The elves walked in silence.
Teclis led the way, his plain wood staff tapping lightly but steadily in
the undergrowth. His head, bearing the imposing horned bulk of the war-
crown, was sunk low as if preoccupied. Very occasionally he would look up,
but only to sweep an irritating piece of foliage out of the way. He did not
speak.
And so Alarielle walked, or sometimes staggered, behind, still bearing the
bloodied corpse of the man she loved. It was a dead-weight on her shoulders
- literally! - but she kept her head upright proudly.
"Where are we headed to?" she asked, but the mage ignored her.
They walked all that day, and Alarielle found herself well past the point
of exhaustion. But her pride and willpower kept her stumbling forward until
Teclis stopped and turned to face her.
"We shall camp here," he said, the first thing he had said all day since
Tyrion's death.
She laid down the body carefully, and then collapsed on to a tree.
"Why do we not burn the body?" Alarielle asked. "To keep it like this is
cruelty to his spirit."
Teclis found himself a comfortable seat on a small bank of moss and sat on
it, laying down his staff before him. Then he reached up and removed the
ornate war-crown as well.
"I have heard," he began, "of a spell. It is known to a handful of the
Loremasters only, and probably to no one else in this world."
He looked intently at Alarielle, making firm eye contact. "Belannaer called
it, Apotheosis."
Alarielle whispered, "Re-birth?"
Teclis nodded. "I have been trying to recall this spell. If I can master
it, I can restore Tyrion."
Alarielle's eyebrows shot up. "Restore." She found herself short of breath.
The idea, that someone could recall the lost shade, restore Tyrion to
her.it was too amazing, too wondrous, to be vocalized!
Teclis noticed her look, and added cautiously, "Remember that no one alive
has ever cast this spell. Remember that I do not even know how to, would
have to re-invent it. The odds are slim - the odds go beyond slim!"
Alarielle said, "As Isha is my witness, you must try."
"I will. He was my brother."
They camped for the night, eating what meager food Alarielle could forage for. She had grown adept at this during the month spent fleeing from the far-off Evercourt with Tyrion. Then in the morning they set off again for the coast, where Teclis promised a ship was waiting for them. At midday they reached the shore, a gentle bay with light waves. Alarielle found a secluded area and bathed while Teclis mentally contacted their ship. She scrubbed off two months' worth of dirt and blood, and emerged feeling rejuvenated. She wandered to where Teclis sat, on a large flat boulder, and sat herself down next to him, and next to the corpse. "They should be here in a few minutes," Teclis offered. Alarielle nodded. And they were, a small elven reaver, a fast and maneuverable vessel. The sails were dropped, as were the minor enchantments of the ship's mage who controlled wind and tide for them. A small rowing boat came towards them, and Alarielle was amazed to see the face of the one who came to greet them. "Naideth!" she cried, for it was Naideth Morningstar, a captain of Alarielle's Maiden Guard. "Majesty," Naideth said, "it warms my hearts to see you alive." "It is a mutual feeling, dear Naideth," Alarielle replied warmly. "I had thought you long dead in the ruins of the Evercourt." The boat was now on the shore, and so she and Teclis, bearing Tyrion's body between them, embarked. Naideth waited until they were settled, and then began rowing back to the reaver. "About thirty of our number escaped the battle. When the Evercourt was burnt - we thought you were gone - we gave up all hope and fled. Most were killed, but we escaped. We fled down here to Finuval Plains - an isolated valley in the Annulii Mountains of no importance whatsoever. The Felix Legion of Prince Ikarus was there already. Since then, the camp has been growing steadily. Teclis came across us, and told us he thought you were still alive, with Tyrion." She looked somewhat sadly at the corpse. "I guess that's him. Why are you carrying his body around? Why don't you burn it?" And so Alarielle told her friend of what had happened - how Tyrion had saved her from the Evercourt, how he had been killed defending her, how Teclis planned to attempt to resurrect his brother. Naideth nodded sympathetically. They reached the ship then, and climbed aboard: Teclis first, then Alarielle, and finally Naideth, before the coracle was hauled up by the crew, with Tyrion's corpse on it, and the ship set sail. For three days the reaver hugged the coastline on its way to the muster at Finuval Plain. They were forced to move slowly, for the dark elves had control of the seas, and more than once they were forced to hide. It was a torturous voyage, but at last the vessel entered a small bay. "We stop here," Naideth explained. "It's a short was to Finuval Plain." And so the fifteen elves disembarked, leaving the ship hidden until it would next be needed. They prepared supplies, and a litter for Tyrion, and then began to walk. The way soon became mountainous and steep, leading to tiny paths winding the sides of mountains, narrow so that they had to proceed in single file, with only scraggly bushes separating them from a long fall down the dull brown slope. But after an hour's walk, the small party reached Finuval Plains. Alarielle and Naideth were at the lead, and were the first to witness the great elven camp. Hundreds of brightly-coloured tents, amongst which a vast army of high elves moved. There were the banners, too, snapping proudly or hanging limp as the winds shifted. There was that of the Felix Legion, and over the other side ones signifying Thaindal of Tiranoc and Ethendir of Ellyrian. Mathirion of Caledor's colors proudly by those of the White Tower and the Phoenix Guard, and a thousand more that Alarielle did not recognize. All the elves still undefeated had come here. And so the company entered the camp, and they were met with cheers as they went by, for here at last was the Everqueen, the spiritual leader of Ulthuan, restored to them through the struggles of the heroic brethren. Here at last was hope. Teclis left them immediately, and took with his brother's body. It was still in pristine condition, due to a simple enchantment he had laid upon it. But it would take rest and focusing of his powers to attempt the task he had set before himself. Alarielle was led to the greatest tent in the encampment by Naideth and the rest of her handmaidens. There she fell exhausted upon the rugs and slept.
Another newcomer arrived in the camp later that night. A battered but proud army entered, with grim-faced elves that drew respect wherever they appeared. They were veterans and heroes, every one, but especially the few who led them. They wandered on, clad in heavy cloaks to keep out the cold, went for a familiar tent. The pennant was clearly visible, due to the chill night wind, and so the three hurried inside quickly. Prince Ikarus looked up from his small seat as the three cloaked elves entered. He frowned and put down his goblet. "Who are you?" The men took off their coats. "Hello, Ikarus," the first greeted. Ikarus smiled lightly, but without any real feeling behind it. "Calarion. Tarran. Arhaindir." Calarion said, "We've just got here. It's a long voyage from Lothern." "Where is Tarthalion? Dead?" "He died about two weeks after we left Tor Yvresse. Killed by the dark elf, Mortharor." "Mortharor - that is their general, isn't it?" "Was their general, yes. I killed him. Are there some spare seats here somewhere?" Ikarus gestured. "Over there." "Thanks." The three took their seats and pulled them over to where Ikarus sat. He poured out a measure of wine for them, which they accepted gratefully. Calarion quickly filled Ikarus in with what had happened since the siege of Tor Yvresse, with the battles at Lothern and then the attack on Morband- Barad. "After I killed Mortharor, the dark elves lost their spirit for fighting. They fled, and we let them go. We moved on to Morband-Barad and stormed the foul place. There were only a few dark elves left, and they knew we must have had defeated their comrades already. We found Tarran in the dungeons and pulled him out, then demolished it stone by stone." "Good work," Ikarus said. "Here - the dark elves came back two weeks after you left to Tor Yvresse. We had to leave, it was that or be trapped and slaughtered. I assume the city fell, but I really don't know. We fled into the mountains. Skirmished with the dark elves there for a month, just a war of attrition. Finally defeated the force they'd sent after us and slipped in to here. Alarielle's handmaidens were here already, and so we sent word that we were mustering here. Thaindal and Ethendir from the west were the next to arrive. I don't know how they got over here, but they did, and from there our numbers have been growing steadily." "But do we have a chance anyway?" "I guess you don't know, having just arrived here. The Everqueen is alive, she's here." "The Everqueen?! Asuryan and Isha be praised. We have a chance." "And a few other of our friends are here too. Do you know Alatar?" "The Gwathri? I thought he died at Dagorannon." "Apparently he's been skirmishing, attack the dark elves from surprise, ever since then. He asked if any of the Sapherior line were here as soon as he arrived." "Amazing." "Not so amazing." A quiet voice. Another elf had entered the tent. He flipped back his cloak so that the four men could see his face. "Alatar!" Calarion hailed him. "Calarion." He nodded to the prince. "I have come from scouting." "What is it, Alatar?" Ikarus asked. Calarion was impressed by the quiet aura of command Ikarus suddenly exuded. The harsh fighting had made him develop greatly. "There is a dark elven army marching upon us. It should be here shortly after dawn." "How many?" Tarran asked immediately. "Maybe three hundred thousand dark elves, and one hundred thousand of their chaos allies. Twice what we have here." Ikarus was standing. "I'll spread the word. We must prepare for battle."
They camped for the night, eating what meager food Alarielle could forage for. She had grown adept at this during the month spent fleeing from the far-off Evercourt with Tyrion. Then in the morning they set off again for the coast, where Teclis promised a ship was waiting for them. At midday they reached the shore, a gentle bay with light waves. Alarielle found a secluded area and bathed while Teclis mentally contacted their ship. She scrubbed off two months' worth of dirt and blood, and emerged feeling rejuvenated. She wandered to where Teclis sat, on a large flat boulder, and sat herself down next to him, and next to the corpse. "They should be here in a few minutes," Teclis offered. Alarielle nodded. And they were, a small elven reaver, a fast and maneuverable vessel. The sails were dropped, as were the minor enchantments of the ship's mage who controlled wind and tide for them. A small rowing boat came towards them, and Alarielle was amazed to see the face of the one who came to greet them. "Naideth!" she cried, for it was Naideth Morningstar, a captain of Alarielle's Maiden Guard. "Majesty," Naideth said, "it warms my hearts to see you alive." "It is a mutual feeling, dear Naideth," Alarielle replied warmly. "I had thought you long dead in the ruins of the Evercourt." The boat was now on the shore, and so she and Teclis, bearing Tyrion's body between them, embarked. Naideth waited until they were settled, and then began rowing back to the reaver. "About thirty of our number escaped the battle. When the Evercourt was burnt - we thought you were gone - we gave up all hope and fled. Most were killed, but we escaped. We fled down here to Finuval Plains - an isolated valley in the Annulii Mountains of no importance whatsoever. The Felix Legion of Prince Ikarus was there already. Since then, the camp has been growing steadily. Teclis came across us, and told us he thought you were still alive, with Tyrion." She looked somewhat sadly at the corpse. "I guess that's him. Why are you carrying his body around? Why don't you burn it?" And so Alarielle told her friend of what had happened - how Tyrion had saved her from the Evercourt, how he had been killed defending her, how Teclis planned to attempt to resurrect his brother. Naideth nodded sympathetically. They reached the ship then, and climbed aboard: Teclis first, then Alarielle, and finally Naideth, before the coracle was hauled up by the crew, with Tyrion's corpse on it, and the ship set sail. For three days the reaver hugged the coastline on its way to the muster at Finuval Plain. They were forced to move slowly, for the dark elves had control of the seas, and more than once they were forced to hide. It was a torturous voyage, but at last the vessel entered a small bay. "We stop here," Naideth explained. "It's a short was to Finuval Plain." And so the fifteen elves disembarked, leaving the ship hidden until it would next be needed. They prepared supplies, and a litter for Tyrion, and then began to walk. The way soon became mountainous and steep, leading to tiny paths winding the sides of mountains, narrow so that they had to proceed in single file, with only scraggly bushes separating them from a long fall down the dull brown slope. But after an hour's walk, the small party reached Finuval Plains. Alarielle and Naideth were at the lead, and were the first to witness the great elven camp. Hundreds of brightly-coloured tents, amongst which a vast army of high elves moved. There were the banners, too, snapping proudly or hanging limp as the winds shifted. There was that of the Felix Legion, and over the other side ones signifying Thaindal of Tiranoc and Ethendir of Ellyrian. Mathirion of Caledor's colors proudly by those of the White Tower and the Phoenix Guard, and a thousand more that Alarielle did not recognize. All the elves still undefeated had come here. And so the company entered the camp, and they were met with cheers as they went by, for here at last was the Everqueen, the spiritual leader of Ulthuan, restored to them through the struggles of the heroic brethren. Here at last was hope. Teclis left them immediately, and took with his brother's body. It was still in pristine condition, due to a simple enchantment he had laid upon it. But it would take rest and focusing of his powers to attempt the task he had set before himself. Alarielle was led to the greatest tent in the encampment by Naideth and the rest of her handmaidens. There she fell exhausted upon the rugs and slept.
Another newcomer arrived in the camp later that night. A battered but proud army entered, with grim-faced elves that drew respect wherever they appeared. They were veterans and heroes, every one, but especially the few who led them. They wandered on, clad in heavy cloaks to keep out the cold, went for a familiar tent. The pennant was clearly visible, due to the chill night wind, and so the three hurried inside quickly. Prince Ikarus looked up from his small seat as the three cloaked elves entered. He frowned and put down his goblet. "Who are you?" The men took off their coats. "Hello, Ikarus," the first greeted. Ikarus smiled lightly, but without any real feeling behind it. "Calarion. Tarran. Arhaindir." Calarion said, "We've just got here. It's a long voyage from Lothern." "Where is Tarthalion? Dead?" "He died about two weeks after we left Tor Yvresse. Killed by the dark elf, Mortharor." "Mortharor - that is their general, isn't it?" "Was their general, yes. I killed him. Are there some spare seats here somewhere?" Ikarus gestured. "Over there." "Thanks." The three took their seats and pulled them over to where Ikarus sat. He poured out a measure of wine for them, which they accepted gratefully. Calarion quickly filled Ikarus in with what had happened since the siege of Tor Yvresse, with the battles at Lothern and then the attack on Morband- Barad. "After I killed Mortharor, the dark elves lost their spirit for fighting. They fled, and we let them go. We moved on to Morband-Barad and stormed the foul place. There were only a few dark elves left, and they knew we must have had defeated their comrades already. We found Tarran in the dungeons and pulled him out, then demolished it stone by stone." "Good work," Ikarus said. "Here - the dark elves came back two weeks after you left to Tor Yvresse. We had to leave, it was that or be trapped and slaughtered. I assume the city fell, but I really don't know. We fled into the mountains. Skirmished with the dark elves there for a month, just a war of attrition. Finally defeated the force they'd sent after us and slipped in to here. Alarielle's handmaidens were here already, and so we sent word that we were mustering here. Thaindal and Ethendir from the west were the next to arrive. I don't know how they got over here, but they did, and from there our numbers have been growing steadily." "But do we have a chance anyway?" "I guess you don't know, having just arrived here. The Everqueen is alive, she's here." "The Everqueen?! Asuryan and Isha be praised. We have a chance." "And a few other of our friends are here too. Do you know Alatar?" "The Gwathri? I thought he died at Dagorannon." "Apparently he's been skirmishing, attack the dark elves from surprise, ever since then. He asked if any of the Sapherior line were here as soon as he arrived." "Amazing." "Not so amazing." A quiet voice. Another elf had entered the tent. He flipped back his cloak so that the four men could see his face. "Alatar!" Calarion hailed him. "Calarion." He nodded to the prince. "I have come from scouting." "What is it, Alatar?" Ikarus asked. Calarion was impressed by the quiet aura of command Ikarus suddenly exuded. The harsh fighting had made him develop greatly. "There is a dark elven army marching upon us. It should be here shortly after dawn." "How many?" Tarran asked immediately. "Maybe three hundred thousand dark elves, and one hundred thousand of their chaos allies. Twice what we have here." Ikarus was standing. "I'll spread the word. We must prepare for battle."