Quel'Thalas, Realm in Exile
Part One: Narra
Chapter Two
Seventeen Years After Landing (17 AL)
The rain had been falling for six days, dissipating the last vestiges of the harsh winter. The ground, warmed in previous days by the sun, had turned soggy under the trees, with rivulet of water streaming between rocky outcroppings, wet pools forming as the ground found itself unable to drink the melted snow and the pouring rain both. In fact, after six days, much of the forest area had turned to a virtual swamp.
Fortunately, this terrain was one Narra Pureglade and the others of her group had been accustomed to ever since they had been but small elflings, for many swamps existed within the confines of the jungles of Ashenvale. Their long, supple limbs nimbly jumped from slippery branch to slippery branch, while other ran on the wet earth, not even making a noise.
Night was falling, which pleased the former huntress immensely: no creature had ever been able to fight and navigate through the night as elves could, be they High Elves or Night Elves. Her keen eyesight looked through the trees and the ground, and finally found traces of a campfire, well hidden, and almost washed away by the rain.
She made a sign, and dropped from the branch, expertly falling on her feet, scanning as always. Others took swift position above and about, arrow nocked and ready to let fly at the barest hint of a threat. Two others came near and looked around, then at her. Of all of them, only one did not have the looks of a warrior. He was the only male of the group, and his powers came from the forest itself, as he was a Druid of the Talon.
"Here, Dehire." she said "They were here. This has all the signs of a cautious fire made of dead wood." she saw the rocks, now somewhat haphazard but still in a rough circle, a piece of soggy meet she saw as being deer venison. "They were four here, which is exactly what Remarra sent here."
"Yes." the druid wrinkled his nose in distaste "I can feel small ebbs of arcane magic. Attack magic, if my senses do not deceive me. Typical Remarran scouting party."
"And typical Remarran foolishness, as well." she growled. "To have a scouting party start a fire on the edge of Troll hunting ground. I can't believe that the Highborne would keep doing these acts."
"I'm afraid that the death of Remar and his chief advisors hasn't robbed those who remain from thinking their way is the right way. Such is the way for all of the Five Settlements, including ours."
Narra bit back a protest, knowing that what the older elf was saying was right. It was the way it had been, after all, for fifteen springs.
When the High Elves had finally arrived, their numbers frightfully reduced - she could still remember the night she lost her child with aching grief - there had been little in the way of steady leadership, and eventually the people had broken up into two, then three, and finally four groups in a matter of weeks, and each had gone out to establish their own ramshackle town in order to survive - a task made necessary by the approach of the winter - a winter so much harsher than what they ever had in Ashenvale.
The groups, losing members to initial starvation, disease, and the winter, had built four towns. Remarra was founded by the remaining Highborn and the followers they had convinced. They were, in general, haughty, clutching their magical strength. The fact that the power of Magic was weakened in the area didn't deter them. Two other groups - one intensely matriarchal, the other one isolationist, had been formed as Crystal Stream and Baivan respectively.
Then there had been the last group. Fewer in numbers, they were made of elves that had never recovered from the Exile. This group believed that only by cutting all ties to the ways of the Night Elves could stability return, and their extreme ideas made them outcasts in High Elf society. Angered by what they saw as blindness, they had struck away and built the Enclave, the most dangerous of all High Elf points of civilization.
But the near-anarchic nature of the four towns hadn't been what had led several former Sentinel warriors to gather together. It had been the discovery of the existence of Trolls. Long a legend in Ashenvale, these enormous, violently intelligent beasts were found to prowl many regions of the forests, seemingly having delimited hunting grounds, but increasingly raiding the High Elf patrols and foragers.
This had led the former Sentinels to gather and found a fort they had named Silver Glade. There, they had struck against the trolls as best they could, and established an actually effective council. How it had happened that Narra seemed to be regarded the head of the council wasn't clear even to her. What was certain is that it had attracted people by its stability. From a military place of two hundred, Silver Glade had grown into a town of over three thousand, with more arriving each moon.
Although uncomfortable with the increasing way most had to look to her for answers, Narra appreciated some of those who came. Dehire was the foremost, second only to her own husband, as the elf she could talk to and decide things. Although slightly inflexible and carrying direct disdain for magic, he always had a level head and could be counted on.
She stood now, looking around for more clues as to the fate of the Remarrans. She spotted quite a few broken branches in the area, and one tree was blackened with soot. "There was a battle here. They were probably caught by surprise and barely had time to defend themselves. These elves probably weren't trained enough for this mission. If only the Remarrans had told us before." she gave an angry huff "This can't go on like this!"
Dehire's look was musing and sympathetic as he nodded. "No, it can't. Dearth, bad leadership, and now the trolls are all conspiring to gnaw at us as we stand separated."
"Its not just our numbers falling which unnerves me. The Streamers are formidable in weapons craft. The Baivans are actually managing to grow edible foodstuffs, eliminating tricky foraging. The Remarrans have magic - which could actually might be useful here. We have a relatively stable deciding group and some better warriors. And no one communicates, everyone keeps to themselves, trying to find their holes, while we slowly voyage towards our doom!"
"All true. Every word." he answered calmly "What do you propose we do about all this then?"
And here was another thing she was beginning to seriously hate. This tendency people had to give the deciding power to her. Even Dehire did so. Even, to a lesser degree, Levak did so. She saw it in the looks of those up in the branch, to the others around the trunks, all standing in the downpour. They all seemed frustratingly faithful towards her, and it irked her sometimes.
Or was it because of this increasing void she had begun to feel over the years, deep in her soul?
"Dath Remar and all those who would have led us are dead, killed in the Crossing." Levak had told her when she had mentioned it to her. "So far, you've been the most decisive, the most stable, the most wrought with personal ideas and initiative. So of course people are following your lead all the time. Few others are truly stepping anywhere."
She opened her mouth, and then closed it, took and nocked an arrow at the lengthening shadows, followed by all the others as faint noises were heard over the drips of the rain. They stood there for a few moments, just long enough, blatant enough, for the noise to stop, and then subtly reverse course. She saw, at the edge of her night vision, what she feared she would find. Trolls. Only three of them. Not nearly enough to take on the thirty High Elves.
"We have to move back. Out of here, to the Diamond River, and straight on to Silver Glade. These Trolls are going to be after us in greater numbers within two hours. We need to make as much headway as we can." she gestured to the other elves around her, and all swiftly climbed up the trees, even as Dehire assumed his bird form to warn them if other trolls arrived.
"But what about the Remarrans?" one of the youngest females asked her.
She gave the young one a tired look. "We already know what happened to them. Its clear."
She shivered just thinking about it, but controlled herself. As sad as it was, they wanted her to lead. The least she could do was to act the part. "Trolls only do one thing with those they capture. They eat them." She then left the shocked youngster to herself, and began to speed through the trees. She couldn't wait to be back to Silver Glade.
Things had to change. And if she had her way, things would.
* * * * * * * * * *
Four Years Later (21 AL)...
"There is no doubt about it: Silver Glade is becoming a danger to our plans."
"Who would have thought that it would, in only eight summers?"
"Whatever the reason, we can no longer treat them as inconsequential. Many elves have already been drawn by the rhetoric its leaders are spreading."
"Indeed. This is not at all the plan Dath Remar and we Highborn Lords had in mind."
"That plan was flawed from the beginning!"
Where an instant before the discussion had been frantic and quick-paced, the next silence fell like a silent gong. Eight elves sat around a table, set in the middle of a warded chamber made of rough stones. Remarra was still but an agglomeration of wooden huts and hovels surrounding by an even rougher palisade, but the Quel'Dorei Council couldn't live in one. They had convinced the people of that, so that, despite the few stone sources, the small mansion where the Council lived and debated was made more of stone than wood, and stood out quite fittingly.
The eight who formed the Council were all that remained of those Quel'Dorei who had potent magical might. Each had been lucky not to be in the ship which had killed their leader and so many of their number, and for two decades of time they had been amassing power to resume the plans they had when the Exile Fleet left Kalimdor forever.
To a certain point, they had succeeded, convincing some others to join their cause, to throw off the shackled of Night Elf life and embrace the new, better order that magic could give. The people of the Exile fleet had been all too willing to listen, and so Remarra had become a powerful stronghold, eventually setting up a presence in Crystal Stream and Baivan, and sending any crazed people or undesirable to the Enclave. They had begun to make many strides forward.
And then, Silver Glade. At first a laughable outpost of warriors, it had grown because of its ratio of experienced fighters into a sizable settlement, which told the High Elves that magic, if it must exist, had to be ruled by set laws and that nature could not be abandoned. This did not please the Highborn Lords. And now, to hear one of their own inferring their own plans were nonexistent did little to ease the mood of the other seven.
"Explain yourself," the oldest snapped from the head of the table "Why should our plans, carefully prepared, suddenly seized to have the importance we know they have."
"Because we are setting up spies to pit two settlement against one another, and because we intend to eventually harm another. I do not like Silver Glade's edicts on magic, but perhaps they have sense. Control would have to be observed so as to not repeat the errors of the past."
"Nonsense! That is pure druidic rhetoric! Magic is the flow that keeps us alive. We should be able to use it without restriction!" another Highborn spat, eyes flaring indignantly.
The vehemence of the answer did not deter the other, long-nosed elf. "In a way, the question is academic. I know you can all feel the cold within us, the void in our hearts. Our magic is failing, and without a way to clear this spiritual void, we cannot teach others the basics. We will dwindle quickly enough, since we kept so many of our secrets already."
This stopped the others. Yes, they could feel it within themselves, this cold, which gnawed for a food they couldn't give. Yes, they knew that their spells - the few greater spells they had managed to save - were losing power even as they spoke. They also knew few other High Elves knew how to use arcane magic at all. All this was absolutely true. But none would allow himself to admit it.
"We will find a solution." the head of the Council stated with confidence. "However, you can rest easy: the plan is still well in hand. Our own population has grown from new arrivals, and the disruption our people will create in the two towns we are watching will allow us to become more powerful. If all goes well, we will become the foremost High Elf power."
"What about Troll incursions? And Silver Glade?"
"The trolls have so far mostly left us alone, and the losses we had are, I must say, inconsequential. As for Silver Glade, I would not worry. They are so close to Troll territory, they will not last long." the elf smiled grimly. "And when its breaks, we will be there to pick up the pieces."
After that declaration, the meeting soon ended. All had work to do to make the plan work.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three Years Later (24 AL)...
Cuana had prayed to Elune that this day would never come, that she would never be caught in this sort of situation. She knew that the priestesses had no love for men - which was causing increasing trouble in Crystal Stream - but she was wise enough to know that their matriarchal edicts never said to go out and kill another elf. It had always been against everything the entire elven race stood for.
Yet here she was, pointing an arrow straight at another elf, ready to let it fly and break this important moral rule.
"I'm telling you, we don't mean any harm towards Baivan. We just want to get the berries in that field."
"That field belongs to us." the leader of the Baivan party stated stubbornly. "You Streamers should turn around, and leave our territory. Now, are you going to do that, or are we going to have to convince you to do it?" At these words, the male Baivans drew rough iron swords - swords ironically made in Crystal Stream and traded against food. Everyone tensed, hands hovering on dagger, on sword hilt, on bowstring.
Death could come any moment now.
'Elune, help us!' Cuana thought feverishly. Nevertheless, she had a duty to the people living in Crystal Stream. Desperately, she hoped this male would be more understanding than the majority of his gender. "You don't understand, we need that food more than you do. We don't have crops like you do; we don't know how to grow them. And the fruit here could feed our people for a while."
"That is sad to hear." the male said, although he didn't sound sad at all, his face set and stiff "But this is too close to our town. I will not allow Streamers to take up residence this close. I cannot. My orders are clear."
"And my orders are to get food for my people."
"Then you have a problem, since this food belongs to us."
The tension was rising between the two groups. It could be cut with a knife. She began sweating despite the relatively cool temperature. "We can trade for it, if you wish. Perhaps we could give you more weapons for it. I'm certain-" she tried again desperately, but the male roughly cut her off.
"You're not listening!" the male growled, "You have no right to be here! Now leave before we take matters into our own hands!"
Her anger flared at the rude tone and the words themselves. What a blind, cold-hearted fool! "YOU don't understand! We need-" and again her tirade was cut off, but by something even more ominous. Driven by either anger or tension, one of her people let her arrow fly, hitting one of the males on the shoulder. He grunted in pain, shock on his face.
A surreal moment of stillness followed.
And then everyone was shooting, or grabbing his weapon and charging. She shot the male in front of her on instinct, just as he brought his blade up. He too seemed to do so reluctantly at first, but when her arrow took him, he growled in pain and charged. She drew her long dagger and parried as best she could, while all around her elf trusted, slashed, shot, bled. High Elf was facing High Elf in a way that it should never have been.
Deep down, as she fought, she knew something precious had been broken.
As she let go of her bow and she and the wounded male began their deadly dance of life and death, she wondered why the priestesses were ordering them so close to the Baivans recently. Their orders, always a bit uncertain, had lost most of their sense long ago. Still, it was nothing compared to the last few summers. It was as if those leading Crystal Stream wanted to fight the Baivans.
But she'd made an oath to the people living there, and if it meant putting up with an uncertain leadership, if it meant fighting her own kind, then that would be that. The Exile taught her that to survive, sometimes one had to be ruthless.
The male showed more skill than most of the new swordsmen some males had created, reviving something not seen in thousands of years. But he was still slower than she was, and his wound sapped his strength. She sidestepped him, and tripped him to the ground rather easily, and poised her dagger on his throat. However, she found herself unable to finishing strikes. She saw other battles having the same reluctance, the same sluggishness she would never have detected if elves had been fighting anything else but elves.
Then a gust of wind that easily felt like a magical summoning struck many of the fighters still up, and all stopped as their weapons were torn from their hands, or as balances forced many off their feet.
"Well, I say!" a female voice, caught between amusement and outrage, sounded, "Have you all gone mad?!?"
An elf then appeared, and Cuana saw from her dress and the ones that the others with her wore, that she was a Remarran. Her first thought was to be relieved that someone had come to break this terrible fight. The thought, which immediately followed, was that something about the haughty elves' appearance which was too sudden. Too...convenient, if that was possible. It almost felt as if...as if they'd been...waiting.
"Well? Would anyone care to explain?" the Remarran said, and the gleam in her eye unnerved Cuana."
Yes, something was wrong with all this. But what exactly was it?
* * * * * * * * * *
Six years later (30 AL)...
Levak was scribbling notes, using paper and ink he had managed to make himself, while Dehire lounged under the tallest tree, and Narra sat on a small, round boulder. Others were also present, all in their usual position. Their was a near casual air to this meeting, if one had penetrated the grove by accident - even though all knew that the leadership of Silverglade made its decision in the small grove at the edge of the town.
The conversations themselves, however, were as tense as could be, as Levak bit his lips and asked. "Are you certain of what you're saying?" he asked Narra, and she sighed.
"I wish I could say I WAS uncertain, but there's simply no doubt: Remarrans are seen all over Baivan this past year. You know what this means."
"They have finally taken control." Dehire said, nodding. "Its not like we didn't expect it to happen."
Levak actually snorted. "After all they did to undermine both Crystal Stream and Baivan? We'd be blind if we'd miss it. They're setting themselves up to recreate Dath Remar's pseudo-utopic vision, and for now at least they're succeeding."
Narra's lips thinned. With the Remarrans in control of Baivan, they effectively controlled half of the elven populace, and the one, which knew how to grow crops the best - so far Silver Glade's own efforts had given minimal result. It gave them considerable economic - not to mention political - weight in High Elven society.
She smirked to herself. She was even starting to think in terms of politics. This was a far cry from protecting Ashenvale, riding her tiger. But it didn't stop the fact that this was the truth.
"One good thing is that some saw through what the Remarrans did, and came here." Silverglade had swollen to over eight thousand because of that new influx. "Some know how to cultivate the plants here. In a few years, we won't have to depend on foraging as much."
"But until then, they will be the ones with that secret. They will have the edge." Another council member noted "And then there's the Streamers getting near to collapse. Add to that the Trolls incursions becoming more frequent in our area, and the Enclave slowly growing - Elune knows what is happening there! - and I'd say we're all in for a lot of fun in the future."
Narra thought about the situation, and then, as she had become accustomed to even as she didn't really like it, she made a decision. "We can't allow the Streamers to collapse. If Crystal Stream goes under, the Remarrans will move in, and then we will all be caught in a society where magic moves about recklessly. No, we will have to make certain the Streamers stay alive - even if we have to lead them ourselves!" She saw it didn't please many, but that they all understood what she meant. None would oppose her actions. "And then there's this...void...we've all been feeling. It's growing ever so slightly every moon."
The druid sighed at that, his face actually appearing to be wrinkled. "I know. I have known the cause for some time. In fact I suspected this would happen. I...think...I have a solution. But it will take time to realize it. Once I manage, I think we will have to move our people there, to regain their strength." He then closed his eyes, signalling he would say no more.
Levak shook his head. "Eventually, that will make Remarra move directly against us."
"You are wise and quite right, brother elf." a voice sounded even as a burst of magic was felt and a long-nosed elf appeared, wearing the garments of an Highborn Sorcerer. All reached for weapons, but he held up his hands placatingly. "Hold, hold! I apologize for my appearance, but I truly have no quarrel with you. In fact, I wish to help you."
Narra had gripped her bow, and held an arrow in her other hand, looking at the other elf warily. He didn't look violent, but who could say with Highborn sorcerers? However, she knew she would only be playing the games of those druids who had exiled them if she didn't listen. "Very well. Speak then."
"I would wish to join Silver Glade. And so might a few people I am teaching."
"A spellcaster, here?" Dehire sniffed "Hardly possible."
"Dehire." Narra gave the druid a warning look, and then turned her gaze on the elf. "You would come here? Why?"
"Your ideas are sound. I cannot stop using magic, but I can easily see the sense in making rules. I would follow them, and help you create a safer magical order."
"And what do you bring which could convince us?" Dehire challenged. Narra frowned; she understood the druid's reasons for being so aggressive, but at the same time, it was counterproductive. It didn't seem to annoy the other elf, who answered simply.
"My brethren intend to destroy you within thirty summers, perhaps less." he nodded at their shock "Yes, not subjugation, but destruction. Complete destruction."
Silence, and then Narra nodded. "Good enough so far. Welcome...?"
"Medarin, milady."
"Then welcome Medarin. For now, at least."
* * * * * * * * * *
One year later (31 AL)...
Evorin felt, despite the hole inside him, as happy as he could be. He hadn't agreed with Weil when she'd decided they'd go to the newly forming Silver Glade. They had fought about it, and finally she'd made the decision and he, not having anyone else, had come with her. However grumpy he had been at the beginning, he had found that he loved the growing city.
He had begun to like it because of the peace he had found here. Elsewhere, people had been uncertain, afraid. Here, people knew what they had to do; they had a purpose and a sense of future. Even as young as he was, he understood the importance of that. That was why he was working so hard to pack arrows. Because of the peace here. And mostly, for Silver Glade's great leader, Narra Pureglade, whom everyone admired.
His ears picked something up from the trees nearby, and he stopped working on his arrows to listen.
"She is becoming too powerful. She might put the plan in complete jeopardy." one voice hissed.
"Be patient. We will watch her. She won't always be on her guard, or protected. At one point, we will be able to strike at her." A second voice said, more calmly. Male. They were both male.
"By the time we can, the damage she'll do..." the first voice protested.
"That can't be helped. We strike now, we get lynched the moment after, and you know it. No, we will wait for our chance. And then, I assure you, Narra Pureglade will die."
It took many moments for Evorin to breathe again, even when the voice left. When he did, his young mind whirled. Someone wanted to kill Narra Pureglade. But why? It didn't make sense. What could he do? Tell someone? He doubted that was wise, after hearing that.
No. He, Evorin Eltrass, would keep his ears open, until he found those who wanted to hurt Pureglade. At least, eh would do it when his heart stopped beating so fast and his hair fell back down!
Yes. That's what he'd do.
* * * * * * * * * *
Eight years later (39 AL)...
The air was heavy with fear and anger this autumn night, as Gaonen Fellwinder ordered her party to take position for what would be, her heart told her, a final stand. All around her, seventeen males and females had unstrung their bows and nocked arrows, fingers rendered rigid by defiance and grim knowledge. Still, no one tried to run as the trolls closed around on them.
There had been thirty of them to begin with, under the command of Brecella Cutfreeze. They had been given the mission by Narra Pureglade herself: to seek and see if the trolls were truly trying to extend their reach to Silver Glade itself. This decision had come after many clashes - always increasing - had happened between elves and trolls in the last decade. They had accepted, and had gone proudly.
They had found far more than they'd bargained for. They had seen many dozen of trolls gathering for a major raid, far too close to Silver Glade's hunting and foraging grounds for comfort. Brecella had decided to immediately send the three fastest females she had towards their town so that the defences would be ready, and had then decided to stall the trolls as long as she could, gathering everyone's assent.
But the trolls, somehow, had spotted their initial movement, and had attacked in force. In the savage battle, which followed, Brecella had fallen, and Gaonen had barely managed to escape death. Eighteen had broken away, while the rest died or, worse, were captured. She had known that there were too many trolls for the elven party to shake off their trail, and thus had tried her best to evade, trying to gain time for Silver Glade. Until now.
"Ready your arrows!" she cried as the howls and growls of the attacking trolls came from the forest all around them, threatening to pour up the small grassy knoll filled with fallen leaves that the elven party had chosen to prepare their last battle.
All arms were straining, pointing into the darkness as the howls grew louder, and then they finally came into view. Large, swift, deadly, the trolls leaped around towards them, ever nearer, primal shouts yearning for blood. They came up, and yet the elves stood their ground, as Gaonen swept her arm up, and then down sharply.
"Fire!" she shouted, and seventeen arrows sped their deadly way even as she spoke the word. They struck hard and true. A dozen trolls fell dead, and four others were clearly wounded. She no longer had to order them. She took her bow and struck as well, even as the others worked to desperately stem the tide coming towards them. Ten more trolls fell. Then six more.
And then one elf was struck by a troll spear, and fell, transfixed. She gritted her teeth, kept firing. But the trolls had swept up into range, and even as a troll fell, an elf suffered the same fate. Two, then three more fell, and the remaining ones left bow and arrows fall and drew dagger and blade to face their enemy.
'So this is how I will meet this 'death' the old ones talked about.' she thought, and drew her own blade.
The trolls fell upon the stern elven rank like savage beasts, laughing and growling, punching, striking, rending. One elf beheaded one, then struck another, only to have his sword immobilized and be set upon by three of the beasts. Another turned to the side to dodge an attack, only to be hit by a spear on the side. He too, fell. All around, the elves were slowly breaking even as they fought.
Gaonen herself faced a troll who lunged at her with a spear. She dodged it, struck it down, and then barely stepped aside from another, kicking it in the gut, striking it with a deadly blow on the head. She felt her fear be burned away by the ecstasy of the fight. Her lips drew into a grim smirk, and she crowed and whooped as she fought. All around her, other elves did the same, chasing away their fears with defiant songs, even as they numbered but seven, then six. Then five.
She was then tackled by a troll, and fell down. By chance, she ended up on top, and slit its throat with her dagger in a swift motion. She never had the chance to get up, however, as one, and then two spears skewered her at the belly and her chest. She felt her life leaving her, yet held on.
'At least the town is safe. The runners probably have reached it by now.' She thought, somewhat comforted. She saw, through her fading vision, trolls gathering around her, and gave them a blood-filled smile.
"See you in the Great Dark." she told them thickly, her mouth barely gurgling out the words. They stared at her in incomprehension.
Gaonen thought about spitting on them one last time, but died before she made her decision.
* * * * * * * * * *
Two years later (41 AL)...
The meeting between Silver Glade's council and what passed for Crystal Stream's leadership wasn't going well. In fact, it was going as badly as could be without violence. Consequently, Narra wanted to strangle someone, and cursed the fact that she had to maintain this farce. Only the knowledge of what it might do to their future stayed her as some Streamers showed more blindness and spite than a troll and crazed Night Elf druid combined could show.
She knew that the Streamers were a matriarchal society. She didn't blame them for that; it was the way this band of High Elves had survived for the last four arduous decades. But their attitude towards the males of the Silver Glade council quickly went from mildly annoying to simply ludicrous. They couldn't seem to grasp the fact that these very males had been very useful - sometimes crucial - in maintaining the very stability, which was slipping through these females' fingers.
"You have to understand that your people can no longer take the many setbacks you have suffered." Levak told them, even his soft tones denoting a hint of impatience.
Their leader, an elf priestess of supreme arrogance, met Narra's lovers eyes with barely-concealed disdain. "Some smattering of male complaint won't destroy our society. We have Crystal Stream well under control."
"No, I'm afraid you do not. The people went with your ideas to survive. Now that survival has become possible, it's only natural that the male part of your population is growing restless, as well as, might I had, a large part of the females. Add to that that your town did not manage very well against the troll attacks two autumns ago..."
"That was hardly our fault. We were simply unprepared." one Streamer huffed.
"Precisely. You never ordered a defence prepared, while we, Baivan and Remarra did so. You are basing yourselves on the strength of Elune alone, and that cannot be good." he replied.
"What would a male like you know of what is right or wrong for the people?" came the scathing reply. The males bristled, their calm cracking. But nothing could top Narra's own ire, which finally reached a breaking point.
"You are standing in the middle of the Council Grove of Silver Glade." she noted coldly, taking in the ancient trees surrounding them. "And these males ARE members of this town's council. You will treat them with the respect they deserve, or I swear I will have you arrested by our militia."
The Streamers went quickly livid with indignation. "You dare treat us like this? The leaders of a fellow settlement?" their arrogant leader asked. Narra figured it was time to show some arrogance of her own.
"Of course I dare!" she snapped, " I dare because your settlement is close to breaking up into a true uprising! Your males hate you; you females are tired of you! Your orders are based upon a twisted version of Elune's precepts. What else? Dare I mention the death of hundreds in the last major troll offensive." inwardly she shivered at that. Silver Glade had beaten the trolls off because of Brecella Cutfreeze's party's sacrifice more than skill. She wasn't about to mention that, but instead plunged ahead. "Your religion and your leadership have all but lost power!"
The Streamers stood up almost as one. "I will not stay a moment more. We will-" the Streamer leader began darkly. Narra, ignoring the looks from the other members, cut her off.
"You will sit down. That, and only that. Because you see, the people of Silver Glade will be moving to a safer haven in years soon to come. I intend to bring your people with us to found a new, stronger haven." she swept an arm with authority to cut off any protest. "And I swear by Elune and my dedication to the High Elves that your people WILL come with us. Either you tell them to, or I ask them to. The result will be the same at any rate."
"The people will not follow you."
"Won't they? Think about it. We know how to grow adequate crops, we have a well-organized militia, and most of all, and our orders are carefully prepared and make sense. Do you want me to show you exactly what will happen if I go see them? Don't you think you should consider what might happen to you if I do?" she stated, straight as an arrow, arms crossed.
The sullen streamers did not answer. Narra nodded, her point was made. She turned to the leader of Silver Glade's militia.
"Please escort these people out of this town. This meeting is concluded."
* * * * * * * * * *
Five years later (46 AL)...
Dehire took the scenery around him. A small valley, surrounded by small but swift rivers, surrounded by thick forests but in itself, possessing only a few dozen trees at most. As he had flown, examining the area, he had spotted a good place for a quarry, and plenty of game. He had also seen that many of the wild herbs the defecting Baivans had taught Silver Glade to grow.
Most of all, however, he had spotted the small well of water, which, nature had allowed him to feel, was connected to a large part of the territory. That, more than anything, else, had convinced him.
He looked at the small pool at his feet, nodding. "Yes. This place. None other. This is perfect."
"For building our new home, or to try this rather ambitious project you have?" a voice he didn't like yet asked him, and he looked over at Medarin, the Highborne being surrounded by the two of the most powerful lesser sorcerers whom had defected from Remarra with him, as the two strongest remaining druids stood besides him. He knew now that, despite his arrogance, the sorcerer actually meant well. But it didn't change the fact that he didn't quite trust the elf.
For this however, his emotions were irrelevant. It was too important, too crucial. He thus only sighed in exasperation. "Both, sorcerer. Here, we can truly begin anew. In more ways than we can imagine, I suppose." he then opened a small bag he had kept with him for nearly half a century now.
A gasp came from all involved - even Medarin, he found with a sort of grim triumph - as he took out the two special vials. Both glowed with a different power - the water from the Well of Eternity glowed white, the seeds from the Tree of Life a sort of golden colour. Both represented the hope of the High Elves. He saw the sorcerers' eyes glow with contained craving, and again he had doubts. Was he right in doing this? And yet, was there any other way?
No, he realized. There wasn't. The people were becoming despondent, agitated, and for many, hopeless as their should seemed increasingly empty. He had to do this. Elune forgive him.
He clutched the vials and motioned to the two druids. "Go to the far side with me. Medarin, you stay here. Remember: focus will be paramount. If we fail, the void might one day destroy us."
Despite the hungry look of his eyes, the sorcerer's nod was firm. "We will not fail." he said simply. Dehire wondered if he too was praying to Elune. Perhaps.
They took their positions around the pool, and then Dehire, not wishing to think about it any longer, forcing all of his doubts away, uncorked the vial and emptied them into the small well of water. Immediately, it started to bubble and froth as the powers of the seeds and those of the Well water fought within. Immediately he forced his power into it, and nearly lost his mind when he felt the sheer power inside the well.
At once, one of the sorcerers toppled over, unable to deal with the power, spirit spent. Medarin's face was like stone, and he felt the sorcerer's strength, trying to control the change as he did, trying to mix the powers. Both energies struggled for supremacy, and it seemed that for a moment, he could see the powers behind both - the powers of the Titans, and of the Dragons.
Still, he held on, even as one of his people fell down, out cold. The powers, forced together, began to merge.
A deflagration of power actually swept past him, and he felt the sickening touch of magic all over himself, mingled with the powers of nature. They penetrated his mind, hissed, and then went still, as one power began to emerge from the two. He heard the others falling one by one, and yet he held, until he felt the struggle was almost won. Just a little bit more. Just a little bit...
And then there was a last, terrific surge. He nearly blacked out, falling. And bas he fell down, he felt the power of the well, now one, potent, already healing a bit of the searing void inside of him. He spotted Medarin, holding his head, and forced himself to talk to the male with all the strength he had left.
"W-w-well....M-Medarin....what d-do you think of-of the..." he hesitated, and then a thought crossed him as he spotted the soft, golden colour of the water. "W-hat do you t-think of the...t-the Sunwell?"
And with that, Dehire blacked out, surrendering to the bliss of unconsciousness.
* * * * * * * * * *
Four years later (50 AL)...
Elated. That's how he felt. There was no other word to describe the feeling. Evorin found it strange, in a way. After all, here he was surrounded by a sea of elves, in the midst of what was, for now, but a great agglomeration of crude tents and campfires. Yet he felt better than he'd felt in a very long time, better than he had felt since he had come to the now- destroyed and cannibalized Silver Glade.
Part of it was, he was now old enough to know, due to the Sunwell itself. Created not so long ago by Dehire the Druid and Medarin the Sorcerer, its creation had killed three of the six involved and had rendered the fourth catatonic. Only Dehire and Medarin themselves had survived, and they were marked. They were gaunter then ever before, and their hair had gone completely white. Still, they had created the Sunwell. And for that alone, they were celebrated as saviours as the Sunwell slowly seemed to cure the emptiness they'd all felt for so long.
Another reason was Narra. She was standing near the Sunwell, with her mate Levak by her side, with Medarin, Dehire, and all of the most important people from the new, forming council. Around her, the people of Silver Glade mingled with those from Crystal Stream, with defectors from Baivans, and even the few who came with Medarin. As she talked, she looked proud, strong, confident. Supreme.
Beside him, Weil looked at her leader attentively. She had grown into a full, beautiful female recently, and had chosen to become part of the new militia. She saw him looking at her, winked, and he flushed, turning his eyes away. Things were somehow getting complicated with Weil these days.
Standing surrounded by the people who had quickly come to revere her leadership, Narra was talking with her usual strength. "This settlement will be the beginning. So far we have lived in huts, foraging for survival, fighting trolls off, resisting the pull of Remarra's reckless bids for power. Here, it will be different. Here, we will build walls of wood, then of stone. We will create streets, shops to learn half-forgotten trades."
"Here there will be towers and buildings, of wood, of stone, to symbolize that we are here. That the High Elves have made their homes and will remain. Let today be the beginning. With these words, and with the hope in my heart, I declare the birth of the city of Silvermoon!" Her last words were drowned in the roaring cheers of thousands of elves, male and female, all swept away by her charisma. Evorin and Weil joined it quickly.
And then, something happened. As the clamour died down, Medarin came forth, his smile tired but jubilant. People who would have looked at him in distrust just five summers ago looked at him with respect in the twilight of this one. He stood and looked at them all, and spoke in the relative silence.
"High Elves, this is a great day! But not only because of the foundation of what will be, I am certain, a city of great splendour. This is a great day, because today we will see the finalization of something we all know to be in our hearts." And from his garments, he drew a crown of superbly crafted wood, glowing with a soft golden hue. With it, he approached a flabbergasted Narra, who began shaking her head, then stopped as Levak said something in her ear. Finally, Medarin gave the crown to Dehire.
"Kneel, my friend." he said, and after a long hesitation, after having looked around at the people, she did. "Today we give you in title what you already had: rulership of our destiny. The years will be hard ahead still. And I see no one better suited to lead us through them. This is a heavy burden, yet I am glad someone such as you bear it. Rise this time my friend, and never kneel to anyone again."
And as she rose, unsteady, Levak, whose voice was actually so soft and cultured, shouted. "High Elves! This is Narra Pureglade. First of the High Elves, Ruling Lady of Silvermoon." he seemed to hesitate, then smiled. "The Queen of Quel'Thalas!"
And this time, Evorin realized as he roared along the others, he truly felt that here, ever since he had lost his parents, that he was back. He had come home at last.
The cheers and the celebrations continued far in the night, in the large cluster of tents which was now Silvermoon.
Part One: Narra
Chapter Two
Seventeen Years After Landing (17 AL)
The rain had been falling for six days, dissipating the last vestiges of the harsh winter. The ground, warmed in previous days by the sun, had turned soggy under the trees, with rivulet of water streaming between rocky outcroppings, wet pools forming as the ground found itself unable to drink the melted snow and the pouring rain both. In fact, after six days, much of the forest area had turned to a virtual swamp.
Fortunately, this terrain was one Narra Pureglade and the others of her group had been accustomed to ever since they had been but small elflings, for many swamps existed within the confines of the jungles of Ashenvale. Their long, supple limbs nimbly jumped from slippery branch to slippery branch, while other ran on the wet earth, not even making a noise.
Night was falling, which pleased the former huntress immensely: no creature had ever been able to fight and navigate through the night as elves could, be they High Elves or Night Elves. Her keen eyesight looked through the trees and the ground, and finally found traces of a campfire, well hidden, and almost washed away by the rain.
She made a sign, and dropped from the branch, expertly falling on her feet, scanning as always. Others took swift position above and about, arrow nocked and ready to let fly at the barest hint of a threat. Two others came near and looked around, then at her. Of all of them, only one did not have the looks of a warrior. He was the only male of the group, and his powers came from the forest itself, as he was a Druid of the Talon.
"Here, Dehire." she said "They were here. This has all the signs of a cautious fire made of dead wood." she saw the rocks, now somewhat haphazard but still in a rough circle, a piece of soggy meet she saw as being deer venison. "They were four here, which is exactly what Remarra sent here."
"Yes." the druid wrinkled his nose in distaste "I can feel small ebbs of arcane magic. Attack magic, if my senses do not deceive me. Typical Remarran scouting party."
"And typical Remarran foolishness, as well." she growled. "To have a scouting party start a fire on the edge of Troll hunting ground. I can't believe that the Highborne would keep doing these acts."
"I'm afraid that the death of Remar and his chief advisors hasn't robbed those who remain from thinking their way is the right way. Such is the way for all of the Five Settlements, including ours."
Narra bit back a protest, knowing that what the older elf was saying was right. It was the way it had been, after all, for fifteen springs.
When the High Elves had finally arrived, their numbers frightfully reduced - she could still remember the night she lost her child with aching grief - there had been little in the way of steady leadership, and eventually the people had broken up into two, then three, and finally four groups in a matter of weeks, and each had gone out to establish their own ramshackle town in order to survive - a task made necessary by the approach of the winter - a winter so much harsher than what they ever had in Ashenvale.
The groups, losing members to initial starvation, disease, and the winter, had built four towns. Remarra was founded by the remaining Highborn and the followers they had convinced. They were, in general, haughty, clutching their magical strength. The fact that the power of Magic was weakened in the area didn't deter them. Two other groups - one intensely matriarchal, the other one isolationist, had been formed as Crystal Stream and Baivan respectively.
Then there had been the last group. Fewer in numbers, they were made of elves that had never recovered from the Exile. This group believed that only by cutting all ties to the ways of the Night Elves could stability return, and their extreme ideas made them outcasts in High Elf society. Angered by what they saw as blindness, they had struck away and built the Enclave, the most dangerous of all High Elf points of civilization.
But the near-anarchic nature of the four towns hadn't been what had led several former Sentinel warriors to gather together. It had been the discovery of the existence of Trolls. Long a legend in Ashenvale, these enormous, violently intelligent beasts were found to prowl many regions of the forests, seemingly having delimited hunting grounds, but increasingly raiding the High Elf patrols and foragers.
This had led the former Sentinels to gather and found a fort they had named Silver Glade. There, they had struck against the trolls as best they could, and established an actually effective council. How it had happened that Narra seemed to be regarded the head of the council wasn't clear even to her. What was certain is that it had attracted people by its stability. From a military place of two hundred, Silver Glade had grown into a town of over three thousand, with more arriving each moon.
Although uncomfortable with the increasing way most had to look to her for answers, Narra appreciated some of those who came. Dehire was the foremost, second only to her own husband, as the elf she could talk to and decide things. Although slightly inflexible and carrying direct disdain for magic, he always had a level head and could be counted on.
She stood now, looking around for more clues as to the fate of the Remarrans. She spotted quite a few broken branches in the area, and one tree was blackened with soot. "There was a battle here. They were probably caught by surprise and barely had time to defend themselves. These elves probably weren't trained enough for this mission. If only the Remarrans had told us before." she gave an angry huff "This can't go on like this!"
Dehire's look was musing and sympathetic as he nodded. "No, it can't. Dearth, bad leadership, and now the trolls are all conspiring to gnaw at us as we stand separated."
"Its not just our numbers falling which unnerves me. The Streamers are formidable in weapons craft. The Baivans are actually managing to grow edible foodstuffs, eliminating tricky foraging. The Remarrans have magic - which could actually might be useful here. We have a relatively stable deciding group and some better warriors. And no one communicates, everyone keeps to themselves, trying to find their holes, while we slowly voyage towards our doom!"
"All true. Every word." he answered calmly "What do you propose we do about all this then?"
And here was another thing she was beginning to seriously hate. This tendency people had to give the deciding power to her. Even Dehire did so. Even, to a lesser degree, Levak did so. She saw it in the looks of those up in the branch, to the others around the trunks, all standing in the downpour. They all seemed frustratingly faithful towards her, and it irked her sometimes.
Or was it because of this increasing void she had begun to feel over the years, deep in her soul?
"Dath Remar and all those who would have led us are dead, killed in the Crossing." Levak had told her when she had mentioned it to her. "So far, you've been the most decisive, the most stable, the most wrought with personal ideas and initiative. So of course people are following your lead all the time. Few others are truly stepping anywhere."
She opened her mouth, and then closed it, took and nocked an arrow at the lengthening shadows, followed by all the others as faint noises were heard over the drips of the rain. They stood there for a few moments, just long enough, blatant enough, for the noise to stop, and then subtly reverse course. She saw, at the edge of her night vision, what she feared she would find. Trolls. Only three of them. Not nearly enough to take on the thirty High Elves.
"We have to move back. Out of here, to the Diamond River, and straight on to Silver Glade. These Trolls are going to be after us in greater numbers within two hours. We need to make as much headway as we can." she gestured to the other elves around her, and all swiftly climbed up the trees, even as Dehire assumed his bird form to warn them if other trolls arrived.
"But what about the Remarrans?" one of the youngest females asked her.
She gave the young one a tired look. "We already know what happened to them. Its clear."
She shivered just thinking about it, but controlled herself. As sad as it was, they wanted her to lead. The least she could do was to act the part. "Trolls only do one thing with those they capture. They eat them." She then left the shocked youngster to herself, and began to speed through the trees. She couldn't wait to be back to Silver Glade.
Things had to change. And if she had her way, things would.
* * * * * * * * * *
Four Years Later (21 AL)...
"There is no doubt about it: Silver Glade is becoming a danger to our plans."
"Who would have thought that it would, in only eight summers?"
"Whatever the reason, we can no longer treat them as inconsequential. Many elves have already been drawn by the rhetoric its leaders are spreading."
"Indeed. This is not at all the plan Dath Remar and we Highborn Lords had in mind."
"That plan was flawed from the beginning!"
Where an instant before the discussion had been frantic and quick-paced, the next silence fell like a silent gong. Eight elves sat around a table, set in the middle of a warded chamber made of rough stones. Remarra was still but an agglomeration of wooden huts and hovels surrounding by an even rougher palisade, but the Quel'Dorei Council couldn't live in one. They had convinced the people of that, so that, despite the few stone sources, the small mansion where the Council lived and debated was made more of stone than wood, and stood out quite fittingly.
The eight who formed the Council were all that remained of those Quel'Dorei who had potent magical might. Each had been lucky not to be in the ship which had killed their leader and so many of their number, and for two decades of time they had been amassing power to resume the plans they had when the Exile Fleet left Kalimdor forever.
To a certain point, they had succeeded, convincing some others to join their cause, to throw off the shackled of Night Elf life and embrace the new, better order that magic could give. The people of the Exile fleet had been all too willing to listen, and so Remarra had become a powerful stronghold, eventually setting up a presence in Crystal Stream and Baivan, and sending any crazed people or undesirable to the Enclave. They had begun to make many strides forward.
And then, Silver Glade. At first a laughable outpost of warriors, it had grown because of its ratio of experienced fighters into a sizable settlement, which told the High Elves that magic, if it must exist, had to be ruled by set laws and that nature could not be abandoned. This did not please the Highborn Lords. And now, to hear one of their own inferring their own plans were nonexistent did little to ease the mood of the other seven.
"Explain yourself," the oldest snapped from the head of the table "Why should our plans, carefully prepared, suddenly seized to have the importance we know they have."
"Because we are setting up spies to pit two settlement against one another, and because we intend to eventually harm another. I do not like Silver Glade's edicts on magic, but perhaps they have sense. Control would have to be observed so as to not repeat the errors of the past."
"Nonsense! That is pure druidic rhetoric! Magic is the flow that keeps us alive. We should be able to use it without restriction!" another Highborn spat, eyes flaring indignantly.
The vehemence of the answer did not deter the other, long-nosed elf. "In a way, the question is academic. I know you can all feel the cold within us, the void in our hearts. Our magic is failing, and without a way to clear this spiritual void, we cannot teach others the basics. We will dwindle quickly enough, since we kept so many of our secrets already."
This stopped the others. Yes, they could feel it within themselves, this cold, which gnawed for a food they couldn't give. Yes, they knew that their spells - the few greater spells they had managed to save - were losing power even as they spoke. They also knew few other High Elves knew how to use arcane magic at all. All this was absolutely true. But none would allow himself to admit it.
"We will find a solution." the head of the Council stated with confidence. "However, you can rest easy: the plan is still well in hand. Our own population has grown from new arrivals, and the disruption our people will create in the two towns we are watching will allow us to become more powerful. If all goes well, we will become the foremost High Elf power."
"What about Troll incursions? And Silver Glade?"
"The trolls have so far mostly left us alone, and the losses we had are, I must say, inconsequential. As for Silver Glade, I would not worry. They are so close to Troll territory, they will not last long." the elf smiled grimly. "And when its breaks, we will be there to pick up the pieces."
After that declaration, the meeting soon ended. All had work to do to make the plan work.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three Years Later (24 AL)...
Cuana had prayed to Elune that this day would never come, that she would never be caught in this sort of situation. She knew that the priestesses had no love for men - which was causing increasing trouble in Crystal Stream - but she was wise enough to know that their matriarchal edicts never said to go out and kill another elf. It had always been against everything the entire elven race stood for.
Yet here she was, pointing an arrow straight at another elf, ready to let it fly and break this important moral rule.
"I'm telling you, we don't mean any harm towards Baivan. We just want to get the berries in that field."
"That field belongs to us." the leader of the Baivan party stated stubbornly. "You Streamers should turn around, and leave our territory. Now, are you going to do that, or are we going to have to convince you to do it?" At these words, the male Baivans drew rough iron swords - swords ironically made in Crystal Stream and traded against food. Everyone tensed, hands hovering on dagger, on sword hilt, on bowstring.
Death could come any moment now.
'Elune, help us!' Cuana thought feverishly. Nevertheless, she had a duty to the people living in Crystal Stream. Desperately, she hoped this male would be more understanding than the majority of his gender. "You don't understand, we need that food more than you do. We don't have crops like you do; we don't know how to grow them. And the fruit here could feed our people for a while."
"That is sad to hear." the male said, although he didn't sound sad at all, his face set and stiff "But this is too close to our town. I will not allow Streamers to take up residence this close. I cannot. My orders are clear."
"And my orders are to get food for my people."
"Then you have a problem, since this food belongs to us."
The tension was rising between the two groups. It could be cut with a knife. She began sweating despite the relatively cool temperature. "We can trade for it, if you wish. Perhaps we could give you more weapons for it. I'm certain-" she tried again desperately, but the male roughly cut her off.
"You're not listening!" the male growled, "You have no right to be here! Now leave before we take matters into our own hands!"
Her anger flared at the rude tone and the words themselves. What a blind, cold-hearted fool! "YOU don't understand! We need-" and again her tirade was cut off, but by something even more ominous. Driven by either anger or tension, one of her people let her arrow fly, hitting one of the males on the shoulder. He grunted in pain, shock on his face.
A surreal moment of stillness followed.
And then everyone was shooting, or grabbing his weapon and charging. She shot the male in front of her on instinct, just as he brought his blade up. He too seemed to do so reluctantly at first, but when her arrow took him, he growled in pain and charged. She drew her long dagger and parried as best she could, while all around her elf trusted, slashed, shot, bled. High Elf was facing High Elf in a way that it should never have been.
Deep down, as she fought, she knew something precious had been broken.
As she let go of her bow and she and the wounded male began their deadly dance of life and death, she wondered why the priestesses were ordering them so close to the Baivans recently. Their orders, always a bit uncertain, had lost most of their sense long ago. Still, it was nothing compared to the last few summers. It was as if those leading Crystal Stream wanted to fight the Baivans.
But she'd made an oath to the people living there, and if it meant putting up with an uncertain leadership, if it meant fighting her own kind, then that would be that. The Exile taught her that to survive, sometimes one had to be ruthless.
The male showed more skill than most of the new swordsmen some males had created, reviving something not seen in thousands of years. But he was still slower than she was, and his wound sapped his strength. She sidestepped him, and tripped him to the ground rather easily, and poised her dagger on his throat. However, she found herself unable to finishing strikes. She saw other battles having the same reluctance, the same sluggishness she would never have detected if elves had been fighting anything else but elves.
Then a gust of wind that easily felt like a magical summoning struck many of the fighters still up, and all stopped as their weapons were torn from their hands, or as balances forced many off their feet.
"Well, I say!" a female voice, caught between amusement and outrage, sounded, "Have you all gone mad?!?"
An elf then appeared, and Cuana saw from her dress and the ones that the others with her wore, that she was a Remarran. Her first thought was to be relieved that someone had come to break this terrible fight. The thought, which immediately followed, was that something about the haughty elves' appearance which was too sudden. Too...convenient, if that was possible. It almost felt as if...as if they'd been...waiting.
"Well? Would anyone care to explain?" the Remarran said, and the gleam in her eye unnerved Cuana."
Yes, something was wrong with all this. But what exactly was it?
* * * * * * * * * *
Six years later (30 AL)...
Levak was scribbling notes, using paper and ink he had managed to make himself, while Dehire lounged under the tallest tree, and Narra sat on a small, round boulder. Others were also present, all in their usual position. Their was a near casual air to this meeting, if one had penetrated the grove by accident - even though all knew that the leadership of Silverglade made its decision in the small grove at the edge of the town.
The conversations themselves, however, were as tense as could be, as Levak bit his lips and asked. "Are you certain of what you're saying?" he asked Narra, and she sighed.
"I wish I could say I WAS uncertain, but there's simply no doubt: Remarrans are seen all over Baivan this past year. You know what this means."
"They have finally taken control." Dehire said, nodding. "Its not like we didn't expect it to happen."
Levak actually snorted. "After all they did to undermine both Crystal Stream and Baivan? We'd be blind if we'd miss it. They're setting themselves up to recreate Dath Remar's pseudo-utopic vision, and for now at least they're succeeding."
Narra's lips thinned. With the Remarrans in control of Baivan, they effectively controlled half of the elven populace, and the one, which knew how to grow crops the best - so far Silver Glade's own efforts had given minimal result. It gave them considerable economic - not to mention political - weight in High Elven society.
She smirked to herself. She was even starting to think in terms of politics. This was a far cry from protecting Ashenvale, riding her tiger. But it didn't stop the fact that this was the truth.
"One good thing is that some saw through what the Remarrans did, and came here." Silverglade had swollen to over eight thousand because of that new influx. "Some know how to cultivate the plants here. In a few years, we won't have to depend on foraging as much."
"But until then, they will be the ones with that secret. They will have the edge." Another council member noted "And then there's the Streamers getting near to collapse. Add to that the Trolls incursions becoming more frequent in our area, and the Enclave slowly growing - Elune knows what is happening there! - and I'd say we're all in for a lot of fun in the future."
Narra thought about the situation, and then, as she had become accustomed to even as she didn't really like it, she made a decision. "We can't allow the Streamers to collapse. If Crystal Stream goes under, the Remarrans will move in, and then we will all be caught in a society where magic moves about recklessly. No, we will have to make certain the Streamers stay alive - even if we have to lead them ourselves!" She saw it didn't please many, but that they all understood what she meant. None would oppose her actions. "And then there's this...void...we've all been feeling. It's growing ever so slightly every moon."
The druid sighed at that, his face actually appearing to be wrinkled. "I know. I have known the cause for some time. In fact I suspected this would happen. I...think...I have a solution. But it will take time to realize it. Once I manage, I think we will have to move our people there, to regain their strength." He then closed his eyes, signalling he would say no more.
Levak shook his head. "Eventually, that will make Remarra move directly against us."
"You are wise and quite right, brother elf." a voice sounded even as a burst of magic was felt and a long-nosed elf appeared, wearing the garments of an Highborn Sorcerer. All reached for weapons, but he held up his hands placatingly. "Hold, hold! I apologize for my appearance, but I truly have no quarrel with you. In fact, I wish to help you."
Narra had gripped her bow, and held an arrow in her other hand, looking at the other elf warily. He didn't look violent, but who could say with Highborn sorcerers? However, she knew she would only be playing the games of those druids who had exiled them if she didn't listen. "Very well. Speak then."
"I would wish to join Silver Glade. And so might a few people I am teaching."
"A spellcaster, here?" Dehire sniffed "Hardly possible."
"Dehire." Narra gave the druid a warning look, and then turned her gaze on the elf. "You would come here? Why?"
"Your ideas are sound. I cannot stop using magic, but I can easily see the sense in making rules. I would follow them, and help you create a safer magical order."
"And what do you bring which could convince us?" Dehire challenged. Narra frowned; she understood the druid's reasons for being so aggressive, but at the same time, it was counterproductive. It didn't seem to annoy the other elf, who answered simply.
"My brethren intend to destroy you within thirty summers, perhaps less." he nodded at their shock "Yes, not subjugation, but destruction. Complete destruction."
Silence, and then Narra nodded. "Good enough so far. Welcome...?"
"Medarin, milady."
"Then welcome Medarin. For now, at least."
* * * * * * * * * *
One year later (31 AL)...
Evorin felt, despite the hole inside him, as happy as he could be. He hadn't agreed with Weil when she'd decided they'd go to the newly forming Silver Glade. They had fought about it, and finally she'd made the decision and he, not having anyone else, had come with her. However grumpy he had been at the beginning, he had found that he loved the growing city.
He had begun to like it because of the peace he had found here. Elsewhere, people had been uncertain, afraid. Here, people knew what they had to do; they had a purpose and a sense of future. Even as young as he was, he understood the importance of that. That was why he was working so hard to pack arrows. Because of the peace here. And mostly, for Silver Glade's great leader, Narra Pureglade, whom everyone admired.
His ears picked something up from the trees nearby, and he stopped working on his arrows to listen.
"She is becoming too powerful. She might put the plan in complete jeopardy." one voice hissed.
"Be patient. We will watch her. She won't always be on her guard, or protected. At one point, we will be able to strike at her." A second voice said, more calmly. Male. They were both male.
"By the time we can, the damage she'll do..." the first voice protested.
"That can't be helped. We strike now, we get lynched the moment after, and you know it. No, we will wait for our chance. And then, I assure you, Narra Pureglade will die."
It took many moments for Evorin to breathe again, even when the voice left. When he did, his young mind whirled. Someone wanted to kill Narra Pureglade. But why? It didn't make sense. What could he do? Tell someone? He doubted that was wise, after hearing that.
No. He, Evorin Eltrass, would keep his ears open, until he found those who wanted to hurt Pureglade. At least, eh would do it when his heart stopped beating so fast and his hair fell back down!
Yes. That's what he'd do.
* * * * * * * * * *
Eight years later (39 AL)...
The air was heavy with fear and anger this autumn night, as Gaonen Fellwinder ordered her party to take position for what would be, her heart told her, a final stand. All around her, seventeen males and females had unstrung their bows and nocked arrows, fingers rendered rigid by defiance and grim knowledge. Still, no one tried to run as the trolls closed around on them.
There had been thirty of them to begin with, under the command of Brecella Cutfreeze. They had been given the mission by Narra Pureglade herself: to seek and see if the trolls were truly trying to extend their reach to Silver Glade itself. This decision had come after many clashes - always increasing - had happened between elves and trolls in the last decade. They had accepted, and had gone proudly.
They had found far more than they'd bargained for. They had seen many dozen of trolls gathering for a major raid, far too close to Silver Glade's hunting and foraging grounds for comfort. Brecella had decided to immediately send the three fastest females she had towards their town so that the defences would be ready, and had then decided to stall the trolls as long as she could, gathering everyone's assent.
But the trolls, somehow, had spotted their initial movement, and had attacked in force. In the savage battle, which followed, Brecella had fallen, and Gaonen had barely managed to escape death. Eighteen had broken away, while the rest died or, worse, were captured. She had known that there were too many trolls for the elven party to shake off their trail, and thus had tried her best to evade, trying to gain time for Silver Glade. Until now.
"Ready your arrows!" she cried as the howls and growls of the attacking trolls came from the forest all around them, threatening to pour up the small grassy knoll filled with fallen leaves that the elven party had chosen to prepare their last battle.
All arms were straining, pointing into the darkness as the howls grew louder, and then they finally came into view. Large, swift, deadly, the trolls leaped around towards them, ever nearer, primal shouts yearning for blood. They came up, and yet the elves stood their ground, as Gaonen swept her arm up, and then down sharply.
"Fire!" she shouted, and seventeen arrows sped their deadly way even as she spoke the word. They struck hard and true. A dozen trolls fell dead, and four others were clearly wounded. She no longer had to order them. She took her bow and struck as well, even as the others worked to desperately stem the tide coming towards them. Ten more trolls fell. Then six more.
And then one elf was struck by a troll spear, and fell, transfixed. She gritted her teeth, kept firing. But the trolls had swept up into range, and even as a troll fell, an elf suffered the same fate. Two, then three more fell, and the remaining ones left bow and arrows fall and drew dagger and blade to face their enemy.
'So this is how I will meet this 'death' the old ones talked about.' she thought, and drew her own blade.
The trolls fell upon the stern elven rank like savage beasts, laughing and growling, punching, striking, rending. One elf beheaded one, then struck another, only to have his sword immobilized and be set upon by three of the beasts. Another turned to the side to dodge an attack, only to be hit by a spear on the side. He too, fell. All around, the elves were slowly breaking even as they fought.
Gaonen herself faced a troll who lunged at her with a spear. She dodged it, struck it down, and then barely stepped aside from another, kicking it in the gut, striking it with a deadly blow on the head. She felt her fear be burned away by the ecstasy of the fight. Her lips drew into a grim smirk, and she crowed and whooped as she fought. All around her, other elves did the same, chasing away their fears with defiant songs, even as they numbered but seven, then six. Then five.
She was then tackled by a troll, and fell down. By chance, she ended up on top, and slit its throat with her dagger in a swift motion. She never had the chance to get up, however, as one, and then two spears skewered her at the belly and her chest. She felt her life leaving her, yet held on.
'At least the town is safe. The runners probably have reached it by now.' She thought, somewhat comforted. She saw, through her fading vision, trolls gathering around her, and gave them a blood-filled smile.
"See you in the Great Dark." she told them thickly, her mouth barely gurgling out the words. They stared at her in incomprehension.
Gaonen thought about spitting on them one last time, but died before she made her decision.
* * * * * * * * * *
Two years later (41 AL)...
The meeting between Silver Glade's council and what passed for Crystal Stream's leadership wasn't going well. In fact, it was going as badly as could be without violence. Consequently, Narra wanted to strangle someone, and cursed the fact that she had to maintain this farce. Only the knowledge of what it might do to their future stayed her as some Streamers showed more blindness and spite than a troll and crazed Night Elf druid combined could show.
She knew that the Streamers were a matriarchal society. She didn't blame them for that; it was the way this band of High Elves had survived for the last four arduous decades. But their attitude towards the males of the Silver Glade council quickly went from mildly annoying to simply ludicrous. They couldn't seem to grasp the fact that these very males had been very useful - sometimes crucial - in maintaining the very stability, which was slipping through these females' fingers.
"You have to understand that your people can no longer take the many setbacks you have suffered." Levak told them, even his soft tones denoting a hint of impatience.
Their leader, an elf priestess of supreme arrogance, met Narra's lovers eyes with barely-concealed disdain. "Some smattering of male complaint won't destroy our society. We have Crystal Stream well under control."
"No, I'm afraid you do not. The people went with your ideas to survive. Now that survival has become possible, it's only natural that the male part of your population is growing restless, as well as, might I had, a large part of the females. Add to that that your town did not manage very well against the troll attacks two autumns ago..."
"That was hardly our fault. We were simply unprepared." one Streamer huffed.
"Precisely. You never ordered a defence prepared, while we, Baivan and Remarra did so. You are basing yourselves on the strength of Elune alone, and that cannot be good." he replied.
"What would a male like you know of what is right or wrong for the people?" came the scathing reply. The males bristled, their calm cracking. But nothing could top Narra's own ire, which finally reached a breaking point.
"You are standing in the middle of the Council Grove of Silver Glade." she noted coldly, taking in the ancient trees surrounding them. "And these males ARE members of this town's council. You will treat them with the respect they deserve, or I swear I will have you arrested by our militia."
The Streamers went quickly livid with indignation. "You dare treat us like this? The leaders of a fellow settlement?" their arrogant leader asked. Narra figured it was time to show some arrogance of her own.
"Of course I dare!" she snapped, " I dare because your settlement is close to breaking up into a true uprising! Your males hate you; you females are tired of you! Your orders are based upon a twisted version of Elune's precepts. What else? Dare I mention the death of hundreds in the last major troll offensive." inwardly she shivered at that. Silver Glade had beaten the trolls off because of Brecella Cutfreeze's party's sacrifice more than skill. She wasn't about to mention that, but instead plunged ahead. "Your religion and your leadership have all but lost power!"
The Streamers stood up almost as one. "I will not stay a moment more. We will-" the Streamer leader began darkly. Narra, ignoring the looks from the other members, cut her off.
"You will sit down. That, and only that. Because you see, the people of Silver Glade will be moving to a safer haven in years soon to come. I intend to bring your people with us to found a new, stronger haven." she swept an arm with authority to cut off any protest. "And I swear by Elune and my dedication to the High Elves that your people WILL come with us. Either you tell them to, or I ask them to. The result will be the same at any rate."
"The people will not follow you."
"Won't they? Think about it. We know how to grow adequate crops, we have a well-organized militia, and most of all, and our orders are carefully prepared and make sense. Do you want me to show you exactly what will happen if I go see them? Don't you think you should consider what might happen to you if I do?" she stated, straight as an arrow, arms crossed.
The sullen streamers did not answer. Narra nodded, her point was made. She turned to the leader of Silver Glade's militia.
"Please escort these people out of this town. This meeting is concluded."
* * * * * * * * * *
Five years later (46 AL)...
Dehire took the scenery around him. A small valley, surrounded by small but swift rivers, surrounded by thick forests but in itself, possessing only a few dozen trees at most. As he had flown, examining the area, he had spotted a good place for a quarry, and plenty of game. He had also seen that many of the wild herbs the defecting Baivans had taught Silver Glade to grow.
Most of all, however, he had spotted the small well of water, which, nature had allowed him to feel, was connected to a large part of the territory. That, more than anything, else, had convinced him.
He looked at the small pool at his feet, nodding. "Yes. This place. None other. This is perfect."
"For building our new home, or to try this rather ambitious project you have?" a voice he didn't like yet asked him, and he looked over at Medarin, the Highborne being surrounded by the two of the most powerful lesser sorcerers whom had defected from Remarra with him, as the two strongest remaining druids stood besides him. He knew now that, despite his arrogance, the sorcerer actually meant well. But it didn't change the fact that he didn't quite trust the elf.
For this however, his emotions were irrelevant. It was too important, too crucial. He thus only sighed in exasperation. "Both, sorcerer. Here, we can truly begin anew. In more ways than we can imagine, I suppose." he then opened a small bag he had kept with him for nearly half a century now.
A gasp came from all involved - even Medarin, he found with a sort of grim triumph - as he took out the two special vials. Both glowed with a different power - the water from the Well of Eternity glowed white, the seeds from the Tree of Life a sort of golden colour. Both represented the hope of the High Elves. He saw the sorcerers' eyes glow with contained craving, and again he had doubts. Was he right in doing this? And yet, was there any other way?
No, he realized. There wasn't. The people were becoming despondent, agitated, and for many, hopeless as their should seemed increasingly empty. He had to do this. Elune forgive him.
He clutched the vials and motioned to the two druids. "Go to the far side with me. Medarin, you stay here. Remember: focus will be paramount. If we fail, the void might one day destroy us."
Despite the hungry look of his eyes, the sorcerer's nod was firm. "We will not fail." he said simply. Dehire wondered if he too was praying to Elune. Perhaps.
They took their positions around the pool, and then Dehire, not wishing to think about it any longer, forcing all of his doubts away, uncorked the vial and emptied them into the small well of water. Immediately, it started to bubble and froth as the powers of the seeds and those of the Well water fought within. Immediately he forced his power into it, and nearly lost his mind when he felt the sheer power inside the well.
At once, one of the sorcerers toppled over, unable to deal with the power, spirit spent. Medarin's face was like stone, and he felt the sorcerer's strength, trying to control the change as he did, trying to mix the powers. Both energies struggled for supremacy, and it seemed that for a moment, he could see the powers behind both - the powers of the Titans, and of the Dragons.
Still, he held on, even as one of his people fell down, out cold. The powers, forced together, began to merge.
A deflagration of power actually swept past him, and he felt the sickening touch of magic all over himself, mingled with the powers of nature. They penetrated his mind, hissed, and then went still, as one power began to emerge from the two. He heard the others falling one by one, and yet he held, until he felt the struggle was almost won. Just a little bit more. Just a little bit...
And then there was a last, terrific surge. He nearly blacked out, falling. And bas he fell down, he felt the power of the well, now one, potent, already healing a bit of the searing void inside of him. He spotted Medarin, holding his head, and forced himself to talk to the male with all the strength he had left.
"W-w-well....M-Medarin....what d-do you think of-of the..." he hesitated, and then a thought crossed him as he spotted the soft, golden colour of the water. "W-hat do you t-think of the...t-the Sunwell?"
And with that, Dehire blacked out, surrendering to the bliss of unconsciousness.
* * * * * * * * * *
Four years later (50 AL)...
Elated. That's how he felt. There was no other word to describe the feeling. Evorin found it strange, in a way. After all, here he was surrounded by a sea of elves, in the midst of what was, for now, but a great agglomeration of crude tents and campfires. Yet he felt better than he'd felt in a very long time, better than he had felt since he had come to the now- destroyed and cannibalized Silver Glade.
Part of it was, he was now old enough to know, due to the Sunwell itself. Created not so long ago by Dehire the Druid and Medarin the Sorcerer, its creation had killed three of the six involved and had rendered the fourth catatonic. Only Dehire and Medarin themselves had survived, and they were marked. They were gaunter then ever before, and their hair had gone completely white. Still, they had created the Sunwell. And for that alone, they were celebrated as saviours as the Sunwell slowly seemed to cure the emptiness they'd all felt for so long.
Another reason was Narra. She was standing near the Sunwell, with her mate Levak by her side, with Medarin, Dehire, and all of the most important people from the new, forming council. Around her, the people of Silver Glade mingled with those from Crystal Stream, with defectors from Baivans, and even the few who came with Medarin. As she talked, she looked proud, strong, confident. Supreme.
Beside him, Weil looked at her leader attentively. She had grown into a full, beautiful female recently, and had chosen to become part of the new militia. She saw him looking at her, winked, and he flushed, turning his eyes away. Things were somehow getting complicated with Weil these days.
Standing surrounded by the people who had quickly come to revere her leadership, Narra was talking with her usual strength. "This settlement will be the beginning. So far we have lived in huts, foraging for survival, fighting trolls off, resisting the pull of Remarra's reckless bids for power. Here, it will be different. Here, we will build walls of wood, then of stone. We will create streets, shops to learn half-forgotten trades."
"Here there will be towers and buildings, of wood, of stone, to symbolize that we are here. That the High Elves have made their homes and will remain. Let today be the beginning. With these words, and with the hope in my heart, I declare the birth of the city of Silvermoon!" Her last words were drowned in the roaring cheers of thousands of elves, male and female, all swept away by her charisma. Evorin and Weil joined it quickly.
And then, something happened. As the clamour died down, Medarin came forth, his smile tired but jubilant. People who would have looked at him in distrust just five summers ago looked at him with respect in the twilight of this one. He stood and looked at them all, and spoke in the relative silence.
"High Elves, this is a great day! But not only because of the foundation of what will be, I am certain, a city of great splendour. This is a great day, because today we will see the finalization of something we all know to be in our hearts." And from his garments, he drew a crown of superbly crafted wood, glowing with a soft golden hue. With it, he approached a flabbergasted Narra, who began shaking her head, then stopped as Levak said something in her ear. Finally, Medarin gave the crown to Dehire.
"Kneel, my friend." he said, and after a long hesitation, after having looked around at the people, she did. "Today we give you in title what you already had: rulership of our destiny. The years will be hard ahead still. And I see no one better suited to lead us through them. This is a heavy burden, yet I am glad someone such as you bear it. Rise this time my friend, and never kneel to anyone again."
And as she rose, unsteady, Levak, whose voice was actually so soft and cultured, shouted. "High Elves! This is Narra Pureglade. First of the High Elves, Ruling Lady of Silvermoon." he seemed to hesitate, then smiled. "The Queen of Quel'Thalas!"
And this time, Evorin realized as he roared along the others, he truly felt that here, ever since he had lost his parents, that he was back. He had come home at last.
The cheers and the celebrations continued far in the night, in the large cluster of tents which was now Silvermoon.