Amidaelis sat patiently on her throne. The throne was a beautiful sky blue color. The color of a bright clear day. A young avariel swooped into the throne room. He was a handsome male. His clothing matched the Coronal's, the royal colors of House StarSky, black, sky blue and silver. He landed gracefully and bowed deeply, his large silver gray wings tucked in.
"Your Majesty," he said. His usually neatly kept dark hair was in disarray. His sky blue eyes which usually sparkled with some mischief or merriment, now held only rage. He had several small cuts on his arms and was bleeding slightly.
Her son, Prince Jondaroth was no idle prince. If his people were to fight, he would fight along side them. Much like his father, she thought.
"Rise, my son," she commanded as she stood to embrace him. Jondarath stepped closer and returned her embrace.
"Mother, what could be so important? The battle to hold the wall is most urgent. Every able-bodied avariel is needed to turn the elves of Aryvandaar back," he said, trying hard to contain the anger he felt toward his land-bound kin. The atrocities committed by House Vyshaan were widely known.
"I have another mission for you my son," she returned to her throne, placing both hands on the armrest. She steeled herself to her son's reaction. "Evaedir will be abandoned, you will lead a group of refugees to a safe haven."
Her son's emotions were shown on his face, first shock and horror and then anger. "Have you lost all senses, mother? This is our home. We will fight to the last drop of blood. I will..."
"Enough," she commanded. "I am Coronal here, not you. You will obey me!"
He straightened, "So that's it, just give our city to those accursed sun elves? Not even try to fight! Mother, our high mages. Surely they can turn the tide," he said, pleading with her.
She closed her eyes, "No my son! They will not! You will go to temple of Aerdrie Faenya. Raziel is waiting," she finished.
"But mother, we have..."
"You have your orders or shall the heir of House StarSky's defy his Coronal and mother," she said. It took every ounce of control she possessed not to run to her son and accompany him to the wall and battle with their fellow avariel until either they died or House Vyshaan turned away. But she was a ruler. Her first duty was to protect her people. And this war they simply could not win.
Jondaroth saluted his mother. "Very well, Your Majesty," he said sharply. "When shall I tell Her Excellency, the High Priestess to expect your arrival?" He bowed his head as he spoke refusing to look at his mother.
She shook her head. Jondaroth did not understand what she was saying. "I am not going to the temple, my son."
Jondaroth's head snapped up. "What do you mean? The People need you to lead them."
"I have made my decision! I will not suffer your arguments. Our duty is to our people, Go," she ordered, her emotions were on the surface. She did not want to break down in front of him, not now.
"Mother," he said softly taking a step forward. The realization of his mother's words finally fell upon him. She raised her hand stopping him.
"Go! There isn't much time left. I have to gather the forces that will protect the flight from Evaedir," she whispered. Jondaroth bowed his head slightly and took flight out of the Tower.
Once her son was out of the audience chamber, the Coronal wept!
Hathorian Korianthil surveyed the scene from atop one of the battle platforms that hovered in the air. The walls of Evaedir were beginning to break. The walls were the brown in color, magically grown from the earth, forty feet high and several feet deep. There were deep cracks that were widing with each assault. Evaedir would soon fall.
Evaedir sat in the middle of a volcanic crater, protected on all sides by the surrounding mountains. There was a crystal clear lake in the middle which spilled down one side in a breathtakingly beautiful waterfall. The evergreen forest surrounding the city was dense and verdant green. The city was itself was built around the lake. Massive shadowtops and blueleafs were the homes of the avariel. Towers of the purest crystal were dotted among the forest. One could fly over and never see it. Such was the way of elves. The crumbling wall protected much of the forested valley. The woods grew sparse as the neared the top of the crater.
The forces of Aryvandaar, after a hard fought battle, managed to capture a guard tower along the outer wall of the crater. Here many of their forces were be landed to begin their final assault on the city. This tower gave them a foothold on the crater. They could launch their attacks from the ground and further weaken the defenders of Evaedir.
Something inside Hathorian knew this war wasn't right. Giilvas Vyshaan, his lord and master was mad with power. His plan to destroy the High Mages of the Realms was true madness. Such destruction. House Vyshaan was powerful. The family held sway in Aryvandaar for many centuries. The power at their disposal was something to be feared. And they did not share their secrets with outsiders. Hathorian only knew there was some object of power the Coronal of Aryvandaar sought in the peaceful ciity of the avariel.
Their attack began in secret. Conquering Illefarn was only a cover. Evaedir was the true prize, Illefarn was the staging ground. There was more fight in these avariel than Hathorian originally thought. To look at them, one would never call them fierce. But their warriors fought as bravely as any Hathorian ever faced. The forces at his command had yet to complete cut off the city. There could be no escape routes.
"It is time. Prepare the final assault," a voice behind Hathorian spoke. Hathorian clinched his jaw. He hated the elf behind him. Gilvathas Vyshaan, youngest son of the Coronal. An upstart arrogant young bladesinger. Hathorian detested taking orders from the Vyshaan prince.
"But Your Highness, we have yet to completely surround the city. There are still possible escape routes. With more time and patience, we will ..."
"We will attack them now! I command here, not you Hathorian," the sun elf lord barked proudly, his handsome gold elf features betrayed the cruelty and darkness in his heart. The young prince was dressed in elven chain armor, the colors of House Vyshaan, purple, black and red complimented his uniform.
This is foolish, Hathorian thought to himself. He dare not speak the words aloud. Gilvathas had never led troops in battle. Hathorian fought in hundres of campaigns against other elves as well as orcs, ogres and a host of traditional elven enemies. Grudgingly, he turned and issued orders. Within moments, the griffon riders took flight. Fifty in number, all accomplished mages would lead the attack. The ground forces begin their march down into the valley.
This is utter madness! Hathorian silently said to himself.