by Lee Dunning
“Dwarves know this story?” Raven said, eyes widening in surprise.
“You bet,” Foxfire said, ignoring the curious glances his phrase drew. “The world knows all kinds of things about us. Mostly, it’s the older races who retain knowledge of those ancient days. The dwarves, the gnomes and the dragons have long memories, and enough interest to write things down. For the most part, they don’t have reason to alter the facts like we apparently do. But come on—finish telling the story.”
W’rath caught the pleased smile Foxfire’s words brought to Raven’s face. She’s enjoying this. He didn’t blame her. She’d spent a good part of her short life researching, and probably had few opportunities to share what she had learned.
“So,” Raven said, “Umbral had his task and he took it back to the Shadow Elves under his command. Since most of them, aside from Umbral, couldn’t channel magic, and weren’t large enough or strong enough to trade blows with an enemy, they’d long since taken to looking at problems differently than their larger, magically adept cousins. After a time, they hammered out a plan.
“Umbral put together a small team. Only his strongest psions would participate as the plan they’d developed required mental strength, discipline and endurance. In the dead of night they set out for the Frost Giant camp. There were only a few hundred Shadow Elves and thousands of giants. Using their skills at stealth and their ability to hide in shadows, they entered the camp and sought out candidates for their task. They teleported onto their targets and hid within their hair, psychically burrowing into their minds. The elves sifted through the Frost Giants’ brains, learning about their fears, hatreds and desires. Using that information, they planted false memories, stirred their passions and suppressed their inhibitions.
“The Frost Giants awoke to find themselves embroiled in battle, not with the elves, but with their own kind. Real and imagined wrongs consumed them, sending them into a blind rage. Elf against giant in a fight didn’t generally end well for the elf, but giant against giant served the elves much better.
“The violence spread. Once a giant fell to the weapons of his kin, or found himself so committed to a fight he couldn’t hope to escape, the Shadow Elves teleported to new victims. As more giants entered the fray, it became easier to urge them into killing their fellows. The carnage was terrible.
Raven threw her shoulders back and brandished an imaginary sword. “Umbral sought out King Frostbeard and perched boldly on his shoulder, burying his sword into the giant’s muscle and using it to anchor himself. He wanted his father to see him as he obliterated the giant army. He completely subjugated the giant king’s mind and sent him into battle against his people. King Frostbeard waded through his thanes, slaughtering any who got in his way. Those still free of the influence of the Shadow Elves banded together to try to stop their maddened king, all the while oblivious to the tiny elf on his shoulder.
“King Frostbeard stumbled up to the First, nearly bled dry, one of his arms chopped off at the elbow, his body nothing but a mass of wounds. Spears protruding from his chest and back, he collapsed to his knees before the Supreme Warlord of the elves and breathed his last.
Face grave, Raven gazed past her audience as if the deeds of that terrible day played out somewhere in the distance. “Beyond the dead king the last of his people lay dead or dying in the snow. Not a single Shadow Elf had fallen during the entire battle. Umbral had succeeded in the task given him by his father.”
“Nicely told!” Foxfire said, clapping appreciatively.
Raven made a half bow and then waved off the applause, suddenly bashful. “I really love those old stories.”
Kela stepped closer to the painting and made a show of examining it. “You’re painting needs touching up,” she said. “The giant king needs to lose an arm and have a few dozen spears sticking out of him. And someone needs to paint a tiny Shadow Elf up there on his shoulder.”
“Oh, very amusing,” Kiat said, arms crossed defensively across his chest, lips turned down in a sulk.
“No more comments on the veracity of the story, K’hul?” W’rath prompted, deliberately dropping the use of ‘Lord’. He tried to keep his grin under control, but he hadn’t had so much fun in quite a long time and his efforts proved futile.
Surprisingly, K’hul appeared completely unperturbed, either by the story or W’rath’s overly familiar manner. “In truth, I’ve heard this version of the story too. My father told it to me. The K’hul line makes a point of passing on important family history to each generation. The story doesn’t end there, though. Perhaps Lady Raven would like to elaborate on the complete story?”
Raven shook her head. “I don’t understand your meaning.”
“Really, lady? Your gnomish scholar and his dragon didn’t expound upon the events that came right after the Frost Giant defeat? Allow me then. The arrogant upstart, Umbral, jumped down from the dead king’s shoulder and demanded of the First his promised reward. The First, enraged that Umbral had treated the battlefield as an opportunity to show off, thereby trivializing all of the Elven lives lost in the war against the giants, refused him. At which point the wretch, drunk from his success over the savages, thought himself better than the First and attacked him with the full force of his mind and his coarse magic. Though gravely wounded, the First responded to this knavish attack with might of his summoned elemental companion, and crushed Umbral like an insect. I don’t think I need go on. Even the least informed of us know how the rest of the tale goes.”
“No one likes a show off,” Kiat said. He wilted under W’rath’s baleful gaze, and quietly slipped behind K’hul’s protective mass.
“I guess I’ve learned something,” Raven said, voice thoughtful. “I’ve read dozens of accounts about various historical events, but none actually tied a specific incident with the fall of Umbral.” She smiled at K’hul. “Thank you, Lord K’hul—that explains so much and fills in some gaps for me.”
W’rath barely managed to suppress his laughter. The stunned expression on K’hul’s face was priceless. Raven seemed genuinely grateful for the information, completely ruining any hopes K’hul had harbored to embarrass her. How very disappointing for you, old boy.
“Wait,” Kela said. She looked at those gathered in disbelief. “You’re saying all of this hate and discontent between Shadow Elves and the rest of us is because the First broke his promise and his incredibly powerful son threw a tantrum?”
“I expect the resentment the two felt toward each other had built up for some time before that incident,” Raven said. “This final insult simply triggered Umbral’s rage.”
“He had his father’s temper,” Lady Swiftbrook said. Her eyes met K’hul’s and his lips twitched in disgust.
W’rath caught the look and recognized a sore point when presented so nicely for him. “K’hul, old chap,” he said, enjoying the dismay the sound of his voice brought to his nephew’s face, “are you of the crowd that likes to conveniently forget Umbral was half First Born?”
“He may have had father’s temper,” K’hul said, “but he inherited little else from his father. I expect even Lady Raven’s famed gnomish scholar didn’t describe Umbral as bearing any physical resemblance to the First.”
“Not if you mean general things like build, height, and skin color,” she said. “He did mention that Umbral supposedly bore a strong resemblance to his father, facially. Unlike the Elven texts I’ve read, Professor Steamcaller’s works describe Umbral as a handsome youth, small but well-built due to the exertions of the life he lead.”
Nearly forgotten, Kiat peered out from behind K’hul’s back. “That’s a ludicrous claim. Why should we take an outsider’s word for any of this? We have multiple works concerning Umbral, and a great many of them portray him as a monstrous being who none could look upon without feeling pity or disgust. He’s the reason we don’t allow Shadow Elves to reproduce with any other Elven race—the twisted, hideous results are just too much to bear.”
W’rath’s eyes
widened. He’d had no idea the elves restricted mated pairs by race. What a truly ridiculous notion. Raven’s clenched teeth and balled fists told him she agreed. W’rath hated to remain silent, but Raven’s gnome scholar mentioning his strong resemblance to his father, made him cautious. Raven could handle this argument. He’d hold his tongue and do his best to look as dissimilar to the First and his overly angry nephew as possible.
“How can you even say that and not feel a total fool?” Raven said, her anger with Kiat getting the better of her. “Do you truly believe no other children came about from mixed unions? Umbral was simply the first of many such children. Once the First took a Shadow Elf as a lover, it’s not surprising others would seek companions from among them as well—if for no other reason than to mimic their leader.”
Raven’s aggression took even Kiat by surprise. He retreated several steps and seemed on the verge of fleeing. With a toss of her head, Raven dismissed him and switched her focus to K’hul. W’rath tensed, ready to intervene. The young First Born soul sharing Raven’s body seemed to be firing Raven’s passions, leaving her with little sense of restraint. Verbally abusing Kiat held few dangers, but tearing into K’hul held more risk.
Much to W’rath’s relief, when Raven spoke again, she addressed K’hul in a more moderate tone. “It’s more logical to assume that when Umbral attacked the First, he also used magic. It wasn’t his psychic powers alone that so gravely wounded the First, but the combined might of mind and magic that frightened people.
“When the First created the Shadow Elves, he didn’t need a people with magical talent. He needed spies and assassins, so he molded their essence so they could hide almost in plain sight. Suddenly the elves found themselves with a population of mixed blood elves, who looked like Shadow Elves, possessed their ability to hide and use psionics, but who may have inherited the ability to wield magic.”
“Pure speculation,” K’hul said, refusing to acknowledge the logic of Raven’s argument.
“But speculation based on much more solid evidence than the so-called facts found in so many of your books,” Raven countered, her voice growing sharp once gain.
“Our ancestors lived in savage times,” Lady Swiftbrook interjected. She interposed herself between K’hul and Raven, and placed a placating hand on her lover’s chest.
That Lady Swiftbrook had managed to keep quiet so long, amazed W’rath. He appreciated her intervention, though. He had no desire for Raven to make a target of herself for K’hul’s ire. And if things had continued in the same vein, they’d waste the day clawing one another’s eyes out over events thousands of years dead.
Now that she had their attention, Lady Swiftbrook, swept her arms toward the table dominating the hall, urging them away from the painting which had started the entire ordeal. “We mustn’t do our enemy’s work for them,” she said. “Everyone put your personal grievances away, sit down, and let us speak of current events. We can rehash old wrongs when we face less dire circumstances.”
“Damn, I was hoping for a fist fight,” Kela said, cracking her knuckles.
They turned from the painting that had triggered this latest squabble, to find themselves facing an out of breath Lady Culnámo. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. “I got lost—never actually been here before. Did I miss anything?”
The large conference table shimmered like an oasis, radiating with imbued magic. Like most Elven works, time and weather had no effect on it. It would require heavily enchanted weapons or powerful spells to do so much as blemish its finish. At the moment, though, the elves made use of one of its more showy enchantments. It projected a three-dimensional representation of the world. At one end, a sphere floated above the table, accurately showing the shape and location of all known continents, islands and bodies of water. On the other end of the table, a smaller area displayed a more traditional map layout with the exception that the terrain, trees and miniaturized cities had shape and form. The mountains’ elevations rose, accurately represented in relation to everything else. Lakes, seas and oceans shimmered, appearing to move either from the tide or unseen weather. All in all, a most impressive piece of work.
Lady Swiftbrook raised an eyebrow as W’rath poked a finger into a lake. It reacted to his touch, sending out ripples, eventually reaching the shore as gentle waves. “Fascinating,” he said, making no attempt to hide his delight.
“Don’t get too excited. Nothing you do to the map affects the real world.”
“Now that would be something.” He squinted, trying to read the names hovering above various locals. He bent over the table, his face hovering above the human city of Scarin. “Be afraid, you slow-witted apes. I’m coming for you.” He finished with a deep throated chuckle.
“That wasn’t creepy at all,” Foxfire said. He motioned for those gathered to give him some space near an area which depicted a heavily forested area. He’d nearly fainted when K’hul had told Kela and him he’d decided to reconsider his father’s decision to withhold assistance in the Wood Elves’ fight against the invading forces of King Oblund. Kela harbored a multitude of suspicions, but Foxfire wasn’t about to over analyze the unforeseen change of heart. He would do his best to present the situation and make sure K’hul decided to fully support their cause.
“This,” he said, waving a hand over the forested area, “depicts the southernmost edge of our forest. King Oblund currently has his forces encamped on this huge grass plain. We estimate his numbers at around thirty thousand.”
“What are your numbers?” Lady Culnámo asked.
“In this part of the forest, we have about twelve hundred elves. If we manage to drag all of the clans from the northern territory, we might get our numbers up as high as six thousand. In addition, other woodland residents will fight—dryads and nymphs primarily, but they’re entirely bound to the forest. They can only help if the humans enter the forest proper.”
“With thirty thousand men, you’d think they’d do exactly that,” Raven said.
“Early on they sent in a sizable force. When his army first arrived at our doorstep, the king thought he’d crush us in a single afternoon, and begin cutting down trees before supper. I wish I could have seen his face when not a single one of his men made it back out of the forest. He lost a quarter of his army that day.”
Foxfire kept his face unreadable, but Kela grinned at the sudden sharp intakes of breath from the others. W’rath finally spoke up. “Lad, do you mean to say, your troublesome king started out with forty thousand troops, and in one afternoon, you killed off ten thousand of those fellows with only twelve hundred elves?”
Foxfire stood a little straighter. “We may not have the most powerful magic to draw upon, but within our element we’re extremely capable.”
“I’m not easily impressed,” W’rath said, “but that definitely impresses me. You hardly seem to need outside help.” He gazed upon Foxfire and Kela as if seeing them for the first time, and gave them a nod, a warrior acknowledging their accomplishment.
“We thought he’d slither off after getting his ass kicked like that,” Foxfire said. “Unfortunately, he decided he’d rather set up his army just out of bow shot. Not even the magic bows Lady Stormchaser gave us can reach them.”
“So you’re at a stalemate,” Lady Culnámo said. “He won’t send more troops into the forest, and you’re not able to stand up to his forces outside your home. What does he expect to gain? It’s not like he’s laying siege to a castle where the residents have limited resources. Meanwhile he’s feeding an enormous number of troops. Either his men will starve soon, or he’s spending an outrageous amount on a supply train.”
“While annoying, we could tolerate it if he wanted to camp outside the forest for all eternity,” Foxfire replied. “Unfortunately, he’s added another element to the original setup. He’s hired four mercenary magi from the city state of Tassilia. They’ve kept us busy with summoned creatures—minor demons, mostly. They only send in one or two at a time, but they cause plenty of
havoc.”
The intensity of the others heightened at the mention of demons. Even Kiat leaned in closer, drawn to Foxfire’s announcement. “Seems a common theme these days,” K’hul stated. His angled brows dipped to meet in a V on his scowling face.
“They haven’t actually ripped open a gateway like they did at Second Home. They’re summoning individual creatures,” Foxfire said.
Kiat nodded. “Of course they’d want to do that. With only four of them, they don’t have the strength to cast as powerful a spell as a planar tear. It would kill them for certain. Summoning individual creatures allows them more control, and they can specify the sort of demon they get—ensure that they don’t leave a mess for the king once the fighting ends.”
“We think the demons are just to keep us busy,” Kela broke in.
“Ah, now this I want to hear,” W’rath said, eyebrows rising along with his heightened interest.
Foxfire picked the story back up. “Ultimately, King Oblund’s hopes to get his hands on our land. It won’t do for the magi to burn us out because there goes the trees he wants. He can’t have them send in poisonous gas because that would also kill all the game he wants to hunt. While nasty, strong, and hard to kill, the demons they’ve sent against us don’t have any special traits and they don’t cast magic. Plus, they only send in one or two at a time. He wants to keep us busy, but doesn’t want to have a forest full of demons once he wins.”
“His army just squats there, stinking up the land … waiting,” Kela added.
“Any idea why?” Kiat asked.
“We’ve done some scouting,” Foxfire said. “We sent some birds from the forest to check their camp. The information didn’t help as much as we’d hoped, but we did learn the mercenaries are working on a ritual. Three of them work on it while one sits out, presumably to summon a few demons and then rest. The ritual has gone on for some time, over a week, day and night. We expect something ugly to happen when they finally finish.”
