Chapter 1: Upon the Field of Battle
For the High Elves, the battle was going smoothly. The first warning they had got of the Orc invasion had been when the chateau of the respected merchant Arlen, which lay on the outskirts of Caledor, an area famed for its tough and short-tempered warriors and mountainous terrain. A day later, the hoard was spotted again, this time marching towards the estates of Lord Anyuis Caledor, a seasoned veteran and mighty warrior. As was decreed by the Phoenix King, Anyuis was obliged to gather the citizens and form a militia force to halt any invasion, and so the Lord gathered to him a force numbering four hundred elves, including a number of his personal bodyguards, all renowned Dragon Princes. Leaving behind his son and a small number of remaining knights at his manor, he rode out onto the field of battle to face the barbaric animals.
From his vantage point at the crest of a hill, Anyuis looked out over the battlefield, his horse taking the opportunity to nuzzle the grass. The keen eyes of the elf could make out the banner poles of his militia forces pushing back the howling and unorganised mobs of orcs, the finely crafted spears and armour more than a match for the crude implements of their savage opponents. Beside Anyuis, his Dragon Prince knights watched keenly, their lances held in eager hands. One of them gave a contemptuous snort.
'This is a waste of our valuable time my Lord,' He said in the flowing tongue of the Elfish language, 'We were told there was an invasion, not a mere rabble of green skinned devils!'
Lord Anyuis nodded; there was something wrong here. The fight had barely lasted two hours.
'They're around,' one of the older knights, Galyadis, growled in his fierce dragon helm, 'I've fought orcs many a time before, and the valley reeks of them. Something is amiss my Lord.'
Suddenly, as if to clarify the point, there was a bellowed war cry from the steep hill on the left flank, and the knights reeled around to see a swarm of dark riders streaming down the hill; huge, well armoured orcs wearing full metal helmets and riding upon filthy looking boars. The militia in the valley below turned in horror as the first brutes crashed into them, tossing bodies aside with great sweeps of their axes and crude swords. The death screams of the elves mixed with the victory chants of the orcs as they pressed home their advantage, maiming and killing everything in arms reach. The knights watched on, horrified at the numbers now pouring into the valley.
'By Aenarion's holy blood!' Breathed Lord Anyuis, 'Such numbers….But how? The reports never spoke of numbers this great.'
'There is something deeply amiss here,' Galyadis growled, drawing his ornate long sword, 'Orcs don't use tactics such as this. I sense something dreadful behind all this.'
Lord Anyuis didn't seem to hear him; his eyes were transfixed on the slaughter below. So many…..far too many for him…..but what to do? With a deep sigh, he turned to the old Dragon Prince Galyadis.
'My old, trust friend. We have fought beside one another for many battles, but I have a much greater task for you now; I beg of you, return to my manor, and tell my son I fought and died in the name of Ulthuan and the Phoenix King. Give this also,' He added, drawing his sword from his side. The knights gasped in awe; the blessed blade of the Caledor family, the renowned Dragon Fang sword, 'Tell him to use it wisely, and to rule our family as I taught him.'
'My Lord!' The young night who had spoken out before said in protest, 'Surely you don't mean to make your son the next patriarch of the Caledor family? The boy is barely three hundred years of age, and green behind the ears too! I implore you, reconsider this while you still can.'
'I will not be spoken to in such a way!' Bawled Anyuis. The Knights fell silent, 'I have made my decision, and I will keep it till the gave take me!'
Panting in anger, Anyuis turned to Galyadis, and nodded.
'Fair journey, my old friend. Help guide my young son on his path.'
'And may you find death in honourable combat my Lord,' Galyadis replied with a low bow. Sheathing the Dragon Fang, he turned his horse about and galloped away. Lord Anyuis watched him ride away, before raising his lance to the sky.
'For Ulthuan! For Caledor! For the Phoenix King!' He roared. The knights raised their lances and took up the cry, and the fifteen knights rode down into the valley filled with thousands of orcs, to meet their fates in combat.
ONE DAY LATER:
'Up a bit, and straighten your back. That's it, now step out with the right foot, and thrust…excellent, very well done.'
In the large and airy training hall of the Dragon Keep, home to the revered family of Dragon Princes the Caledor's, the young Lotherin tugged his sword free of the stuffed dummy, and sheathed the blade. He turned to the smaller elf beside him, and grinned.
'How was that? OW!' He yelped, as the other elf gave him a slap to the ear, 'What was that for?'
The old elf glared at him. He was about two inches shorter than Lotherin, and far older; while Lotherin look young and fresh and healthy, this figure merely looked old and tried. Grey hair flowed down his back in a long pony tail, and he leant heavily on his ornately carved staff of ash wood plated with silver. On the top was the symbol of a hand gripping a golden half moon, with two fingers extended heavenwards; the sign of a mage among elf society. He wore flowing blue and white robes, with a high starched collar that framed his old head against the light blue material, and wore a pair of half moon spectacles upon his narrow nose. He raised two bony fingers of his slender right hand.
'Two reasons,' He said, in an old and weary voice that still retained some quality of respect, 'One, you did not salute your opponent after you sheathed your sword; and two, you're being cheeky again! How many time must I tell you I can't abide cheeky children!?'
Lotherin tried hard not to laugh, but it was hard enough to keep a straight face when the old mage was ranting on about how he hated children so much. He disguised his humour with a cough, and tried to compose himself.
'I'm sorry Artemis, it's hard to concentrate on things such as fencing practise when there's still no word from my fathers army.'
Artemis, the mage, seemed to relent at this. He laid a frail hand on the young elf's shoulder.
'War is a terrible thing Lotherin, and I pray to every God in the heavens that you needed never experience it, but it is necessary; ours is a dying race, and we are surrounded with enemies to every side, whether they see it that way or not.'
'Yes Artemis, I can understand that; the Dwarfs in their holds, the orcs from the Bad Lands, and our own Dark Kin in Naggaroth. But what of the Men, and their Empire, and Brettonia?'
'Ah, the Empire,' Artemis said, almost fondly, 'I remember the lands of Man; quite stupid creatures, but bright enough to copy things around them. They learnt magic from us, and the secrets of gunpowder from the dwarfs, in far less time than it took for us to master it. Of course, imitation cannot stand up to true mastery, but they are not to be underestimated, nor any other race.'
Lotherin nodded at the mages words. He had always thought of the humans as refined and cultured, and had heard many stories of their brave kings and eloquent balls. Artemis raised a finger in warning.
'But do not forget, that all humans are fickle things; they will leave you when the time suits them, and have little sense of true companionships. Of course, there are exceptions; in my time in the Empire, my travelling partner Hugo von Leopold was as stalwart a companion as I could ever hope for. But enough idle banter, and back to your training.'
Suddenly, the doors at the far end of the hall were opened, and two elves strode into the room; one was a nervous looking servant wearing white robes, and a much taller elf, wearing ornate red and blue armour shaped into the faces and wings of dragons. Artemis arched a greying eyebrow.
'Ah, Captain Galyadis,' He said, taking a step forward to greet him, 'I see you have returned. Do you bring word from Lord Anyuis?'
The tall warrior was silent, his eyes locking with the mages. The old elf's eyes barely flicked, but Lotherin could tell there was something wrong. Before the young elf could ask however, the servant rushed forward and gently held his arm.
'Please young Lord, if you'd step this way,' He said quickly, nearly dragging him out of the hall, 'We have a visitor for you in the orchard.'
Lothern gave a nod, and glanced over his shoulder back into the hall. He caught a glimpse of the Dragon Prince and the mage talking, before Artemis saw he was looking and waved a hand. The door blew shut from a sudden gust of wind, and Lothern knew it would be foolish to press the matter further. He decided to focus his attention on the guest.
'I can't remember my father saying anything about expecting a guest,' He said to the servant as they walked through the halls. The servant gave a nervous smile, running a hand through his light blonde hair.
'Er, not quite my Lord; he appears to be a wonderer of some kind.'
Lotherin furrowed his brow, but he supposed he had no choice; with his father still away, he was the rightful head of the family, and so was obliged to greet all wonderers and visitors. They reached the orchard, which was in full bloom, the golden fruits hanging heavy from the branches. As Lotherin walked in the dappled light cast by the sunlight shining through the leaves, he caught a glimpse of a figure talking with two servants, garbed in a similar manner to the elf still following him a short distance away. The stranger stood out from the plain looking servants however; he was taller than them all by a good four inches, and he wore a tall, sleek helmet with a mouth guard of mail links that covered his face. He was wearing a coat of the fine link-chained armour, over which he also wore a superbly fashioned breastplate, into which was embedded a fine looking jewel where the heart lay. He also wore a clean white robe across his shoulder, but perhaps the most impressive thing about this stranger was his weapon; a giant long sword, well crafted and with an edge so well honed Lotherin couldn't make out where it began. It stood as tall as Lotherin, and the hilt was fashioned from glittering mythril and studded with jewels. All this suggested someone who was no mere peasant seeking shelter. The stranger looked up from his discussion with the servants when he heard the young elf stride towards him, and turned to face him. The servant hurrying to catch up with Lotherin paused to catch his breath.
'My Lord, if I may introduce you to master Tor Kallamus, messenger from the Tower of Hoeth. He wishes to speak with you.'
Lotherin nodded, and put on his diplomatic. In truth, he was awe struck by this figure, Tor Kallamus; one of the legendary Swordmasters of Hoeth, here? He suddenly wished his father were here to deal with this.
'Greetings, honoured guest Tor Kallamus,' He began, but the tall sword master raised a gauntleted hand.
'My Lord, you do me too much honour using my full title,' He said, in a light and wispy tone, 'Please, address me as Tor. And I come with a message for you.'
'For me? Surely you mean my father; unfortunately, he is serving his duty to Ulthuan right now by driving out a rabble of green skins.'
Tor gave a light sigh.
'I am here for you personally, young Lord. I would have thought word would have reached you by now.'
'What of master Tor?' Lotherin said, a sudden icy cold grip in the pit of his stomach making him feel nauseous, 'Do you bring news from the battle?'
Before the Swordmaster could answer, Lotherin heard someone approaching, and turned to look. Artemis and the Dragon Prince Galyadis were standing behind him. The grizzled Dragon Prince had removed his helm, revealing weather beaten skin and a long scar marring his hard-set features. Both looked ashen faced and weary.
'Lotherin,' Artemis began slowly, 'There is a reason that Tor Kallamus was sent to meet with you. Galyadis has something he would like to say to you.'
The Dragon Prince stepped forward smartly, and looked down at Lotherin, who barely came up to his dragon-stylised breastplate. Then, he bent down on one knee, and bowed his head.
'My Lord, and the Lord of Caledor,' He intoned deeply with a rasping voice, 'I brings me much sorrow to say that your father died upon the battlefield against the barbarian orcs, who launched a surprise assault on our meagre forces. Not since the days of old have I seen a hoard so numerous and violent, but your father insisted I return to you and bring word of his inevitable demise. I would have came faster, but I sent a call to every village and chateau along my path warning them of the tide about to break against them.'
With great care and reverence, the Dragon Prince drew a long gleaming sword from his sheath. Lotherin studied it carefully; the hilt seemed plain enough, with the hand guards shaped like golden dragon wings, but the blade itself was stunning to behold. It was wrought so it resembled a dragon viewed in flight, the belly and wings forming the two edges of the sword. The head made up its point, and a single fiery ruby was set where the eyes should rest. It must have taken a skilled craftsman months to finish such an exquisite weapon, and Lotherin recognized it as his fathers family blade, the Dragon Fang. Even as he looked at it in awe, his heart felt heavy about what it meant. Galyadis continued to speak.
'Your father's last words to me where to deliver his family sword to you, and grant you every blessing possible in your new role as Lord of the Caledor's. May you rule wisely in your years to come.'
'What!?' Lotherin spluttered, staggering back, 'But I can't! I'm not old enough!'
'My Lord, it was your father's last will,' Artemis said softly, stepping forward, 'And you will not be alone of course; I still remain your tutor and guide, and I am sure Galyadis will make sure you are trained in the arts of war better than I could ever hope to instruct you.'
Lotherin nodded uncertainly, and glanced at the tall Swordsmaster, who was still standing respectfully to one side.
'And what of you, Tor? Why did you travel here to see me? Surely not to simply tell me my father was slain on the field of battle?'
The tall warrior laughed softly, and shook his head.
'Not at all young Lord; I am here to instruct you in your families greatest accomplishment.'
Lotherin frowned, puzzled at Tor's cryptic words. The Swordmaster sighed, and waved a hand dismissively.
'It will become clear later. Right now however, I believe Artemis would be eager to prepare you to address the people? They must know of the tragic news, and of what has transpired here today.'
For the High Elves, the battle was going smoothly. The first warning they had got of the Orc invasion had been when the chateau of the respected merchant Arlen, which lay on the outskirts of Caledor, an area famed for its tough and short-tempered warriors and mountainous terrain. A day later, the hoard was spotted again, this time marching towards the estates of Lord Anyuis Caledor, a seasoned veteran and mighty warrior. As was decreed by the Phoenix King, Anyuis was obliged to gather the citizens and form a militia force to halt any invasion, and so the Lord gathered to him a force numbering four hundred elves, including a number of his personal bodyguards, all renowned Dragon Princes. Leaving behind his son and a small number of remaining knights at his manor, he rode out onto the field of battle to face the barbaric animals.
From his vantage point at the crest of a hill, Anyuis looked out over the battlefield, his horse taking the opportunity to nuzzle the grass. The keen eyes of the elf could make out the banner poles of his militia forces pushing back the howling and unorganised mobs of orcs, the finely crafted spears and armour more than a match for the crude implements of their savage opponents. Beside Anyuis, his Dragon Prince knights watched keenly, their lances held in eager hands. One of them gave a contemptuous snort.
'This is a waste of our valuable time my Lord,' He said in the flowing tongue of the Elfish language, 'We were told there was an invasion, not a mere rabble of green skinned devils!'
Lord Anyuis nodded; there was something wrong here. The fight had barely lasted two hours.
'They're around,' one of the older knights, Galyadis, growled in his fierce dragon helm, 'I've fought orcs many a time before, and the valley reeks of them. Something is amiss my Lord.'
Suddenly, as if to clarify the point, there was a bellowed war cry from the steep hill on the left flank, and the knights reeled around to see a swarm of dark riders streaming down the hill; huge, well armoured orcs wearing full metal helmets and riding upon filthy looking boars. The militia in the valley below turned in horror as the first brutes crashed into them, tossing bodies aside with great sweeps of their axes and crude swords. The death screams of the elves mixed with the victory chants of the orcs as they pressed home their advantage, maiming and killing everything in arms reach. The knights watched on, horrified at the numbers now pouring into the valley.
'By Aenarion's holy blood!' Breathed Lord Anyuis, 'Such numbers….But how? The reports never spoke of numbers this great.'
'There is something deeply amiss here,' Galyadis growled, drawing his ornate long sword, 'Orcs don't use tactics such as this. I sense something dreadful behind all this.'
Lord Anyuis didn't seem to hear him; his eyes were transfixed on the slaughter below. So many…..far too many for him…..but what to do? With a deep sigh, he turned to the old Dragon Prince Galyadis.
'My old, trust friend. We have fought beside one another for many battles, but I have a much greater task for you now; I beg of you, return to my manor, and tell my son I fought and died in the name of Ulthuan and the Phoenix King. Give this also,' He added, drawing his sword from his side. The knights gasped in awe; the blessed blade of the Caledor family, the renowned Dragon Fang sword, 'Tell him to use it wisely, and to rule our family as I taught him.'
'My Lord!' The young night who had spoken out before said in protest, 'Surely you don't mean to make your son the next patriarch of the Caledor family? The boy is barely three hundred years of age, and green behind the ears too! I implore you, reconsider this while you still can.'
'I will not be spoken to in such a way!' Bawled Anyuis. The Knights fell silent, 'I have made my decision, and I will keep it till the gave take me!'
Panting in anger, Anyuis turned to Galyadis, and nodded.
'Fair journey, my old friend. Help guide my young son on his path.'
'And may you find death in honourable combat my Lord,' Galyadis replied with a low bow. Sheathing the Dragon Fang, he turned his horse about and galloped away. Lord Anyuis watched him ride away, before raising his lance to the sky.
'For Ulthuan! For Caledor! For the Phoenix King!' He roared. The knights raised their lances and took up the cry, and the fifteen knights rode down into the valley filled with thousands of orcs, to meet their fates in combat.
ONE DAY LATER:
'Up a bit, and straighten your back. That's it, now step out with the right foot, and thrust…excellent, very well done.'
In the large and airy training hall of the Dragon Keep, home to the revered family of Dragon Princes the Caledor's, the young Lotherin tugged his sword free of the stuffed dummy, and sheathed the blade. He turned to the smaller elf beside him, and grinned.
'How was that? OW!' He yelped, as the other elf gave him a slap to the ear, 'What was that for?'
The old elf glared at him. He was about two inches shorter than Lotherin, and far older; while Lotherin look young and fresh and healthy, this figure merely looked old and tried. Grey hair flowed down his back in a long pony tail, and he leant heavily on his ornately carved staff of ash wood plated with silver. On the top was the symbol of a hand gripping a golden half moon, with two fingers extended heavenwards; the sign of a mage among elf society. He wore flowing blue and white robes, with a high starched collar that framed his old head against the light blue material, and wore a pair of half moon spectacles upon his narrow nose. He raised two bony fingers of his slender right hand.
'Two reasons,' He said, in an old and weary voice that still retained some quality of respect, 'One, you did not salute your opponent after you sheathed your sword; and two, you're being cheeky again! How many time must I tell you I can't abide cheeky children!?'
Lotherin tried hard not to laugh, but it was hard enough to keep a straight face when the old mage was ranting on about how he hated children so much. He disguised his humour with a cough, and tried to compose himself.
'I'm sorry Artemis, it's hard to concentrate on things such as fencing practise when there's still no word from my fathers army.'
Artemis, the mage, seemed to relent at this. He laid a frail hand on the young elf's shoulder.
'War is a terrible thing Lotherin, and I pray to every God in the heavens that you needed never experience it, but it is necessary; ours is a dying race, and we are surrounded with enemies to every side, whether they see it that way or not.'
'Yes Artemis, I can understand that; the Dwarfs in their holds, the orcs from the Bad Lands, and our own Dark Kin in Naggaroth. But what of the Men, and their Empire, and Brettonia?'
'Ah, the Empire,' Artemis said, almost fondly, 'I remember the lands of Man; quite stupid creatures, but bright enough to copy things around them. They learnt magic from us, and the secrets of gunpowder from the dwarfs, in far less time than it took for us to master it. Of course, imitation cannot stand up to true mastery, but they are not to be underestimated, nor any other race.'
Lotherin nodded at the mages words. He had always thought of the humans as refined and cultured, and had heard many stories of their brave kings and eloquent balls. Artemis raised a finger in warning.
'But do not forget, that all humans are fickle things; they will leave you when the time suits them, and have little sense of true companionships. Of course, there are exceptions; in my time in the Empire, my travelling partner Hugo von Leopold was as stalwart a companion as I could ever hope for. But enough idle banter, and back to your training.'
Suddenly, the doors at the far end of the hall were opened, and two elves strode into the room; one was a nervous looking servant wearing white robes, and a much taller elf, wearing ornate red and blue armour shaped into the faces and wings of dragons. Artemis arched a greying eyebrow.
'Ah, Captain Galyadis,' He said, taking a step forward to greet him, 'I see you have returned. Do you bring word from Lord Anyuis?'
The tall warrior was silent, his eyes locking with the mages. The old elf's eyes barely flicked, but Lotherin could tell there was something wrong. Before the young elf could ask however, the servant rushed forward and gently held his arm.
'Please young Lord, if you'd step this way,' He said quickly, nearly dragging him out of the hall, 'We have a visitor for you in the orchard.'
Lothern gave a nod, and glanced over his shoulder back into the hall. He caught a glimpse of the Dragon Prince and the mage talking, before Artemis saw he was looking and waved a hand. The door blew shut from a sudden gust of wind, and Lothern knew it would be foolish to press the matter further. He decided to focus his attention on the guest.
'I can't remember my father saying anything about expecting a guest,' He said to the servant as they walked through the halls. The servant gave a nervous smile, running a hand through his light blonde hair.
'Er, not quite my Lord; he appears to be a wonderer of some kind.'
Lotherin furrowed his brow, but he supposed he had no choice; with his father still away, he was the rightful head of the family, and so was obliged to greet all wonderers and visitors. They reached the orchard, which was in full bloom, the golden fruits hanging heavy from the branches. As Lotherin walked in the dappled light cast by the sunlight shining through the leaves, he caught a glimpse of a figure talking with two servants, garbed in a similar manner to the elf still following him a short distance away. The stranger stood out from the plain looking servants however; he was taller than them all by a good four inches, and he wore a tall, sleek helmet with a mouth guard of mail links that covered his face. He was wearing a coat of the fine link-chained armour, over which he also wore a superbly fashioned breastplate, into which was embedded a fine looking jewel where the heart lay. He also wore a clean white robe across his shoulder, but perhaps the most impressive thing about this stranger was his weapon; a giant long sword, well crafted and with an edge so well honed Lotherin couldn't make out where it began. It stood as tall as Lotherin, and the hilt was fashioned from glittering mythril and studded with jewels. All this suggested someone who was no mere peasant seeking shelter. The stranger looked up from his discussion with the servants when he heard the young elf stride towards him, and turned to face him. The servant hurrying to catch up with Lotherin paused to catch his breath.
'My Lord, if I may introduce you to master Tor Kallamus, messenger from the Tower of Hoeth. He wishes to speak with you.'
Lotherin nodded, and put on his diplomatic. In truth, he was awe struck by this figure, Tor Kallamus; one of the legendary Swordmasters of Hoeth, here? He suddenly wished his father were here to deal with this.
'Greetings, honoured guest Tor Kallamus,' He began, but the tall sword master raised a gauntleted hand.
'My Lord, you do me too much honour using my full title,' He said, in a light and wispy tone, 'Please, address me as Tor. And I come with a message for you.'
'For me? Surely you mean my father; unfortunately, he is serving his duty to Ulthuan right now by driving out a rabble of green skins.'
Tor gave a light sigh.
'I am here for you personally, young Lord. I would have thought word would have reached you by now.'
'What of master Tor?' Lotherin said, a sudden icy cold grip in the pit of his stomach making him feel nauseous, 'Do you bring news from the battle?'
Before the Swordmaster could answer, Lotherin heard someone approaching, and turned to look. Artemis and the Dragon Prince Galyadis were standing behind him. The grizzled Dragon Prince had removed his helm, revealing weather beaten skin and a long scar marring his hard-set features. Both looked ashen faced and weary.
'Lotherin,' Artemis began slowly, 'There is a reason that Tor Kallamus was sent to meet with you. Galyadis has something he would like to say to you.'
The Dragon Prince stepped forward smartly, and looked down at Lotherin, who barely came up to his dragon-stylised breastplate. Then, he bent down on one knee, and bowed his head.
'My Lord, and the Lord of Caledor,' He intoned deeply with a rasping voice, 'I brings me much sorrow to say that your father died upon the battlefield against the barbarian orcs, who launched a surprise assault on our meagre forces. Not since the days of old have I seen a hoard so numerous and violent, but your father insisted I return to you and bring word of his inevitable demise. I would have came faster, but I sent a call to every village and chateau along my path warning them of the tide about to break against them.'
With great care and reverence, the Dragon Prince drew a long gleaming sword from his sheath. Lotherin studied it carefully; the hilt seemed plain enough, with the hand guards shaped like golden dragon wings, but the blade itself was stunning to behold. It was wrought so it resembled a dragon viewed in flight, the belly and wings forming the two edges of the sword. The head made up its point, and a single fiery ruby was set where the eyes should rest. It must have taken a skilled craftsman months to finish such an exquisite weapon, and Lotherin recognized it as his fathers family blade, the Dragon Fang. Even as he looked at it in awe, his heart felt heavy about what it meant. Galyadis continued to speak.
'Your father's last words to me where to deliver his family sword to you, and grant you every blessing possible in your new role as Lord of the Caledor's. May you rule wisely in your years to come.'
'What!?' Lotherin spluttered, staggering back, 'But I can't! I'm not old enough!'
'My Lord, it was your father's last will,' Artemis said softly, stepping forward, 'And you will not be alone of course; I still remain your tutor and guide, and I am sure Galyadis will make sure you are trained in the arts of war better than I could ever hope to instruct you.'
Lotherin nodded uncertainly, and glanced at the tall Swordsmaster, who was still standing respectfully to one side.
'And what of you, Tor? Why did you travel here to see me? Surely not to simply tell me my father was slain on the field of battle?'
The tall warrior laughed softly, and shook his head.
'Not at all young Lord; I am here to instruct you in your families greatest accomplishment.'
Lotherin frowned, puzzled at Tor's cryptic words. The Swordmaster sighed, and waved a hand dismissively.
'It will become clear later. Right now however, I believe Artemis would be eager to prepare you to address the people? They must know of the tragic news, and of what has transpired here today.'