Meromis stood by the window of his solar. From the heights of his igdrus tree tower he could see much. To the north he saw the boughs of Roamingstar shivering as their armies rolled like a wave to join with his own. Beneath his living castle his forces gathered in the midnight gloom, moving like wraiths through shadow and fog.

This is a good mustering, he thought. Roamingstar, Sorrowhall, Thundervault, Redsky, even Stoneflight. Nearly every elf who can string a bow has been roused.

“Any word from the Starborn?” his daughter asked.

Meromis stirred at her voice. She is quiet. I didn’t hear her enter. Good. He turned his head slightly in her direction and said nothing.

“He’ll have to move eventually,” she said, “Dreamsand will be forced to choose a side before long.”

“And Ivanus will rue not joining with us,” said Meromis. “He’ll have either Heth or Old Tusk as his opponent, and he’ll wish he’d chosen the gnolls with the rest of us.”

“Father, they’re refugees. They aren’t invading Konistra, they’re fleeing Noth. Can’t we shelter a few packs at least?”

“Had they come alone, I’d consider it.” He turned to face her and held her gaze, allowing a slight amount of sadness to show in his cobalt eyes. She was young when her mother was crushed within the bowels of a centaur, and at times needed a reminder of the brutality with which her flame had been extinguished. Moonveil had grown to love his daughter as much as they had loved his wife, and her support would be vital to keeping his soldiers motivated to hunt down the gnolls.

The beastkin were hard foes to rouse his people against, having much in common with them beneath the skin. The gnolls howled in their throats while the elves howled in their hearts, but they howled all the same. Both kins felt the heart of the world beating beneath their feet, felt the flow of its blood when they forded brook and stream, and both kins saw with nose and ear as much as with their eyes. Seeing with more than just the eyes was the way of both gnoll and elf, the way of the animal, the way of the hunter.

“I can’t imagine Ivanus Starborn going to war with Old Tusk,” his daughter said. “The orcan way is pure, and the elves of Dreamsand are virtuous to the core. Surely the gold mongers in the Sea of Clay would be easier to stir his people against."

She would be right, he thought, if Dreamsand were ruled by any other elflord. “Ivanus has a grip on their minds,” he told her, “as deft a grip as you have on your glaive, or Siandus his bow. He could order his people to set their oases ablaze and fill their cisterns with bilge and they’d obey him.”

He watched intently as Dathenyn lowered her head and cast her eyes to the candles on his desk. His solar was dark save for those three dancing lights, while the hall outside was lit by torches of blue salted flame. His daughter’s crimson hawk of hair glowed a deep purple where touched by that light, and the faint scars that marked her warriorhood could be seen on her slender face.

“Look at me,” he told her. She looked up and met his eyes. “I know the gnolls for what they are, but it makes no difference. They come in hordes, taking what they will from whom they wish, and they bring those twisted creatures with them. Such a rabble will only cause harm, whether they mean to or no. And so I cannot afford them my patience. Konistra is no more their home than Noth. I pity them, but I must do my part in preserving the land the six kins share.”

“Father,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, “I don’t take you for some war mongering tyrant. You’ve brought light to this dark forest, and at such great cost. I know the danger of letting the gnolls run wild, and I haven’t forgotten mother. I just wish we could learn from past mistakes and find a better way.”

“Daughter, why are you so quick to judge the choices of our forebears? They lived through the Great Year, when the world bent and the sun fled and the oceans churned. The sky itself made war on our ancestors and they survived. I deem them wise beyond any reckoning we have now, and they chose to drive the gnolls from Konistra. They and every generation hence.”

He peered at her, searching her face and body for her thoughts and feelings. For a moment she stood still, revealing nothing, then she lifted her eyes, and in a half circle lowered them. Defiant, he thought, like her grandmother.

“Let me tell you a tale from my past,” he said in a gentle tone. Her eyelids relaxed, and she squinted as a child does when ready for sleep. “I was a small boy, just turned twenty and three. It was after your grandfather’s death, but we had yet to leave the Wandering Isle. One evening I was on the red shore, looking across the water to Canthor. I’d tried to count the towers of the city of Kunlun. I’d counted to ninety when a wave rose so high I could no longer see them. I was angry at the wave. I’d been counting the towers for so long.”

Dathenyn smiled, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“I was not so cautious as I am now,” he continued, “I stood adamant, refusing to let the wave disturb my count. I’d worked so hard and was not about to start my labor over again. When the wave crashed down on me I was struck unconscious and carried far to sea. If it wasn’t for the orc stronghold close by, I’d have certainly drowned. As it was I awoke near a bonfire the size of a mountain, surrounded by a dozen Stonearrow orcs and one very cross mother. Dathenyn, can you guess what I did the next time such a wave rose in my sight?”

“Knowing you, father, I imagine you ran towards every wave you saw with your toy driftwood swords, determined to slay the very tide.”

“Orvar knows I wanted to, but my mother's scolding wisened my heart. I lived for the wind and foam, and danced around the Stonearrow bonfires from night to dawn. But whenever a wave rose higher than Kunlun’s high spires, I ran back up the dunes and climbed the tallest tree I could reach. What a wave does once, Dathenyn, it will do again. Now, if the gnolls were to offer us another way... If they’d sent an embassy instead of an army…”

Dathenyn cocked her head ever so slightly to the left, then looked him in the eye and nodded once. Good. She’s with me.

“I heard Grar asked for aid against the goblins,” her voice was lighter now, more free.

“He has, but not in earnest. He tests me, to determine what ties remain between us.”

Her eyes widened gently and she blinked twice.

“Daughter, when we ride from here, we will be away for some time and will be pressed to always use the silent tongue. I’d hear your voice now, while we can still hazard open speech.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, father. I’ve been amongst the five for quite a while. I've become so accustomed to using the quiet words with other elves.”

“It’s alright, wild girl. To answer your question; yes, I’ve responded to Grar. I sent three squadrons of archers to harry the goblins as they go underground. A token response, but Grar will know my meaning, and our peaceful ties will continue. The other kins are spiraling closer to the vortex, but when war erupts they will see the elves united against the gnolls, and won’t dare try and draw us into their strife.”

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“So by rallying against the gnolls, we evade the war brewing between Eruhal and Old Tusk, and the war between Heth and the Araad.”

He nodded. “Sadly, both conflicts are inevitable. Nandi tires of King Karli’s shifting loyalties and petty greed. The former king of Heth had to sell many precious things to rebuild after the comet fell, but Karli merely covets wealth. He auctions his soldiers out to any who would pay, making them no better than slaves, and often times they are on both sides of a battle. Many a time now he has secretly commanded his men hired to one lord to flee the field, having taken bribes from the other side. Nandi is weary of his lackluster virtue, and she is not one to stand idly by while a great realm suffers under a mediocre tyrant.

"As to Eruhal and Old Tusk, that tragedy has been mounting unstoppably for generations. Verrold tried to put his people at ease, but human peasants are small minded and fearful, and quick to attack any orcs who stray near their farms. And the orc Chieftains can only hold back their people’s cries for vengeance for so long, especially as they are without their Khan.

“How could I choose sides in these disputes? Who should Moonveil support when called upon? Should I alienate all by ignoring their summons? By driving the gnolls back our forces will be occupied in a task that serves every kin. None will risk disrupting us, for their own sakes, and we'll be spared from having to choose which of our neighbors to make enemies of.”

“And what of Primus?”

Meromis turned back to the window and narrowed his eyes. The enormity of Mount Obrus filled the night to the west, its snow laden haunches drinking the scarlet light cast down by the red invader. The blue eye within the star's red blaze was faint, flickering lightly but once every few moments.

“I don’t know,” Meromis’s soft voice had taken a hard edge. “Their hope died with Destin. If his widow were not so crushed by grief she might challenge the new Empress, but I doubt she has the resolve."

"What of his son? He might seek vengeance when he's grown."

"Young Jenner is in the new Empress’s thrall, from what our agents tell me. I fear Primus of Drow will continue to tear itself to pieces. One day, when your children’s children are old, Primus will be no more than an empty cave and a sad tale.”

“It’s a tale they’ve authored for themselves. You did what could be done.”

“All the world bleeds,” he said, looking at the star. “Forest, mountain, cave, field, and now even the sky. That star is a tide, daughter, a harbinger. A wave of blood and fire from the lands beyond.”

“Speaking of invaders from strange lands, Gurgu Driggs is alive.”

Meromis turned sharply. “I ordered him hanged.”.

“And I saw that order through. Somehow he escaped and reformed the Grim Whimsey. I don’t trust him, of course, but the Whimsey did help us kill the centaurs.”

"Is Ixix with him?"

"Yes. Grandell was there in the Coldwood where we found the bodies of the orcs among the gnolls. It was he who first discerned the presence of the centaurs. At the time I wasn't aware that Driggs was alive, or that Grandell had returned to his service. Driggs waited 'til we'd engaged the centaurs before showing himself."

“I should have lopped off his mangled head when I had him. I could have sold his clink for half the mannarim under Obrus.”

“That's the other news I bring.”

“What do you mean?” he asked quickly. There was something in her voice, a sense of awe…

“Mannarim,” her lips spread in a smile. “The dwarves of Thrond have learned to forge it.”

“Truly?”

“Nandi’s Janissaries wielded mannarim brands, gifts from Grar.”

“How do you know?”

“The Captain of the Owl Guard said they were gifts, but nothing of their make. But I could see the truth of the swords. They were beautiful, father, and sharper than any steel. They looked like purest silver, and gleamed like golden flame when swung. And, I felt a strange power coming from them. They sang in the air, even when sheathed.”

“You felt the ohr. The white mannarim is alive with it. So, Grar and Nandi stand together, their armies wielding the most lethal weapons our world has known. The lines are drawn then. I’ll counsel the other elflords to send token forces to harass the goblins. So long as we stand by Thrond and the Araad, we’ll be among the victors.”

“You claim to know the outcome of a war before it's fought?”

“Have you met Queen Nandi, wild girl? Her mind is sharper than those mannarim swords. And Grar... I will not make a foe of him. I’d sooner wrestle the King of Graves than meet Grar Narhim in the field."

"You fought him before."

"And lost. We killed a few dozen foresters and their guards for harvesting our trees without leave. Grar sent his White Bull with three hundred Sunderers and we paid dearly. Those were grim days for us."

"And here I've always thought of them as our friends."

"The friends of elves are other elves, Dathenyn. As for our relations with Thrond; when Grar brings an opponent to their knees, he then helps them back to their feet. I prefer Moonveil remain standing from now on."

A muted horn called through the night, followed by a chorus of muffled cries. Roamingstar had arrived.

"Come," said Meromis. His daughter nodded and picked her glaive up off the floor in the hall. Meromis lifted his double back scabbard from its stand and strapped it around his torso. With their weapons ready they both stepped onto the sill of his window, took hold of the pulleyed ropes that hung along the trunk of the great igdrus tree, and descended into the dark below.

As soon as their feet planted lightly into the soft, damp soil of the forest floor, they both blew into muted pipes that hung about their necks. Two faun haired stags sprang from behind another igdrus tree and bounded up to them. Thunder, Meromis's mount, lowered his great horned head and gently pressed it into Meromis's shoulder. Lightning, his daughter's steed, nuzzled her so fiercely that she had to hold his head still by the antler in order to mount him.

“Rally the van,” Meromis told his daughter. Dathenyn signaled Lightning forward with her knees and rode with her glaive in the air. Mounted elves rode after her in a throng, eager to be the tip of the spear.

“Meromis.”

Meromis peered through the ranks of soldiers passing silently around him. “Besselian,” he said back. Besselian Sunwind, Lord of Roamingstar, the tallest and strongest elf Meromis had ever known, sat on a red haired elk the size of a bull. He was clad in a long coat of blued steel scales and a silver crownhelm crested with a four pointed star. Meromis leapt onto Thunder and rode next to Besselian, then placed his hand on the other lord’s shoulder. Besselian returned the gesture and locked eyes with Meromis. Meromis saw in Besselian’s face that the elves of Roamingstar had ridden hard, but still had their strength and were spoiling for a fight.

“Soon,” Meromis said. “Keep your blades sheathed for now. We ride to Solstice first. There all the elflords will meet, and then the gnolls will be ousted once more.”

“All the elflords?” Besselian asked.

With a look, Meromis confirmed what Besselian had expected, that Ivanus Starborn would not be among the lords gathering at Solstice.

“Let him grapple with the dwarves of Heth,” Besselian said, “and see how long he lasts.”

“Or how long he can remain neutral. I think that’s most likely his plan. But nevermind that motley fool. The Pillars of Dawn are assailed, and the tide is rising once again.”

Meromis wheeled his stag around and the lords leaned forward, signaling their mounts into a full run. Behind them their armies charged and the Starwood was filled with a tempest of shadow warriors on horned steeds. Dirt and grass flew in black clouds behind the heels of the mighty warstags, and the few blades of moonlight that pierced the forest canopy splintered through the branches, then rained down like a shower of falling stars upon the roiling sea of elven spears. Wave after wave they poured through the Starwood, an unending storm of silent warriors spreading through the trees like lightning that struck without thunder.