The Chamber of the Loremasters was the most fabulous room inside the White Tower. It was one that only the full Loremasters and their guests were allowed to enter, and so Teclis had never been in here before. He eyed his surrounding with a great deal of curiosity, therefore. The Chamber could be said by most observers to most closely resemble the inside of a white marble egg. The room stretched up for some three or foul levels, sloping inward until is reached a rounded top. Seven great pillars of laen rose in the middle. Six were white, and of the greatest architectural style the elves could dream of, erected both by skill and by the added aid of magic. The middle column was directly in the centre of the room, and the centre of the White Tower in this case. It was also laen, but this time a thicker, translucent shaft of rose tinted stone. This pillar was referred to as the Heart of the Tower, and it glowed peacefully. The most incredible thing about was not its beauty, or the powers of peace and wisdom it granted to those within the room, but the fact that while the other pillars had been brought here from their quarries, this one was a natural vein of the rock, around which the tower had been built. The bottom of the room sloped downwards, and it was here that the seats were set, these of oak from the oldest trees in Chrace, and also somehow still alive now. These seats were occupied by a selection of elves. Had the elven physique shown age, these men would have been revealed as ancient by any race's standards. In the centre sat one, though, who was easily the oldest elf alive still. The High Loremaster's lifespan had been greatly augmented by his powerful command of magic, but even so Cyeos approached the end of his considerable life. The mind inside was as keen as ever. "We are all here, Belannaer. What is of such urgency that it could not wait until our next Council, next moon?" The old, gentle voice carried a hint of light reproach. Belannaer bowed. "Master." Then he straightened and sat in the remaining chair. Teclis joined him, standing by his side. "And why is your apprentice here, Belannaer? Granted, he may have more power than most full mages, but he is not a Loremaster. I believe it is time for explanations." "As you wish, master," said Belannaer. "This boy has given me reason to suspect there is something strange happening in Avelorn, involving his brother, and also the Everqueen Alarielle. Some sort of danger." "Ridiculous!" scoffed another Loremaster. "The Everqueen is the living representative of Isha! Should there be some danger, she would deal with it in a heartbeat." "Alarielle is yet young. She has only been Everqueen for a scant twelve years. She may not have come to terms with the powers yet," replied Belannaer easily. "I fear you have less knowledge of events than you think since your seclusion!" retorted the other. "Enough, Herulach!" snapped the High Loremaster, and the other Loremaster quieted. "I do not doubt your word, Belannaer, but we need some proof. How did you catch word of this?" "You know, master, of my apprentice's link with his brother?" "I do. As I recall, it was the reason why he was directly apprenticed to a senior Loremaster when he arrived here, instead of a lesser mage as per custom!" Belannaer ignored the implicit insult in the High Loremaster's words, and continued. "During the lesson, my apprentice sensed something wrong with his brother through the bond they share. When we investigated this, my scrying revealed the young warrior running through the forest, with the Everqueen." "So the Everqueen has taken him as her lover. What of it?" interjected another Loremaster. "I do not think that she has. There was blood on him, and on his sword. Obviously some sort of violence. Then my scrying bowl was destroyed by some strange magical emanation." Cyeos' eyes blazed as he bent closer. "So in other words, you witnessed nothing, and have no real proof of anything except a very ambiguous viewing." "Teclis, tell the Loremasters how your brother felt." Teclis, who had been drifting off during all this, started. "He felt in pain. Agony. Not just physical, mental too. And despair. Hatred. Fear." Cyeos said, "It is, at least, easy to determine the answer. Hopefully another scrying will not short out, as yours did, Belannaer." The High Loremaster faced the column of rose laen, and gestured. The column's light expanded, engulfing the watchers. Then it changed, and they were somewhere else. Avelorn. Black, oily smoke rose from the ruins of a great wooden hall in the middle of the otherwise-peaceful forests. Flames licked eagerly. So someone has attacked the Everqueen, High Loremaster Cyeos' voice came from a long way away. But who? The angle changed, and the watchers were inside the ruins. The most beautiful building in Ulthuan was gone. Ruined. Destroyed. Two elves stood by the pyre, talking. Their words could not be heard, but the black armor over purple and blue cloth told the watchers their identities. Dark Elves. The Dark Elves have attacked Avelorn. And now for the location of the Everqueen, High Loremaster Cyeos 'said'. Immediately they were all back in the Chamber of the Loremasters. "The scrying ended prematurely when I attempted to find Alarielle. I can only see one conclusion." Herulach ended the High Loremaster's words. "The Everqueen is dead." "And, presumably, then, so is your apprentice's brother, Belannaer." Teclis felt anger stir inside him. "Talk to me, not over my head! I am here!" The High Loremaster shook his head. "You must learn to hold your tongue, young one. Though it can be understood in wake of your twin's death." "Twin's death - ha!" spat Teclis. "My brother is alive!" The High Loremaster's face hardened. "You must not block yourself away from the truth. Accept it, no matter how hard." "The truth is that he is alive! I still sense him!" Herulach stared at him. "Do not be a fool. If he were alive, we would have seen him. He must have died protecting the Everqueen." "You did not scry for him. How do you know?!" "We do not need to." Another Loremaster this time, said in a voice that sounded like one used for a child - or a dangerous animal. Calming, soothing. Teclis pushed the tone out of his mind. "It is obvious what happened." Cyeos stood again. "The boy is right. We shall scry for him, so as to prove this whole debate. Then I think you should consider your future, boy - for more outbursts will bar the Tower to you." The crystal flared again - and died. The pink glow that surrounded it died out totally, until it was only a normal laen column. Several Loremasters gasped, and more began chanting, spells of binding and warding to keep any enchantments in the pillar where they were. The others began talking loudly. Cyeos, however, looked puzzled. "So your brother is dead. That does not explain why the pillar died out." Belannaer spoke again. "Master, my scrying of the boy had the same effect." Teclis spoke again. "So your magics have failed you, and yet you cling to the luxury of believing he and the Everqueen are dead!" Cyeos turned and put his face close to Teclis'. Then he hissed, "One more outburst from you, and I will have you thrown out of the Tower." Teclis replied with a voice that was equally quiet and terrible in every way. "If you continue to be blind, you will destroy Ulthuan. I have no desire to be led by a body that believes that because their magic has failed them, then their original thoughts must be right, a body who refuses to accept the evidence when it is in their face. Have you even thought about the fact that there are Dark Elves as far into Ulthuan as Avelorn without any knowledge of any Dark Elf aggressive? Or the fact that they have surgically struck a blow that is not militarily sound but from the viewpoint of a major campaign is crippling for us in terms of overall morale! Your leadership will destroy the Tower! As of this point, I am no longer a member of this order!" Then the young mage turned and strode out of the Chamber of the Loremasters.

The Druchii turned and fell silent as the form entered the glade. Green leaves contrasted with pitch black plate. The Witch King had come to the ruins of Avelorn. Behind the evil one walked two other men, also greatly feared, but not to the extent of their dread master. The Witch King stared at the smoking ruins and smiled. The cruel grin grew when he saw the dead bodies that had been driven to the walls. Many maiden guards and other warriors. It was a good first blow. Then he noticed something, and turned around. "Where is the Everqueen?" The voice of the Witch King was strained, rasping, from the ordeal he had suffered in the flames of Asuryan so many years ago. The voice was deathly quiet - and yet all there heard it clearly, and were afraid. One of the men with him flung back his hood. It was the assassin Vuthil. He was clad in comfortable black stained leathers again, and his eyes burned with hatred. And tracing its way from cheekbone to chin, a livid red scar, a new marking. The Witch King smirked. "Dread Master, a high elf warrior by the name of Tyrion saved her. I tried to stop him, and he gave me this." He pointed to the scar. "How . interesting. This warrior bested you?" "The warrior is a effete fool! He is just a boy, still sickened by battle, and a fop at it. He could be one of the greatest swordsmen of all time, though - if he learns to concentrate. No, I was about to kill him when the bitch caught me by surprise. Made my sword lodge in a tree trunk. Then he gave my his mark." "Hmmm," The Witch King mused. "Who led this raid?" "Lord Dreuthil the Paingiver." "Dreuthil. Bring him to me." "Yes, Dread One," said the assassin immediately, and went off at a run. The Witch-King ignored him and turned to the other man. "Mortharor. What do you make of this raid?" Mortharor, the other Dark Elf, replied. His voice was echoing inside his hood. "It seems that Dreuthil's incompetence has cost us the Everqueen." "That was my thought, also." Dreuthil arrived then, a plain looking Druchii in plate armor. "Dread One, I had." he begun. "Quiet!" snarled the Witch King. "Your battle plan let the Everqueen escape." Dreuthil began sweating. The Witch King gestured to Dreuthil. "Incompetence is not a trait I desire in my leaders. Therefore your usefulness to me is over." He turned to look at Mortharor. "Kill him," the Witch King finished blandly. Mortharor flung off his cloak. Underneath he wore beautiful plate armor, wonderfully crafted to protect the entire body, and adorned with images of skulls and daemons. The head was bare, and Mortharor's face - seemingly forged of harsh, conflicting lines and angles - was visible. The Dark Elf gestured, and two warriors ran forward. One placed a great horned helmet on Mortharor's head, its faceplate a skull. In fact, the skull of Graidel, who had been the Supreme General before his death at Mortharor's hands, and his replacement by his killer. Graidel had also been Mortharor's father. The other Dark Elf handed Mortharor his weapon of choice, a strange polearm. It appeared to be some form of light halberd, except with a blade at either end of the shaft. He moved towards Dreuthil, holding the staff- weapon negligently. Dreuthil reached at his belt for his sword, drew it out, and lunged at Mortharor. But the Dark Elf was no longer standing where he had been, the plate mail not encumbering him at all as he dodged. Then he struck out with the polearm as if it were a spear, tearing easily through the chain sleeve and ripping open the muscles on Dreuthil's left arm. Blood spurted. Dreuthil screamed shrilly, and turned to face his foe, holding his longsword in one hand, other arm dangling loosely at his side. Mortharor struck again, but this time Dreuthil blocked. A clash of steel, and the same happened again, with this time Dreuthil's shoulder taking the blow. From the side of the battle, the Witch King growled, "I grow tired of this. Stop playing with him and end this." "As you wish, Dread One," replied Mortharor. The Dark Elf immediately began spinning the polearm so that a bladed end crashed down on Dreuthil every second or so. The other tried vainly to parry, but to no avail, as a slight change of Mortharor's wrists would completely shift the angle of attack. Then suddenly Mortharor stepped back, and changed the direction of the spin. Dreuthil could only watch as the end nearest him changed direction, drew back, and then thrust directly forward. The Witch King clapped slowly as the halberd blade drove like a spear directly through Dreuthil's face and into his brain, killing him instantly. The whole fight had taken less than a minute. "Very good, my friend." "Thank you, Dread One." "Now, you must lead the war. You are, after all, my finest general. I leave this in your hands, but know that if you fail, his death will be enviable." "Yes, Dread One." The Witch King gestured to Vuthil. "Master Assassin, you must succeed where Dreuthil failed. I want the body of the Everqueen for my standard, to show those idiots there is no hope. Bring her to me." "Yes, Dread One. This I will enjoy." The Witch King handed Vuthil a small black glass orb. "When you find her, break this, and I will be able to communicate with you." "Dread One, Ulthuan's hopes end here." "Good. See that it is so," rasped the Witch King, and then he left the ruins of the Everqueen's court, totally ignoring the body he left behind him, as if it were not there.