elves of Tel Terana may have difficulties adjusting to life here, and to your commands, I will help to keep them facing the proper direction. For the good of all.”
“For the good of all,” I echoed. “And that is the whole of it?”
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Beside me, Seriana’s voice and bearing grew a little more stiff. “Do you expect more, Lux Irovex?”
“You were brought here unwillingly,” I said. “There is no ill will between us?”
Slowly, she glanced at me before returning her eyes to the mists. “It was not I whom you forced here, but my husband. I chose to go because he was going. If that means in your mind that I came unwillingly, then I will not argue.”
“Is that to continue, then? You will not argue?”
Again, Seriana glanced over at me. At last the barest note of frustration entered her voice, and she asked: “What do you want, Aziriel?”
I returned her gaze. “To know your thoughts,” I said. “Of all the high council, it is you who I know the least. And it is you who has greatest cause for dissatisfaction.”
“Would that you had come this topic head on,” Seriana said, frustration still in her voice. “We could have spared ourselves these needless circles. Truly, Aziriel, do you think that I would set myself against you because of my husband’s position?”
“No.”
“Then what is the point of this?” she asked. “Do you expect me to ask that you argue for amnesty when it comes time for him to be judged?”
“No.”
“Then I see no need to speak on the matter,” she said, her voice returning to its usual cool, measured cadence.
“And there are no other matters that you have thoughts on?”
“There are many matters I have thoughts on,” she said. “You cannot be more specific?”
“No.”
Seriana was quiet beside me, and I could feel her frustration building. But I knew her more than I let on, and I knew her thoughts weren’t limited to these few spare sentences she’d spoken. She had pages more to say—but the wizards were always careful with their words. The politics of the Sable Tower had run deep and intricate, and being forthright was against their every instinct.
“I don’t hate you, Aziriel,” she said at last. “And when it comes time for Luthiel’s judgment, I will try not to hate you no matter what comes, believe that.”
She let out a faint sigh as she stared into the mists. “I don’t hate you,” she repeated. A hint of iron made its way into her voice. “But I see you.”
I didn’t ask her what she meant. I only waited.
“After the Doom,” she said, her voice catching a little on the word. “Many of the greatest among us were dead. For his misjudgement, Luthiel had fallen from his lofty heights. Hashephel did not break his tradition of abstention, neutrality. You saw these things, saw that we were desperate and despondent, and you struck. It is no trifling matter, when you strike—and yet whether you have struck the right chord or the right weakness, I cannot tell. We had two of the manahearts left to us, and now we have none, each of them traded for… this.” She looked around at the omnipresent mist around us, her tone neither condemning nor celebrating the new world. “With cheers, they trusted you to give away the most potent of our artifacts, the only things we could offer as currency in exchange for a god’s favors. And I see what it bought us—and bought you.”
She looked down and shook her head gently. “The glory of all glories is yours, if we survive. Make good upon your word to give us abundant children while still retaining immortality, and you will be like a god to the elves. With Luthiel fallen, you are the only firstborn who will truly be firstborn in their eyes. Already you were one of the greatest among us. What shall you be, in five hundred years time, if through struggle and striving all that you have foreseen in our future comes to pass?”
Now she turned to me, the look in her eyes shrewd and reserved. “And what will you do, I wonder, if anything should threaten to take that destiny away from you? You have worked so hard for it.” Her voice softened to a featherweight, and she added: “Alcuon died for it.”
I said nothing. Seriana turned back to the mists. “[Primeval Champion],” she said. “Protector of the elves. I love you, but I see you and I fear you. Gods above, I fear you.”
I said nothing. We walked in silence for a while.
“When you made your secret bargain with us, you said that we would not return for hundreds of years,” Seriana said at last. “Then we come to this world and you reveal that we are far, far up the River of Realms. We know of no way to make a ship that can transition from this realm to the River without being destroyed, not here where the essence is so thick. And even if we did, we know of no way to build a ship that survives such currents, or one that survives the aether whales. And you are old—older than everyone but Luthiel. The passing of centuries may yet answer many questions, solve old problems… but that is no guarantee. There is a chance, a strong chance, that we are never, ever going back.”
“Not without the aide of Lord Kalak,” I said.
“And he asks for two manahearts to move but a few thousand of us,” said Seriana. “And so I say again: it may be that we will never go back.”
“Yes,” I said softly. “You have the right of it.”
Both of us were silent again for a time. At last, Seriana said: “I’ve said all I wish to, Aziriel.” After a pause, she added: “Unless there was something else you were hoping to hear from me?”
She knew that there was, and she could have just come out with it… but she would prefer that I force it. Very well, then.
“Long have the elves been creatures of tradition,” I said. “High, wild, deep. This world is inarguably tilted toward the flourishing of the wild elves. As for the others, it is not simply a matter of preservation—for that attitude is to treat entire cultures as artifacts to be displayed in a museum. We must find a way to make our three branches continue to grow and flourish while still sharing the same roots.”
Seriana fixed me with a cool stare. “And are you worried, Aziriel, that in seeking to maintain our traditions, I will become an obstacle to you?”
“I am worried,” I confessed. “But I’m worried that you might see conflict with me inevitable, in this matter.”
Seriana dropped her gaze and sighed. “If our ideas should find themselves at odds, here, then we will compete them before the conclave, and let our people decide. The high elves outnumber the wild three to two. I must admit that if our people are divided between us, with the elves of Tel Telana following me, and the elves of the great wilds following you, I will hold the greater sway.”
She shook her head. “But that… is not how things will go. The elves follow you, and while I might sway some of the high elves to any cause I put forth, I fear it will not be many, and I know that your people’s loyalty is utterly unshakeable—except perhaps if Zirilla speaks counter to you, which I doubt she will. What’s more… Luthiel and I have always acted in tandem. He was the archmage, but he kept my council. All know this. Now, I will not hide that the position is simply reversed—I listen to my husband. He is still wise, despite everything.” She sighed. “If I speak against you, it will be seen as the machinations of Luthiel, who has fallen from grace. This is unavoidable.”
Seriana surprised me, then, by smiling a little. It was a wry, ironic smile: a smile that she consigned herself to. “A council we may be, but I will lose whatever power I hold if I exercise it. These are our positions. I see that.”
We had been gradually walking up the slope of the mountain, and now the mists thinned around us. I turned, leading Seriana back toward the cave.
“How do I stay your fear, Seriana?” I asked softly. “How do I loosen my grip? I need unity among the elves, not for any one path to be chosen. Unity.”
“Let me think on it,” she answered. “There will be no conclave until we find a place to settle and choose our true high council. Before then I will have your answer.”
“As you wish.”
“Now let me ask,” she said. “Have you pressed Zirilla to speak on these matters the way you have with me? On division, on Luthiel, on our traditions?”
“No.”
“My mind is that she would see all that I do.”
“Most likely.”
“Then perhaps you’re trying to see more discord than is necessary. You could have heard all of this from one of your own people.”
I paused. She had a point. “You’re the archmage,” I said pointedly. “And a sea elf. If any of us should be giving council on our threatened traditions, it’s you.”
“True, true,” said Seriana. “Though Zirilla would say it all in fewer words.” When she spoke again, I could hear a smile in her voice. “And perhaps with more verve.”
“True,” I said, laughing. Seriana laughed a little with me—just for a moment.
As we came back to the cave, I asked: “Do you think I should speak with Luthiel?”
Seriana paused. “As our leader, or as his sister?”
“The latter.”
“Only if you’re going to comfort him, then,” she said softly. “But I’m not even sure… do you think you could?”
“I don’t know.”
“I see. Do what you think is best.” She gave a gentle shrug. “As for the sea elves, a clear first step lies before us.”
“That being?”
“Find a sea.”