Twenty-fourth of Harbinger

At the centre of Narandir was an expansive clearing that had once been used as a city for the elves. Mishtar had constructed massive towers to concentrate the clan and assert his power over them. One had been shattered in Ashelath’s attack, and the elves had torn down the others in the weeks after Belkai had seized power. What remained were scattered remains of those towers, as well as two distinct graves. On the west was a flourishing flowerbed. Just off to the side was a patch of disturbed earth, a sword planted at its head. Mishtar had been buried there, a last mercy to one who had been so tragically misled. What caught the eye, however, was the broad patch of blackened earth with a single rose growing in its midst; the last resting place of Ashelath, the Father of Serpents. It was no accident that Belkai sat on a piece of rubble with that earth behind her, a visual testimony to her blood-bought authority. Davos and Lithmae sat to her right, Brimur and Arak to her left. Sashai and Lasiri sat beside Barilax, the leader of the Ikari who had travelled with Arak. They werejoined by two Wexton Spellcasters who had arrived during the night. It wasn’t an immense gathering, but Belkai knew that it represented an alliance that had not been seen for centuries, if at all.

“Lord Belkai, I confess, I did not believe the stories,” said the senior Spellcaster, a serious-looking Wexton named Raman, as he looked past her to Ashelath’s ashes. “It did not seem possible.”

“It never was,” Belkai told him. “But a new age is dawning I am glad Lumina chose to side with us and send you.”

“To be honest with you, we haven’t heard from Lumina.” He smiled sadly. “She has been silent for too long, it seems. But the princess Eiréne requested that we stand by you, and she is not to be refused.”

“I did not think that the princess cared much for our affairs,” Belkai said. “I have heard nothing from Wexburg.”

“Princess Eiréne is a good friend of our school,” the Spellcaster replied. “When she heard what happened in Lustria, she demanded that we come to your aid. She is not to be refused, regardless of her age. Wexburg will stand with you, despite the king’s misgivings.”

“I am grateful,” Belkai assured him. “Though you may not be so willing once you hear what I have to say.”

All eyes were on her as she began to speak, recounting events from the death of Ashelath until now, though she only gave the barest outline of what she had found within the dwarven ruin. By the end, Barilax was leaning forward with a grin on her normally dour face.

“So we need to kill some dwarves,” she growled. “I would be happy to oblige. Especially if they serve the one who has twice defiled our Dominion.”

Raman was more cautious in his response. “This is concerning, Belkai. If the Mirzali Compact has truly been violated, then Wexburg must go to war. But administratively, Nimura is our land. Our people live in the shadow of the Five Mountains. All their lives are at risk if we march east.”

“All our lives are forfeit if the dwarves gain their prize,” Brimur told him. “Their forefathers buried this secret for a reason. If Delorax gets his hands on such power, the results would be catastrophic. This is not about our earthly kingdoms. This is about a complete shift in the cosmic power structure. Nothing will escape unscathed.”

“Then what do you propose?” Raman asked.

“Narandir cannot survive a determined assault by dwarven armies,” Belkai announced. “The elves are too few, and even with the Ikari and the Orders sending some to our aid, it will not be enough. The dwarves once ruled these lands with an iron fist. We have no idea what might they can bring to bear upon us.

“I have sent messengers to every capital – Raman, they were probably arriving the same time you were coming here. I need every army to come to Narandir’s aid, or this war will be lost and Delorax will be free to unleash his fury upon every world.”

“You will not receive every army. You won’t receive more than a fraction,” Barilax announced. All eyes turned to her, but she didn’t hesitate. “The Ikari face dragons in the east, we cannot spare our clan fighters. And Lustria and Tios face their own threats.”

“What threats?” Davos asked.

Arak straightened before answering. “We heard whispers, reports of strange portals appearing in the sky. Creatures have been appearing that no one has seen before. Lustria is already shifting its forces to investigate the source.”

“So he plans to divide us.” Belkai closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. When she opened them, they burned with her anger. “I will not allow Narandir to fall. Raman, Wexburg must march on Nimura if they attack. Sashai, I need Svaleta’s armies, whatever the cost. And we need Lustria and Tios to attack from the east. Brimur, I don’t want to lessen our defences, but they need support if they are to overcome Delorax’s plans.”

“And the Ikari?” Barilax asked.

Belkai’s faced dropped as she turned to the orc. “I love the Dominion, Barilax. It was my home. But I cannot help until Delorax is stopped.”

“I know.” Barilax looked around the group. “But make no mistake, we will pay the price for this victory.”

Belkai forced away her pain at Barilax’s words. “As will we all if we fail.”

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“Is there no way to stop Nimura before any war begins?” Raman asked. “Surely there are alternatives.”

“We have taken one of their princes captive, as you know,” Belkai answered. “We will send him back with a peace offer. But they will reject it. Falkar and Delorax will not allow peace.”

“War is inevitable,” Sashai announced, and the fifteen year old stood tall. “It has come first to the Ikari. Narandir is next. It will not – it cannot – end there. We have pushed the Arcane too far for them to back down.”

Before anyone could respond, a young elf stepped into the clearing and hurried to Lithmae’s side. The chieftain thanked him, then looked to Belkai.

“You have more friends arriving, it seems,” he told her. They request permission to join us.”

“Of course.” Belkai stood and looked to the east as the messenger made a bird call. Six tall, pale-skinned humans, three male and three female, all dressed in faded tunics, exited the tree line and marched towards the council. They lined up before Belkai, backs to Ashelath’s grave, and bowed low. One man stepped forward, sadness showing in brown eyes that looked out from a scarred face.

“Lord Belkai, my name is Grishwar. I am of the Ulami tribe.” He looked around the group, pausing only when he looked to Brimur. The elf nodded at him and he continued. “Nearly thirty years ago a man and his wife struggled to conceive. In their desperation, they pleaded with the gods for a child. We recognised the divine nature of the baby, and in our fear we sent them into exile. Do you know of whom I speak?”

Belkai nodded slowly, and there was a brightness in her green eyes that Davos hadn’t seen in a while. “The man was my father, Androv. I never knew the woman.”

“So I have heard.” Grishwar nodded at Brimur. “We sinned when we rejected your family, though I believe Elkur had his purposes. You were born to be Brilhardem.

“The Correlate stands by the Exile. I came with a hundred, and they stand ready to serve the Lord of Narandir.”

“So many?” Lithmae murmured. Grishwar smiled.

“The Tribes stand by their own,” he declared. “I have led a company of our best through Nimura into your lands. The Tribes themselves are preparing for war, should they be needed.”

He returned his gaze to Belkai. “May I speak to your dwarven prince?”

Belkai nodded and Lithmae called out to a group who had been waiting just outside the clearing. They brought Greywall out blindfolded, gagged, and with his ears covered. At Belkai’s direction they removed it all and the dwarf found himself blinking at the sudden daylight as he stood in the middle of the group. He looked up as Grishwar stood before him with one hand resting on the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip.

“Do you realise what your king has done?” Grishwar asked, his voice calm and level. “You stand before five magical orders, the Ikari, and Narandir. You have violated the Compact. You have started a war that you cannot possibly win.”

“He has seen the source of Narandir,” Belkai told him. “He will not support any war that unleashes it on this world.”

“And do you trust the goodwill of dwarves?” Grishwar asked. When no one replied, he scowled at Greywall. “If the tales of the Brilhardem are true, then I know that you have been treated well. In the south, we have less restraints. What is your king’s plan?”

“I was not informed of the entire strategy. This was the only tunnel that I was aware of.”

“I doubt that very much,” Grishwar said quietly. He glanced at Belkai, then back to the dwarf. “Let me show you a southern custom.”

“Grishwar-” Brimur began to rise, but sat back down as he felt Belkai press against him. He looked over to her and she shook her head. Leave him be.

Grishwar ignored them both as he stepped closer to Greywall. The dwarf looked up at him defiantly, seeming to dare him to do his worst.

“We brand our prisoners in the south. We give them a permanent reminder of their humiliation.” Grishwar frowned. “I think something more personal is required here.”

Without warning, he snatched Greywall’s beard in his hand. There was a flash of fire, and a stream of ash fell to the earth. Greywall screamed and stumbled backwards, almost unrecognisable without the hair.

“I believe shaving the beard is a great shame in Nimura,” Grishwar said. “There will be no audience with your king – your father – and no glorious welcome to the prince of Nimura.”

Greywall looked to Belkai but was met with cold indifference. For the first time since his captivity he felt fear.

“So you are not earning yourself any favour right now,” Grishwar continued. “I’ll ask again. What is your king’s plan?”

He still did not answer. Now Belkai stood, and Grishwar took a step back.

“You serve no more purpose here, Greywall,” she announced. “Depart, warn your king. The kingdoms and the mages stand against him. If he does gain what he seems, it will be to his own destruction. There is no glory here for Nimura, only death.”

There was a rustling in the trees, then the first Blackwing appeared. The size of a child, its black leathery wings propelled it through the air at an incredible speed before its sharp talons seized Greywall and lifted him into the air. He let out a scream as the claws buried themselves deep into his shoulder, then he was snatched away. A half dozen Blackwings joined the first, and the flight headed due south.

“They will drop him on the slopes of Mirzali. He will be there within a day,” Belkai told the gathering. “All will see him shaven and in the bonds of Narandir’s creatures. There will be no hiding for him.”

“You may have just pushed us into the war,” Raman warned. “There is no turning back now.”

“I did not ask for war, Raman,” Belkai replied. “But if the Arcane want one, then I will make them pay with blood.”

***

It was, it seemed, a week for strange sights. The emergence of an Aliri trading caravan a few days ago had been enough of a shock for the soldiers along Svaleta’s northern border. The young captain overseeing this sector had allowed it, though, once he had verified that they held only enough weapons for self-defence. They had returned the day before, and this time he was struck by the beauty of one of the elven women. She looked like royalty as she sat on her horse, barely giving him a glance.

The captain was cleaning up after his lunch when he heard a shout. He quickly ran to the scout who’d called him, surprised to see three elves in armour crossing the border unarmed. One was clearly their leader, and the captain was shocked to see that it was the elven woman who had caught his eye. He stood with straightened back as she approached and handed him a letter.

“I am General Faelin of the Aliri Empire,” the elf announced in a sweet voice. “I have been sent by my king to offer Svaleta our aid.”

The captain’s eyes went wide as he read the letter. “You intend to march south?”

“Under your escort,” Faelin confirmed. “If you so please.”

The captain didn’t know what to say. In the finest tradition of armies everywhere, he dispatched a messenger to his regimental commander for orders.