Elven Homestead, Erion Forest, Erion

"Eloryndisei Warsong," began the herald in a high-pitched, fluting voice, "You have been summoned to appear before the Court of the May, first thing after mid-meal."

"Tell the Elder I shall be there promptly," replied the young man, his face a disciplined mask of calm. His morning meditation had almost been at an end when the herald's message interrupted him. After five years of practice, he wasn't startled out of his trance by the knock. He slowly brought himself back from one state of mind to the other, allowing his thoughts to gradually speed up, more of the outside world to seep into his consciousness. That was the secret of meditation; don't suppress your worries, but notice them all and gradually let them slow down and come to a halt once they had burned out. He knew he would never be as clear-minded or strong-willed as the elves who spent all of their long lifespans practising like this every morning as part of their daily routine, just as he would not have heard the herald if he had decided to sneak up on him instead of politely knock. However, he was determined to at least make an effort to learn the ways of the elves, enough to be tolerated in elven society for a reason other than pity, charity or his family heritage.

If I can manage that much, he thought with a hint of grim irony, I'll have achieved more here than I had done in human society. But then, elves did not think like humans. Over the years he had spent here, hiding in exile in his mother's former home town, he had come to realise how different the two races were. They were always perfectly courteous, but he knew as well as they did that he was not an elf, and this was not his home.

He was only grateful for the long swathes of forest for him to wander, for hours on end, until he became lost. Lost from himself, his situation, and the pain. It was the only way he could forget his homesickness, some days, just to keep wandering, let the calm, repetitive motion of putting one foot in front of the other soothe the dull ache in the back of his mind in a way that meditation never quite managed. Maybe if he kept on moving, he wouldn't count as having gone anywhere until the day he could go home. He had wanted to go into the forest this afternoon, but he didn't think a meeting with the Court would be over fast enough to allow him the free time. Not that he was in trouble; he had his suspicions on what the meeting would be about, and while it would take a long time to discuss, even by the standards of a two-hundred-year-old politician from a race that had virtually no sense of time in the first place, there would be no reason to punish him for anything. He would have training later in the day, training that would take up the entire evening. His intensive tutoring, designed to bring him up-to-date with all that he had neglected to learn about the important things in life while he was off wasting his time in the human world of his father, included the Elven language, archery, magic, meditation and the ways of the forest.

He stretched and stood up. He would have to hurry to finish his meal before he was expected in the Council Chamber. It was plain fare but filling, a thick vegetable soup and a large slice of bread. He ladled himself a large scoop full and sat cross-legged at one of the low tables in the communal meal room, ignoring the other diners and concentrating on his food. He hardly ever talked to his neighbours anyway. They didn't have much to talk to each other about. He kept his eyes down, barely even registering the presence of the outside world, enjoying his meal and counting down the time.

Eventually, a different messenger appeared. He stood up, leaving the bowl where it was, and allowed himself to be guided along the raised wooden walkways that separated chambers in elven homesteads from each other. He no longer feared the great heights that some of the higher balconies, usually the Government terraces, overlooked. Although they sometimes built wooden houses, many elven constructions were simply corridors, balconies and mezzanine floors placed strategically inside and around rings of massive trees. Elves did not approve of the destruction of nature but this did not mean they refused to cut down trees or hunt animals, as humans often mistakenly believed. To a race that spoke to trees and animals on a regular basis, that understood how little they actually understood or cared about their identities as individuals, their physical shells, the relation of one to the other and what kind of timescale this was happening in, or even in which direction time was flowing in, it didn't make sense to worry about individual trees or animals. Only the eventual fulfilment of the purpose to which the entire forest was put there, made any sense at all to a tree as a personal goal. It sounded like insanity, suicide, to Loryn, but he had been told that trees thought mortals were silly too.

Taking off his shoes as a sign of respect, he walked silently into the Council chamber and knelt before the bench facing the Elders'. Three of the eight Elders were in session, two male and one female; a respectable number. It meant his concern was genuinely being addressed, but wasn't serious enough that it might accidentally lead to war if he said the wrong thing. Minor bureaucrats lined the lower benches around the parallel sides of the room. He spotted two wizards and a seer in the Council as well; specialists summoned to help deal with the matter in hand. He politely waited for the Elders to speak.

" Eloryndisei Warsong," began the Elder, "I trust you have eaten."

He nodded, "I am prepared."

"Yet you appear troubled."

There was no point hiding anything from the eyes of an Elven Councillor, "I am homesick."

"You share our lifespan, but your mind is more human than elven," he said. Loryn was fifty years old, and yet he was barely a grown man in appearance, "Do you pine for humanity?"

He shook his head, "I pine for Ishmeria."

"No land can ever be a sanctuary to you as much as your homeland, but remember that our doors are always open to you," he said kindly, "We have long been at peace with the Lodge within Norwood Forest. All elves are bound to offer sanctuary to any of their number without a home, if they are from a peaceful Lodge, or can prove that they were outcast from their Lodge and personally mean us no harm. This includes you, child of Lorelei Riversong, of the Court of Arial Stormsong. You have as much claim to our sanctuary, whether or not you consider yourself one of us. Do you understand why?"

"Out of respect and gratitude to my mother and Lady Arial?"

He shook his head, "Because our oracles have seen you in a vision since you were born. The Elven Prince of the Human Lands. We knew that you would protect the forests from the flames of war. And protect our home you did. The Elves were not harmed, even though we did not join the warring."

"And yet, I ultimately failed you," he said, his head bowed, "It was Terian and Ander between them who saved that isle from doom, not I. Mostly Terian."

"The ultimate victory was not to be yours, no. We cannot all fight dragons. But that does not change the fact that you held Norwood until the very end, when the war was fading, and was fought mostly in the south. And now there has been an Elven ruler, there can be others. That is how Ishmerian law works, yes?"

He nodded, "I suppose. Although, I wish I could have made sure. You know, with children. And actually winning a few battles."

"Your life is not yet over, Loryn. There may yet be many, many children. Just because there are not grand prophecies written about them, does not mean they won't happen," he smiled at the thought, "And there have been further visions of you. Alive."

"I know. I also had the dreams," he said, "I thought they were just nightmares of battle. I didn't know they were portents. My spirit is weak. Had I been a soothsayer I would have seen Garth's armies coming – Garth, of all people! - and not been too busy watching Erin and Ander. And, if I were a mighty wizard, I would have struck him down from the walls with lighting bolts myself..."

"You will return to Ishmeria, Loryn."

"Then I am going to die. I would be killed on sight. They have guards, and ships patrolling their seas. If there are Wyverns involved, I am not going by Gryphon. What other way is there?"

"That, we do not know. All we know is, Ishmeria is in danger again, and you will return to save your homeland. It has been seen in the Prophecy."

"Do you have any idea what kind of danger? All I saw was a wyvern, darkness and flames. That could mean any number of things... nothing good, but still..."

"The danger is in the Crown," said the Oracle suddenly, her frail voice distant. She was young in Elven terms, maybe even human terms, her gift having bloomed early. Loryn could tell that the prophecy was addressing him directly, using her voice only as a channel, "And in the time left. And in the order you did it in."

"Not again," he sighed, burying his head in his hands, "Please don't let them have started this foolishness again."

"This is a new era, Prince Loryn, and a new danger. The same tactic will not work twice," she said, "If it ever worked the first time."

"If I couldn't even get it right the first time, what hope do I have now I'm alone in exile?"

"Learn from experience," she said, "And thank the Spirits you have been given a second chance."


A Voyage from Vermilion to Erion

"It was nice of the Captain to let us on board for a reduced fare," said Garth, "He must have sympathised with the urgency of our cause and recognised us as the unsung saviors of Ishmeria."

"Didn't he say something like 'oh God, its the deadbeat losers again, if I let you on board, will you be quiet and not try and stow away in the packing crates again'?" pointed out Eadric.

"He was just trying to draw attention away from us, in case there are spies watching," explained Garth, taking another swig of the fresh bottle of absinthe, "He's very kind and sensitive like that."

"He didn't even let us buy a return ticket," said Leander, bending down to retrieve Burgundy from the coil of ropes he was trying to nest inside before he chewed through something he shouldn't and destroyed the sails or something. Dragonettes weren't adapted for sea travel; the swaying and the lack of solid ground was making the little reptile nervous and hyperactive. He was considering locking him in his cage. It would make him grumpy but at least he wouldn't get lost or annoy anyone, "It was a mean way to say it as well: 'aren't you lot supposed to be doing without return tickets, anyway?'."

"I thought it was very poetic," said Lars, "And so was the reply you gave him. It didn't help our chances of getting a better discount, though."

"I know. I shouldn't have held back quite so much," said Leander.

Eadric leant on the rails and sighed as he looked out over the vast expanse of glittering blue-green. The sea was calm and the weather pleasant. While they wouldn't make the fastest progress, they were in no danger of running into a storm. A fine sea-spray cooled the air. It beat the view from the balcony of Vermilion's cheapest inn. However, it made him all the more melancholy; he could see firsthand how maddeningly far away from Ishmeria's shores he was, and that his life was no longer in his own hands. Surrounded by the incomprehensible vastness of the sea, he could not escape his own mortality. And the sun, blazing so gloriously, unable to understand or care that its warmth could never bring him happiness outside Ishmeria's walls.

"For me," he told the softly whispering waves, "The sun has already set."

"And all that is left, is to pass through the night," finished Lars, "You're getting better at this.

"Thank you. It makes something I'm good at."

"You do know Ishmeria is that way, right?" he pointed behind him at the opposite deck.

Eadric sunk his head into his hands, letting out a sigh of utter despair.

"Just kidding," said Lars.

"That wasn't funny," he glared at his amused companion.

They stared out to sea together, until even the hypnotic majesty of the waves grew tiring, whereupon they retired to their bunks, which weren't really all that more uncomfortable than their beds in the inn. Garth and Leander had managed to scrounge some rum from the crew, and were entertaining themselves with some kind of card game while Burgundy slept wrapped around Leander's shoulders. They didn't need as much sleep as their younger companions and didn't want to split the rum four-way. Eventually, even they fell asleep, Leander snoring like a band-saw stuck halfway through a tree.

All four of them were taken by surprise when they were awoken by running and yelling, the rumble of cannons being rolled, and the cries of 'battle stations!'.

Actions