Quel'Thalas, Realm in Exile
Part One: Narra
Chapter Three
Sixty-One Years After Landing (61 AL)
"Are we really doing this?" Levak asked Narra "SHOULD we be doing this?" And the Queen of Quel'Thalas didn't quite know how she could answer.
Before her was nothing less than a training ground. On one side, elves were exercising with bows, honing their skills with crafted targets sent far afield. On the other, others were dressed in crude leather armour and waved crude iron swords and wooden shields, dancing against one another, trying to hone strength. It was, as rag-tag as it still looked, the beginning of more than a simple militia.
Silvermoon was crafting its own army.
"We don't really have a choice, Levak my love." she said at length "You know as well as I that the Highborn won't let Silvermoon's rise to power go on unimpeded. We need means to defend ourselves against any of their plots."
"Still, must we-
"And there is the fact that the forest trolls are and will perhaps always remain a menace. If Quel'Thalas is to one day become more than a single city, we will need means to defend ourselves."
"I know all this, Narra. And I agree with most of it. But you are thinking about raiding Remarra, and forcing the Highborn into a battle. Elves slaying elves...that is a mockery of what our race has always stood for!" His face immediately showed regret, but it was too late to take back his words, as hurtful as they were.
She scowled at him. She knew that the six decades of struggle strained him as well as she, and that he didn't mean the words he had just uttered. But she was tired, having had to meet with scouting members, and then with the druids in their Memoria Grove nearby. All the little things she had to do, added to holding court - such as it was - within Silvermoon itself. Her nerves were frayed, and she snapped.
"I have to do what must be done!" she growled, "I want to preserve our people, and for that I need strength. That is the way I know how to do it, Levak, that is the way I am. A warrior raising an army. I did NOT wish to become the leader, I never wanted to be queen, but I have accepted it and I intend to honour the pledge I made to the people of Silvermoon!" And with this, she waved an arm in one sharp, yet graceful, sweep and indicated the city nearby, rising in the midst of the surrounding forests.
Only ten springs had come and gone since the disparate people from Silver Glade, Baivan, Crystal Stream, joined by a few Remarrans, had founded the city. Huts at first, crude houses were now built. These houses surrounded the only building made with some stone, the Queen's Mansion, and the Sunwell, which gave the people there the strength to carry on. Around these homes, a wooden wall, sturdier than any the High Elves had yet constructed, surrounded the small city, broken only by one gate to the east, and one to the northwest.
Around, clustered around the city walls, were farms, such as Baivans called them. These provided the grain, which gave food to the people. All in all, the city, young as it was, was starting to show more strength and prosperity than any other. That, however, meant that the Highborn would strike soon.
Levak sighed sadly "I did not...want to mean what you were doing was wrong. I just...I just dislike the very idea so much..."
"As do I. But I will do it. I can live with my conscience, if it can save my people..." she replied.
There was a moment of silence, as each looked at the training elves farther on. She hated these moments when she and Levak couldn't agree with each other. She loved him, and he her, but his thinking as a philosopher often clashed with her own thoughts as a former Huntress. She cast about for something to say, and finally found something on which they could agree.
"I have agreed to let Derrigal Morningbrand, and his people, to do what they wished with Silvermoon." she mused, eyebrows rising. "He intends to quarry large amounts of stone and rebuilt it all from the ground up."
"He was a great architect long ago. He constructed cities before the War of the Ancients. I am certain he will make Silvermoon a place to remember."
"We are returning to the ways of before, when Elune did not hold much of a place for us, and when we built bastions of stone instead of living with nature." she remarked with a shake of her head. Beside her, she could feel Levak shrug.
"I don't think we will...be able to return to that lifestyle. Not after that catastrophe. But it is impossible to become Night Elves anew. We are sundered from these. Our beliefs in Elune is being challenged, our hearts are wounded. We will be a new civilization. Not Kal'Dorei, not Quel'Dorei, only High Elves."
She nodded. Although she still believed in Elune, she knew many others did not, and that Levak was amongst them. He was, she knew, trying to find a way to return faith to their people, and although she wasn't certain it would bear fruit, she wished him luck in doing so.
She then looked at the people she had accepted rulership of. Already people were starting to use titles such as 'Your Highness' and 'Your Majesty'. Could she truly lead them into a war with other elves?
And, after, could she rule them in peace as well as war?
* * * * * * * * * *
One Year Later (62 AL)...
How marvellous it was, to be able to embrace magic again!
It had been twelve summers since the Sunwell had been crafted, and still Medarin found himself unable to stop thinking that sentence. After all, he has felt this deprivation more keenly then most, as he had been one of the few who had never completely stopped embracing magic. He hadn't shown it, not wanting to show weakness to either ally or foe, but he'd truly been to the brink.
And then, the Sunwell. It had cost the lives of his two most talented apprentices, elves he had seen more like sons than anything else. The price paid, excluding his white hair, was one that grieved him. But the results. His shattered magic had resurfaced, just as the void in his soul began to close. It was almost healed now, only a faint throbbing he could ignore.
The creation of the Sunwell had been a boon for Dehire, since it had drawn people towards druidism. But it had been an even better outcome for arcane magic. Not only did the people of Silvermoon actively distrust it as they did once, some actually came to him with interest in learning a way to channel the powers safely. Already, two of his apprentices could be counted as mages themselves, and they were now actively teaching to nearly a dozen gifted elves.
Magic had its place, and could one day become honoured, in Silvermoon. He had no intention of letting that be destroyed. For that reason, he had been very strict in choosing who would learn magic. He had taken only the most balanced and patient of elves, and would make it a point for whatever form the future magical schools he saw were, that they would be strict.
Still, for all of the Sunwell's healing, for all the fact that class and blood no longer imported to him as much as an ability to control urges, he knew his kin still outclassed the budding magical society in Silvermoon. Remarra had six other spellcasters who equalled Medarin, and at least forty others of lesser strength. Even if it hadn't grown, it would be years before Silvermoon's magic could be a match for Remarra's.
Still, that didn't mean he wasn't about to be prepared. He had thus spoken with Derrigal Morningbrand, and the architect, who had designed and had built more than one place meant for spellcasters, had agreed to help him build a small mansion where he could teach unimpeded. He would have to rush training and education with whatever he remembered, and that meant he would have to be extremely strict from now on.
"And you, my old friends?" he wondered out loud. "Are you also readying? Are you pushing your students?"
He doubted it. All of those who knew magic in Remarra were Highborn, and were treated as sort of elite. They wouldn't be rushed. There, he thought, lay the advantage his own people had.
If they could hold Remarra off long enough. And with Narra, Levak and - he had to give credit where credit was due - Dehire, it might be done. Silvermoon was already a far more unified city than any settlement built by the High Elven people since the Landing. It would hold on.
For the future of the Exiles and their children, it HAD to.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three years later (65 AL)...
There were lots of objections to her plans from the assembled inner cadre that she kept with her. Dehire found that it would hurt the people. Derrigal found that the loss of manpower and resources could affect the work he was doing. Medarin thought that it might provoke the Highborn into hitting too fast for their still-fresh army to react. Levak, for his part, wondered if that might no impoverish the people.
Each had good points, of course. They had arguments that she couldn't really refute, and she didn't expect that she could or should be able to. These four elves were all brilliant, each in their own way, and had been the very best advisors she could have dreamed of having. But she wouldn't budge on this, no matter what the arguments were.
"It is necessary, my friends." she said at length, keeping her tone confident yet dignified. "We need to spread our influence, and this is the best way. I am, however, only talking about three outposts, or colonies, each with two hundred and fifty elves."
"Narra, the Sunwell's powers only reach two leagues out of Silvermoon. Barely. And we are talking about setting up colonies that will be ten, elven, or twelve leagues away." Dehire exclaimed, his white-haired, wise face concerned "They might not be able to take the strain of it long enough for it to reach them."
"I am well aware of this. We will take only volunteers, and I am certain that we will find enough for our goals." She replied easily.
"What about trolls. Thus far, they have left us pretty much alone - one two raids ever since Silvermoon was founded." Derrigal said. "But that is because the city is very large, and that we are building a very large infrastructure here. The smaller outposts might not be able to handle repeated troll raids."
The queen knew what to answer to that. "As you said, they have been silent for the most part. And the colonies will not be without defences. Each will have a fifty-elf armed group serving as a militia. That should be enough to stop any attack short of a full invasion, and there are no signs of that from our scouts' reports."
"That might change."
"My friends, we have no choice. We have to colonize this land. We must look to the future. I intend to crush the Remarrans as soon as possible, but what then?" she took a deep breath "Our time here has made survival our first priority, and as such made us understandably short-sighted. Now we have to look down the decades and centuries again. We must rebuild our civilization so that our children will have something to live in that will not demand them danger and toil every second of their lives."
She had them with this, and she knew it. As much as they could talk of shortages, or lack of manpower, of dangers in leaving the security of Silvermoon, they were well aware that the only way the High Elves would survive would be by expanding beyond one sole locale. They had to put up a web of civilization into motion, and then spin it until it spun by itself. She intended to do that, and she intended to have them help her. They knew this, and were starting to accept it.
"What about Remarra?" Medarin asked. "I know that my brethren are close to striking out. I can feel it somehow." Dehire actually snorted, but less acerbically than he would have before the Sunwell was created. "They won't just let us do whatever we want, especially when they detect our expansion. They'll strike out at the colonies first, to frighten and demoralize us."
"I know they would do this." and it frightened her. Not battle, she was used to it. Not war, she was ready for it. No, what frightened her was killing other elves, a taboo the Druids of Ashenvale had written, and all gathered here found sensible. Yet they had no choice, for submitting to Remarra might have horrible repercussions for their collective race's future.
"I know they would do this, and that is why I won't let them." she said. "Our information tells us that their forces will be ready in six summers at most. I shall attack in four." she stopped all protests with a look. "I do not intend to have them come within striking distance. Silvermoon will take the offensive."
"With their edge in magical powers?" Medarin challenged "There are only four of us who can call ourselves full mages today. They have much more, and although their strength and powers are sapped, they still represent a significant danger!"
"Yet I will win. I can promise you that." she said coldly.
They all fell silent, looking at one another. They clearly had more to say, but didn't seem to know just how to say it to her. It was Levak, who had said little since his sole protest, who finally broke the silence.
"I think we have heard enough. Narra, is your decision final?" he asked her.
"It is."
He looked towards the other members of the Silvermoon council with a slight grin. "There we have it, sir elves. The Queen of Quel'Thalas has decided, and that is quite simply that. Now we have to make it happen. To work, my brethren!"
* * * * * * * * * *
Two years later (67 AL)...
The meeting between the six remaining highest of the Highborn was tinted with urgency, as it had been for many times. The news they had managed to receive, after all, weren't doing anything to help their mood.
"Is this information truly reliable?" the head of the small reunion asked. "Silvermoon has often tried to lead us astray.
"We believe it is reliable, given that we stumbled upon two such settlements already." one other said. There was a hint of challenge in his voice. There was challenge in everyone's voice these days. The effect of magical absence, of deprivation, was affecting them even worse then their people and those who served their people.
The elf who oversaw this meeting, however, had been one of the few of Dath Remar's close friends, one who had known of his plans for a stable, magical kingdom. That the people of Silvermoon - those who named the patch of land they owned Quel'Thalas - had taken the beat of advancement from glorious Remarra irked him as much as it did the others. But he kept his head cool despite the great ache in his soul.
"So." he said calmly. "Narra Pureglade ordered new settlements to be built. We never managed to hear of this..."
"Their scouts have been hard to catch, and our spies seem to be able to grasp little information."
"It has been even worse since Medarin betrayed us!" one said ragefully, indignantly. "He's told the commoners all of our secrets. He even TEACHES them magic now, from what little I've heard!!"
All of them shivered. In rage, because of Medarin's despicable betrayal and flight to Silvermoon's founders. And in disgust at the thought of commoners actually learning magic! Unheard of since the days of Azshara! Yet, Medarin had shown himself capable of defiling anything, so why not the way magic was to be taught?
The head elf immediately recovered his composure, however. "As unpleasant as these developments are, we still have some advantages left. How large are those new settlements?"
"Very small. A few houses with some small fields, surrounded by a wooden palisade."
"Excellent. We will concentrate our spies there, where they won't be able to keep the information so tightly. On another note, has the secondary project we prepared in place now?"
"Fully, sir." said one of the seated elves with a satisfied grin. "They await but our signal and the right opportunity. What is more, there is no evidence that they have been discovered, even by Medarin."
"Then we of the Quel'Dorei have not lost just yet! We will do all we can to stop the infamy that is Narra Pureglade's little realm. After all, we are the Highborn, and we are meant to lead the High Elves! To the Future!"
"To the Future!" the others replied. The Highborn, suddenly, felt more hope than they had felt in many years. Their dream was still possible. The New Kalimdoran Empire would rise yet!
* * * * * * * * * *
Four years later (71 AL)
'Seventy years...' Dehire reflected as the people of Silvermoon prepared themselves for the Remarran offensive. 'And in those years we have rediscovered the aspects of war and survival. Is this new world truly worth all of the blood we gave for it?' He sighed, for he didn't have the answer to that kind of question. He knew however, that those with power and those with willpower wanted a world, which wouldn't be controlled by the Highborn. He was one of them, and thus his place was here, in this forested valley.
On this first battlefield, in this first war since over four millennia.
An elf, lithe, muscular, and possessing the beauty that only very young females could show, ran to him. "Lord Dehire." she said respectfully "The enemy is coming through the pass, and will be at the river before too long. Her Majesty asks that you and your brethren prepare yourselves to attack."
"Tell the queen that I understand and will be prepared." He said heavily, trying to hide his reluctance. She was too preoccupied to take heed of his tone, however, and simply nodded and sped away as deftly as she had come. He then looked at the young druids he had managed to form in the ways of nature.
All five of them - three females and two males - looked even less happy about what was happening than he did. It wasn't surprising for, like they, he felt the groan of nature when life was spilled in such conflict. It rebuked them to have to take sides at all. At the same time, however, all respected Narra Pureglade and Dehire himself, and if their Queen and their teacher went to fight, they would as well. Dehire sensed all of this, mingled with irritation and apprehension, and smiled inwardly.
"It seems our powers will be needed soon. Get ready." he said simply. It seemed to agitate them more.
"Teacher, if I may-" his strongest former student, the one who had survived the creation of the Sunwell - which had turned most of her hair white - began to talk but the old druid stopped her with a gesture.
"I am no longer your teacher. You have learned enough to stand on your own. So please, call me Dehire." he actually grinned at his brightest former student's discomfort, but simply waited as the elven female fought with herself.
"Ummm...D-Dehire...are our powers truly necessary for this battle."
"You know they are. We must be here."
The elf hesitated, and the others squirmed. "I...the Silvermoon force is larger than the Remarran force, and they have better weapons. Certainly they would be able to withstand the magical might arrayed against them and prevail."
Dehire felt a surge of anger and contained himself, but his voice was taut as he replied. So taut, in fact, that they all jumped when they heard it. His eyes flashed as he spoke. "Perhaps, perhaps. And perhaps not. But whether or not they can, we will help them with our powers, because we all pledged to so. A pledge to Narra Pureglade is something I will NOT break, no matter the circumstances, even if I have to fight alone. Is that clear?"
They looked both annoyed and shamed, and he was about to add something when the horns sounded. He saw, farther on, the main force of Silvermoon preparing, sword wielders first, with archers flanking them. And, just before them, a force of perhaps forty, all seated on beast they had found and tamed after Baivan counsels. All of them wore armour, the armour of huntresses. And amongst them, one had a golden helmet. That elf raised her hand, and ragged banners flew, giving signals.
He looked back at the younger druids. "I have no time to argue this point. Know this, however: Silvermoon is a place worth fighting for, and I will fight for it. You only have your own trust in the spirits and yourselves to decided whether or not to fight."
With this, he closed his eyes and felt for the power of nature, of Elune, of everything living.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three hours later (71 AL)...
Blood and moisture hung to Narra's spear as she killed yet one more enemy soldier, decapitating yet one more elf. It had begun to get easier, she decided, after her fourth, and as she was now at her seventeenth or eighteenth, she hardly though about her act, preferring to do her soul searching when she had ensured victory for her people..
The five hundred Remarran soldiers had crossed the river, only to find it enchanted against them. The river rose to take some, while vines had entangled others, rendering them immobile. Lightning had crackled in response, killing some of her own people, and as an answer - she was certain that had been Dehire, who else had the power for such feats? That some trees had lashed out, and attacked the enemy as they passed, forcing the Remarran sorcerers to concentrate on another problem entirely.
Medarin and the few he counted as strong enough to fight had countered the enemy magic as much as they could, only partly succeeding. All this, however, had made possible what she wanted: to get close to the enemy, to fight them head-on. Without magic, without cover, where only weaponry, training, and will counted. It had been a gamble, the biggest in her life.
Fortunately, however, it had seemingly succeeded as six hundred Thalassians had met five hundred Remarrans. The numbers were only slightly in her favour, but the effect of the Sunwell, here, could be seen clearly.
Although reluctant to kill, her people fought faster, with more vigour and strength in their postures and actions. For every Silvermoon who fell, whether it was by magic or other wise, at least two Remarran also met their doom. It wasn't something she was proud of. She would never wish to remember that battle, or any which would follow against elves. But it had to be done.
Her group, she knew, had done much damage. Mounted on these strange beasts the Baivans had collected decades ago and introduced to them recently, they were able to move with a speed nearly that of Frostsabers. She had chosen all the former huntresses who remained, and they proved to be as excellent in the new lands as they had been in the jungles of Kalimdor. Time and time again they had rushed, deflected arrows with shields, and struck, dealing death and terror. Six had fallen, but between them all, they had killed or wounded nearly a fourth of the enemy already.
One of the few Remarran mages left - she had made certain her archers pick them off as much as they could - came towards her, his face deformed by rage and fear. He shouted words of arcane, and fired a bolt of electricity to one of the huntresses. The female didn't have time to dodge, and with a scream and the taste of burnt flesh, both her steed and she fell to the ground. Blocking anger, Narra veered her animal towards the magi and charged, He saw her coming, his eyes wide, and he began to fumble the words of a spell.
"Never again, Highborn!" she growled and launched her spear. Her aim was as true as it ever had been when she fought centaurs. The bloody spear transfixed the elf, and he toppled to the ground, dead taking him quickly. Two other Remarrans came towards her, but as she unsheathed her rough iron blade to face them, the other huntresses joined her and charged them. They died within moments. She lifted her blade and said the only meaningful thing she could.
"FOR QUEL'THALAS!" she roared, and went back into the fray.
Such was the fight inside of her that she blinked several times when she saw that the Remarrans were retreating. Less than two hundred, many of these wounded, they fled under the jeers of over four hundred people of Silvermoon. She indeed saw some of her own people about to chase after them all, and wondered in disgust of what they had become.
'We took elven lives and found a way to enjoy it. Elune be merciful.' "Do not pursue them! Horns! Sound the horns to signal the end of the battle!!"
As they sounded, and the High Elves of Silvermoon broke from their pursue - many reluctantly, she heard one of the huntresses exclaim to another. "We crushed them! A magnificent victory, don't you think so?"
She looked towards the battlefield, and noticed the many wounded, and the many who would never move again. Such a loss of life, to make certain that there be a future. Was this truly the victory they hoped for? All of this death and hate...just to make certain one side won...
"For Quel'Thalas." she muttered. But this time, it held bitterness, not triumph.
* * * * * * * * * *
One year later (72 AL)...
Kelak loved when the darkening evening came. Not because he liked the darkness itself that very much, but rather because it allowed him to breathe. Silvermoon, after all, was a very lively little city by day, with small, budding shops and markets beginning to grow, while hundreds of workers were seen, actively following the ambitious plans laid by Derrigal Morningbrand. The architect himself had come to see him with a plan he'd done of the castle he wanted built for the Quel'Thalas royalty. He'd shown them with a face so close to ecstatic dementia that Kelak had given him permission simply so that the elf could be away from him.
He wasn't interested in how Morningbrand was busily tearing down buildings only to rebuild them. Nor was he concerned about the raid on Silvermoon last month - seventy suicidal trolls who'd been neutralized soon enough, although it had raised concern more were to come. Nor even was he worried about the state of the war with Remarra. At this moment, Kelak was concentrating on only one thing: channelling spiritual magic without calling upon the power of Elune.
In Ashenvale, and especially in the confines of Nighthaven, it would have been seen as heresy. But here, Elune had lost much of her influence, and people had been rather tempted by his theory: that the divine energies the druids could use were only taken from something within each person. It wasn't something most could use, of course. A minority could only reach that power, and even fewer could do great things with this strength. But he refused to believe it was related to Cenarius, or Elune, or any godlike apparition.
He had indeed interested many people with his theories. The problem was that he couldn't provide the proof for what he said yet. That was why he was sitting in the middle of a small, bare room in the mansion he and Narra lived in, and tried to produce a small light between his cupped hands.
Very young, he had been told that he had some slight potential for learning in druidic magic. He had, however, refused to follow that path, preferring research and thought into Night Elf society, its qualities and shortcomings. It was only later in his life that he had studied magic to better understand its inner workings. His thoughts on the matter - and his opinion that the arcane powers could be channelled safely - had led to his Exile, to Narra following him, and to his child's death, for which he would never completely forgive himself.
The coming here, and his uselessness in so many things, had only fuelled his need to make his theory work, to invent a new philosophy which new elves could take to heart. He was, so far, unable to even make a small light flicker, no matter the concentration he put into it.
"Maybe I am going about all this the wrong way," he mused in frustration, letting his hands fall to his side. "Perhaps...perhaps concentration is not the key."
He couldn't ask anyone about it. It would only shock the druids, and no one else he knew practiced this esoteric experiment. Yet, he wouldn't give up. The Sunwell had given him his strength back, and he had time to find out what he wanted. Seventy summers were nothing, when he could try for seven hundred more. Still, he wished to find the way he saw as soon as possible.
He chuckled wanly, fatigue seeping into his bones. "Well, it won't be today. But perhaps tomorrow. Or the day after. No need to rush quite THAT much." With that, he rose to his feet and stretched. A long day. Now, to bed he would go, for it would be another long day, with decisions and hurdles, tomorrow as it always was ever since Narra had been chosen Queen - and he, by consequence, had become the royal consort.
He left the room, and walked through the stone hall leading to the Queen's - and his own - bedchamber. He irritably yet politely replied to those who acknowledged with a respectful 'Sire' - since when had he become so untouched?!? - and finally he reached the doors, guarded by two armed elven males who immediately opened the doors for him with ridiculous bows and titles.
"I swear," he grumbled to himself "If this keeps up, I won't be able to talk to people within four centuries. No, THREE! I can't stand all this bowing and - " he stopped when he saw that, in the midst of the rather spartan room, in the large, rather well-made bed, his mate was soundly asleep.
She looked angelic when she was asleep, when the hardness of the war and the guilt many of the decisions she had thrust upon herself slipped away, and he was once more shown why exactly this precise woman had dazzled him even before he had even known her name. She obviously had a very hard day too, or else her heightened senses would have woken her up at his grumbling entrance.
Thoughts of frustration about his fruitless attempts and his annoyance at being called things he would probably never feel he were replaced with a though he hadn't had in many years. He grinned, slipped out of his clothes and into the sheets. Feeling every bit like a young eighty year old, he reached to touch his mate gently-
- And found himself nearly attacked as Narra suddenly slid on top of him, kissing him long, holding his head with one hand, the other clawing his back. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, although he felt a bit like someone was choking him. It took many long moments before she released him, however, and he caught twice when she did.
"Why you..." he coughed again, strangled between lack of air and laughter "You weren't asleep at all."
"I was." she told him with a grin as wan as his "But nobody's ever been able to surprise me in a very long time. I was tempted to let you do what you wanted, but I wanted to see your look when I'd surprise you."
"Well, you did." he said. He then saw her face tense a bit, taking once again the expression of the distraught warleader and ruler. He had been one of those who convinced her to take that mantle, a mantle, which had led to claim a great victory one year before, a battle which had claimed too many lives. He suddenly found his little search to be small compared to the burden she was forced to endure. "But I suppose it doesn't prevent anything!" he said, switching places, savouring the shocked expression on her face.
"Levak..." she began, but he cut her off swiftly.
"Words tomorrow. Right now, let me show you a few things meditating all day can teach a person." He said gently, bending over her slender but more powerful frame.
And indeed, they didn't talk until the morning.
* * * * * * * * * *
Five years later (77 AL)...
The elf ran through the forest in a panic, not caring whether he let his trace everywhere he went. He knew that his trail was easy to follow, that even a blind elf could do so. But it didn't matter. THEY were after him. And if THEY were after him, it meant that trying to be subtle meant void. Nothing at all. The pain his soul, they felt as well, and this pain had only made them more unstable, more cruel.
He couldn't let them catch him. Never! He couldn't! He would rather perish right now than be in their grasp. Yet he couldn't find it within himself to kill himself, so he chose the best course left to him: he ran like one maddened.
His breath was short. Fire in his chest, his limbs trembled; yet he ran. He had to reach some place safe, where they couldn't reach him. One of those other settlements. Baivan, or that one people said was greater than even haughty Remarra: Silvermoon. But his strength chose this moment to give out, and stumbling, he fell down with a cry. Fumbling, he desperately tried to get up, when a shadow covered him. In horror, he looked up.
And saw a cloaked form looming over him, holding a large, curved iron blade. He whined in pure terror, actually urinating at the sight. "No...nonono..." he kept repeating, like a mantra. It didn't have any effect on the looming thing he knew as an Enclave Warden.
The Warden spoke, and an elven voice, female and beautiful, but frighteningly devoid of emotion, spoke. "You left the Enclave and its grounds, breaking the Vows of Time. You have been judged and sentenced the moment you left. Now comes the time of your sentence."
"NO! NOLETMEGO!" But at that moment the curved blade went from grey to red, and he knew the end had come.
"Prepare yourself to be cleansed, Tainted One!" The warden said in a fervent voice, and struck him with her blade.
And then the pain overtook him, and he, like all the others, realized there was only one truth that one could be absolutely certain of: No one left the Enclave.
Ever.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three years later (80 AL)...
The city was shaping itself. Of that there was no doubt left. Where there had been only a large cluster of tents and a cauldron of hope amongst peoples of differing philosophies, now there was something worthwhile to be seen. Silvermoon, only a name, was becoming a power quickly.
One could see it by the changes wrought in the city itself. Tents had given way to huts, and these had been replaced by true homes of wood. Although crude, they were reaching an ever-higher level of sophistication. Markets and shops were beginning to appear, selling food or goods produced by farmers and artisans. Rough trails had become mud roads, but already the work of thousands of people had seen changes there as well: the main avenues were now cobbled.
The greatest changes were the increasing use of stone. It seemed that the leaders of Silvermoon had agreed that wood was a precious living thing, and that stone could furthermore prove most excellent in repelling attacks. For that reason, work had begun on a stone wall outside of the wooden palisade. Unfinished, it would take ten years to finish it, as well as the gates which would guard the city. But it was beginning, and that couldn't be anything but good.
Houses - belonging to prominent leaders and families - were also made in great part of stone, while the Queen's Palace - a structure situated just north of the Sunwell, truly showed what the architect Derrigal Morningbrand could do. Slender, with beautiful spires and turrets, it was as great as the castles of mighty rulers in the height of Kalimdor's glory, in the days of old Evorin's father talked about.
To the young elf, who was no longer a child and yet not quite a male, the greatest change wasn't in the beauty being built physically, but by the one he saw amongst the people themselves. For the first time since they had come to this new land, the disparate philosophies brushed shoulders. Gladers and Streamers, Baivans and even rogue Remarrans all worked together. Of course, there were some differences yet. The streamers were still heavily matriarchal; the gladers militaristic, the remarrans had the haughtiness of Highborns, and the Baivans were only interested in farming.
Still, the unity endured. To Evorin, it meant very much indeed.
"Daydreaming is all good, and I approve of imaginative minds, but I would really need that ink soon, if you don't mind."
The soft, melodious voice soon found a body as his master, Derrigal Morningbrand, stepped beside him, making him jump all the more. Once handsome, half of Derrigal's face had been burned by a group of druids to 'cleanse' him of the sins of designing many of the Kalimdoran Empire's most glorious buildings. It was said that he lost his family that night, as they abandoned him as a sinner and an elf who had consorted with evil.
This would have broken many elves, but his master hadn't. He had survived, and had joined the Exile Fleet willingly. 'The best thing I could have done.' he was known to say 'for now I can work my art without fear of dire repercussions.' In Silvermoon, he had been given all leeway to forge a city both powerful and durable. Consequently, the light in his eyes, and the passion in his voice, had never been anything but high and steady as he worked miracles.
He flushed in embarrassment. "I am sorry sir. I was just thinking that...well...that...Silvermoon. Silvermoon's becoming a true city, isn't it?"
The still-handsome parts of Derrigal's skin stretched into a smile as he looked out at the city he was working hard to design. "Yes. Yes, it is. And I intend to make it so enchanting, so beautiful, that all elven hearts will be filled with joy upon sighting its walls, and its towers and banners. This city will be the capitol city of Quel'Thalas - a great realm one day I'm certain. This will be my message, child."
"A message of achievement."
"A message of hope, rather."
He couldn't help it: he looked at his friend and mentor - the only elf he fully confided in, after Weil - and blurted: "Hope? But we have hope! With Queen Narra leading us, harm will never befall us!"
"That is what they said about Azshara, too, child. And in the beginning, they were right. She was a good elf, but so reckless, so arrogant. So confident that she could control others."
Evorin flushed again, in reactive anger this time. Of all the great people of Silvermoon - Leval, Alibia, Dehire, Medarin - of all of them, none could even come close to the respect and admiration he had for Narra Pureglade, who had forced the people together and, by that, ensured their freedom and survival. He thus disliked when anyone attempted to slight her, even a good friend who had helped him for six summers now.
"The queen isn't trying to control anyone!" he said hotly, and then before he could stop himself "You've seen her, you should know!"
If the elven architect was upset by what his younger friend had said, he did not show it. Instead, taking things in stride as he always did, he calmly replied. "I know this. You are right, I HAVE seen her. She is not Azshara. Colder to begin with, but a stronger honour and good will towards others, if one looks deeper. Yes, it is very unlikely that she will be corrupted, especially with the people she keeps around herself..." he stopped, thoughtful. "However..."
"However?"
"However, child, there is the fact that a few will believe and think ill of her. Not just those outside Quel'Thalas' sphere of influence. Some, inside, do and probably always mistrust the queen. These, my young friend, are those we all must be wary of, lest they destroy what we are attempting to forge here."
Evorin, first bewildered, remembered the conversation he had overheard many years ago. Two voices speaking ill of the queen. Dissenters? And in that case, were there many more. He had made an oath to watch over the queen then, and it had seemed childish soonafter, and he had forgotten. Now, however, with Derrigal speaking, he was forced to look at his oath far more seriously.
"Depressing." he said, and that was all they said on the subject in the very end. Then the scarred elf regained his spirits, and sent him to fetch some ink. There was work to do, after all.
'Indeed, sir.' Evorin said as he walked to the market 'I, too, have some work to do...'
* * * * * * * * * *
Six years later (86 AL)...
Weil watched as the barricades of the village crumbled before the strength of a magical bolt and the press of the Remarrans who had attacked it. Already wounded from an arrow shot, she could only watch helplessly as the few remaining defenders of the town of Delfer desperately tried to maintain a position against far superior forces.
The attacked had come faster than anyone had expected, and at the worst possible time, as the nearby garrisons had been pulled for a few days for new drills. A window of four days, which the Remarrans had taken. It had been all that the townspeople and the few soldiers remaining could do to barricade the wooden gates to the town and defend themselves. The enemy, however, had soldiers and magic.
Weil had grown in a time of uncertainty and turmoil - she knew how to react to it. As soon as she had been informed of the situation, she had taken a few people with her and had worked to delay the enemy long enough for an evacuation to take place. It had been partially successful, as the population had been able to leave, but the enemy had seen them. They thus had no idea if the refugees had made it to the more secure lands near the capital.
But whether or not they had, one thing was certain: Delfer could no longer be held. One of Queen Narra's five villages had fallen to the enemy.
The enemy...when she'd been young, she'd found absurd the very idea that High Elves should war against each other when all resources and efforts should be cast on adapting and surviving in these new lands. These thoughts, however, had given place to the harsh reality of seeing friends fall, of being afraid, wounded, and most of all, angry.
The Remarrans would get no more mercy from her than Trolls would. And that made her decision much easier to take in the end. She gestured to the two soldiers of any rank who remained, and they came close as soon as a respite came in the attacks.
"We can't hold this town anymore." she said grimly "I have no intention of letting them win more than they already have. You know what this means..."
They nodded to her. There was no need to explain further. "Then burn everything. Make certain they get nothing from Delfer. I can only hope we can now go and warn the queen. The Remarrans have decided to go on the offensive."
From then on, she was certain, the war would become far more deadly than it had ever be thus far!
Part One: Narra
Chapter Three
Sixty-One Years After Landing (61 AL)
"Are we really doing this?" Levak asked Narra "SHOULD we be doing this?" And the Queen of Quel'Thalas didn't quite know how she could answer.
Before her was nothing less than a training ground. On one side, elves were exercising with bows, honing their skills with crafted targets sent far afield. On the other, others were dressed in crude leather armour and waved crude iron swords and wooden shields, dancing against one another, trying to hone strength. It was, as rag-tag as it still looked, the beginning of more than a simple militia.
Silvermoon was crafting its own army.
"We don't really have a choice, Levak my love." she said at length "You know as well as I that the Highborn won't let Silvermoon's rise to power go on unimpeded. We need means to defend ourselves against any of their plots."
"Still, must we-
"And there is the fact that the forest trolls are and will perhaps always remain a menace. If Quel'Thalas is to one day become more than a single city, we will need means to defend ourselves."
"I know all this, Narra. And I agree with most of it. But you are thinking about raiding Remarra, and forcing the Highborn into a battle. Elves slaying elves...that is a mockery of what our race has always stood for!" His face immediately showed regret, but it was too late to take back his words, as hurtful as they were.
She scowled at him. She knew that the six decades of struggle strained him as well as she, and that he didn't mean the words he had just uttered. But she was tired, having had to meet with scouting members, and then with the druids in their Memoria Grove nearby. All the little things she had to do, added to holding court - such as it was - within Silvermoon itself. Her nerves were frayed, and she snapped.
"I have to do what must be done!" she growled, "I want to preserve our people, and for that I need strength. That is the way I know how to do it, Levak, that is the way I am. A warrior raising an army. I did NOT wish to become the leader, I never wanted to be queen, but I have accepted it and I intend to honour the pledge I made to the people of Silvermoon!" And with this, she waved an arm in one sharp, yet graceful, sweep and indicated the city nearby, rising in the midst of the surrounding forests.
Only ten springs had come and gone since the disparate people from Silver Glade, Baivan, Crystal Stream, joined by a few Remarrans, had founded the city. Huts at first, crude houses were now built. These houses surrounded the only building made with some stone, the Queen's Mansion, and the Sunwell, which gave the people there the strength to carry on. Around these homes, a wooden wall, sturdier than any the High Elves had yet constructed, surrounded the small city, broken only by one gate to the east, and one to the northwest.
Around, clustered around the city walls, were farms, such as Baivans called them. These provided the grain, which gave food to the people. All in all, the city, young as it was, was starting to show more strength and prosperity than any other. That, however, meant that the Highborn would strike soon.
Levak sighed sadly "I did not...want to mean what you were doing was wrong. I just...I just dislike the very idea so much..."
"As do I. But I will do it. I can live with my conscience, if it can save my people..." she replied.
There was a moment of silence, as each looked at the training elves farther on. She hated these moments when she and Levak couldn't agree with each other. She loved him, and he her, but his thinking as a philosopher often clashed with her own thoughts as a former Huntress. She cast about for something to say, and finally found something on which they could agree.
"I have agreed to let Derrigal Morningbrand, and his people, to do what they wished with Silvermoon." she mused, eyebrows rising. "He intends to quarry large amounts of stone and rebuilt it all from the ground up."
"He was a great architect long ago. He constructed cities before the War of the Ancients. I am certain he will make Silvermoon a place to remember."
"We are returning to the ways of before, when Elune did not hold much of a place for us, and when we built bastions of stone instead of living with nature." she remarked with a shake of her head. Beside her, she could feel Levak shrug.
"I don't think we will...be able to return to that lifestyle. Not after that catastrophe. But it is impossible to become Night Elves anew. We are sundered from these. Our beliefs in Elune is being challenged, our hearts are wounded. We will be a new civilization. Not Kal'Dorei, not Quel'Dorei, only High Elves."
She nodded. Although she still believed in Elune, she knew many others did not, and that Levak was amongst them. He was, she knew, trying to find a way to return faith to their people, and although she wasn't certain it would bear fruit, she wished him luck in doing so.
She then looked at the people she had accepted rulership of. Already people were starting to use titles such as 'Your Highness' and 'Your Majesty'. Could she truly lead them into a war with other elves?
And, after, could she rule them in peace as well as war?
* * * * * * * * * *
One Year Later (62 AL)...
How marvellous it was, to be able to embrace magic again!
It had been twelve summers since the Sunwell had been crafted, and still Medarin found himself unable to stop thinking that sentence. After all, he has felt this deprivation more keenly then most, as he had been one of the few who had never completely stopped embracing magic. He hadn't shown it, not wanting to show weakness to either ally or foe, but he'd truly been to the brink.
And then, the Sunwell. It had cost the lives of his two most talented apprentices, elves he had seen more like sons than anything else. The price paid, excluding his white hair, was one that grieved him. But the results. His shattered magic had resurfaced, just as the void in his soul began to close. It was almost healed now, only a faint throbbing he could ignore.
The creation of the Sunwell had been a boon for Dehire, since it had drawn people towards druidism. But it had been an even better outcome for arcane magic. Not only did the people of Silvermoon actively distrust it as they did once, some actually came to him with interest in learning a way to channel the powers safely. Already, two of his apprentices could be counted as mages themselves, and they were now actively teaching to nearly a dozen gifted elves.
Magic had its place, and could one day become honoured, in Silvermoon. He had no intention of letting that be destroyed. For that reason, he had been very strict in choosing who would learn magic. He had taken only the most balanced and patient of elves, and would make it a point for whatever form the future magical schools he saw were, that they would be strict.
Still, for all of the Sunwell's healing, for all the fact that class and blood no longer imported to him as much as an ability to control urges, he knew his kin still outclassed the budding magical society in Silvermoon. Remarra had six other spellcasters who equalled Medarin, and at least forty others of lesser strength. Even if it hadn't grown, it would be years before Silvermoon's magic could be a match for Remarra's.
Still, that didn't mean he wasn't about to be prepared. He had thus spoken with Derrigal Morningbrand, and the architect, who had designed and had built more than one place meant for spellcasters, had agreed to help him build a small mansion where he could teach unimpeded. He would have to rush training and education with whatever he remembered, and that meant he would have to be extremely strict from now on.
"And you, my old friends?" he wondered out loud. "Are you also readying? Are you pushing your students?"
He doubted it. All of those who knew magic in Remarra were Highborn, and were treated as sort of elite. They wouldn't be rushed. There, he thought, lay the advantage his own people had.
If they could hold Remarra off long enough. And with Narra, Levak and - he had to give credit where credit was due - Dehire, it might be done. Silvermoon was already a far more unified city than any settlement built by the High Elven people since the Landing. It would hold on.
For the future of the Exiles and their children, it HAD to.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three years later (65 AL)...
There were lots of objections to her plans from the assembled inner cadre that she kept with her. Dehire found that it would hurt the people. Derrigal found that the loss of manpower and resources could affect the work he was doing. Medarin thought that it might provoke the Highborn into hitting too fast for their still-fresh army to react. Levak, for his part, wondered if that might no impoverish the people.
Each had good points, of course. They had arguments that she couldn't really refute, and she didn't expect that she could or should be able to. These four elves were all brilliant, each in their own way, and had been the very best advisors she could have dreamed of having. But she wouldn't budge on this, no matter what the arguments were.
"It is necessary, my friends." she said at length, keeping her tone confident yet dignified. "We need to spread our influence, and this is the best way. I am, however, only talking about three outposts, or colonies, each with two hundred and fifty elves."
"Narra, the Sunwell's powers only reach two leagues out of Silvermoon. Barely. And we are talking about setting up colonies that will be ten, elven, or twelve leagues away." Dehire exclaimed, his white-haired, wise face concerned "They might not be able to take the strain of it long enough for it to reach them."
"I am well aware of this. We will take only volunteers, and I am certain that we will find enough for our goals." She replied easily.
"What about trolls. Thus far, they have left us pretty much alone - one two raids ever since Silvermoon was founded." Derrigal said. "But that is because the city is very large, and that we are building a very large infrastructure here. The smaller outposts might not be able to handle repeated troll raids."
The queen knew what to answer to that. "As you said, they have been silent for the most part. And the colonies will not be without defences. Each will have a fifty-elf armed group serving as a militia. That should be enough to stop any attack short of a full invasion, and there are no signs of that from our scouts' reports."
"That might change."
"My friends, we have no choice. We have to colonize this land. We must look to the future. I intend to crush the Remarrans as soon as possible, but what then?" she took a deep breath "Our time here has made survival our first priority, and as such made us understandably short-sighted. Now we have to look down the decades and centuries again. We must rebuild our civilization so that our children will have something to live in that will not demand them danger and toil every second of their lives."
She had them with this, and she knew it. As much as they could talk of shortages, or lack of manpower, of dangers in leaving the security of Silvermoon, they were well aware that the only way the High Elves would survive would be by expanding beyond one sole locale. They had to put up a web of civilization into motion, and then spin it until it spun by itself. She intended to do that, and she intended to have them help her. They knew this, and were starting to accept it.
"What about Remarra?" Medarin asked. "I know that my brethren are close to striking out. I can feel it somehow." Dehire actually snorted, but less acerbically than he would have before the Sunwell was created. "They won't just let us do whatever we want, especially when they detect our expansion. They'll strike out at the colonies first, to frighten and demoralize us."
"I know they would do this." and it frightened her. Not battle, she was used to it. Not war, she was ready for it. No, what frightened her was killing other elves, a taboo the Druids of Ashenvale had written, and all gathered here found sensible. Yet they had no choice, for submitting to Remarra might have horrible repercussions for their collective race's future.
"I know they would do this, and that is why I won't let them." she said. "Our information tells us that their forces will be ready in six summers at most. I shall attack in four." she stopped all protests with a look. "I do not intend to have them come within striking distance. Silvermoon will take the offensive."
"With their edge in magical powers?" Medarin challenged "There are only four of us who can call ourselves full mages today. They have much more, and although their strength and powers are sapped, they still represent a significant danger!"
"Yet I will win. I can promise you that." she said coldly.
They all fell silent, looking at one another. They clearly had more to say, but didn't seem to know just how to say it to her. It was Levak, who had said little since his sole protest, who finally broke the silence.
"I think we have heard enough. Narra, is your decision final?" he asked her.
"It is."
He looked towards the other members of the Silvermoon council with a slight grin. "There we have it, sir elves. The Queen of Quel'Thalas has decided, and that is quite simply that. Now we have to make it happen. To work, my brethren!"
* * * * * * * * * *
Two years later (67 AL)...
The meeting between the six remaining highest of the Highborn was tinted with urgency, as it had been for many times. The news they had managed to receive, after all, weren't doing anything to help their mood.
"Is this information truly reliable?" the head of the small reunion asked. "Silvermoon has often tried to lead us astray.
"We believe it is reliable, given that we stumbled upon two such settlements already." one other said. There was a hint of challenge in his voice. There was challenge in everyone's voice these days. The effect of magical absence, of deprivation, was affecting them even worse then their people and those who served their people.
The elf who oversaw this meeting, however, had been one of the few of Dath Remar's close friends, one who had known of his plans for a stable, magical kingdom. That the people of Silvermoon - those who named the patch of land they owned Quel'Thalas - had taken the beat of advancement from glorious Remarra irked him as much as it did the others. But he kept his head cool despite the great ache in his soul.
"So." he said calmly. "Narra Pureglade ordered new settlements to be built. We never managed to hear of this..."
"Their scouts have been hard to catch, and our spies seem to be able to grasp little information."
"It has been even worse since Medarin betrayed us!" one said ragefully, indignantly. "He's told the commoners all of our secrets. He even TEACHES them magic now, from what little I've heard!!"
All of them shivered. In rage, because of Medarin's despicable betrayal and flight to Silvermoon's founders. And in disgust at the thought of commoners actually learning magic! Unheard of since the days of Azshara! Yet, Medarin had shown himself capable of defiling anything, so why not the way magic was to be taught?
The head elf immediately recovered his composure, however. "As unpleasant as these developments are, we still have some advantages left. How large are those new settlements?"
"Very small. A few houses with some small fields, surrounded by a wooden palisade."
"Excellent. We will concentrate our spies there, where they won't be able to keep the information so tightly. On another note, has the secondary project we prepared in place now?"
"Fully, sir." said one of the seated elves with a satisfied grin. "They await but our signal and the right opportunity. What is more, there is no evidence that they have been discovered, even by Medarin."
"Then we of the Quel'Dorei have not lost just yet! We will do all we can to stop the infamy that is Narra Pureglade's little realm. After all, we are the Highborn, and we are meant to lead the High Elves! To the Future!"
"To the Future!" the others replied. The Highborn, suddenly, felt more hope than they had felt in many years. Their dream was still possible. The New Kalimdoran Empire would rise yet!
* * * * * * * * * *
Four years later (71 AL)
'Seventy years...' Dehire reflected as the people of Silvermoon prepared themselves for the Remarran offensive. 'And in those years we have rediscovered the aspects of war and survival. Is this new world truly worth all of the blood we gave for it?' He sighed, for he didn't have the answer to that kind of question. He knew however, that those with power and those with willpower wanted a world, which wouldn't be controlled by the Highborn. He was one of them, and thus his place was here, in this forested valley.
On this first battlefield, in this first war since over four millennia.
An elf, lithe, muscular, and possessing the beauty that only very young females could show, ran to him. "Lord Dehire." she said respectfully "The enemy is coming through the pass, and will be at the river before too long. Her Majesty asks that you and your brethren prepare yourselves to attack."
"Tell the queen that I understand and will be prepared." He said heavily, trying to hide his reluctance. She was too preoccupied to take heed of his tone, however, and simply nodded and sped away as deftly as she had come. He then looked at the young druids he had managed to form in the ways of nature.
All five of them - three females and two males - looked even less happy about what was happening than he did. It wasn't surprising for, like they, he felt the groan of nature when life was spilled in such conflict. It rebuked them to have to take sides at all. At the same time, however, all respected Narra Pureglade and Dehire himself, and if their Queen and their teacher went to fight, they would as well. Dehire sensed all of this, mingled with irritation and apprehension, and smiled inwardly.
"It seems our powers will be needed soon. Get ready." he said simply. It seemed to agitate them more.
"Teacher, if I may-" his strongest former student, the one who had survived the creation of the Sunwell - which had turned most of her hair white - began to talk but the old druid stopped her with a gesture.
"I am no longer your teacher. You have learned enough to stand on your own. So please, call me Dehire." he actually grinned at his brightest former student's discomfort, but simply waited as the elven female fought with herself.
"Ummm...D-Dehire...are our powers truly necessary for this battle."
"You know they are. We must be here."
The elf hesitated, and the others squirmed. "I...the Silvermoon force is larger than the Remarran force, and they have better weapons. Certainly they would be able to withstand the magical might arrayed against them and prevail."
Dehire felt a surge of anger and contained himself, but his voice was taut as he replied. So taut, in fact, that they all jumped when they heard it. His eyes flashed as he spoke. "Perhaps, perhaps. And perhaps not. But whether or not they can, we will help them with our powers, because we all pledged to so. A pledge to Narra Pureglade is something I will NOT break, no matter the circumstances, even if I have to fight alone. Is that clear?"
They looked both annoyed and shamed, and he was about to add something when the horns sounded. He saw, farther on, the main force of Silvermoon preparing, sword wielders first, with archers flanking them. And, just before them, a force of perhaps forty, all seated on beast they had found and tamed after Baivan counsels. All of them wore armour, the armour of huntresses. And amongst them, one had a golden helmet. That elf raised her hand, and ragged banners flew, giving signals.
He looked back at the younger druids. "I have no time to argue this point. Know this, however: Silvermoon is a place worth fighting for, and I will fight for it. You only have your own trust in the spirits and yourselves to decided whether or not to fight."
With this, he closed his eyes and felt for the power of nature, of Elune, of everything living.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three hours later (71 AL)...
Blood and moisture hung to Narra's spear as she killed yet one more enemy soldier, decapitating yet one more elf. It had begun to get easier, she decided, after her fourth, and as she was now at her seventeenth or eighteenth, she hardly though about her act, preferring to do her soul searching when she had ensured victory for her people..
The five hundred Remarran soldiers had crossed the river, only to find it enchanted against them. The river rose to take some, while vines had entangled others, rendering them immobile. Lightning had crackled in response, killing some of her own people, and as an answer - she was certain that had been Dehire, who else had the power for such feats? That some trees had lashed out, and attacked the enemy as they passed, forcing the Remarran sorcerers to concentrate on another problem entirely.
Medarin and the few he counted as strong enough to fight had countered the enemy magic as much as they could, only partly succeeding. All this, however, had made possible what she wanted: to get close to the enemy, to fight them head-on. Without magic, without cover, where only weaponry, training, and will counted. It had been a gamble, the biggest in her life.
Fortunately, however, it had seemingly succeeded as six hundred Thalassians had met five hundred Remarrans. The numbers were only slightly in her favour, but the effect of the Sunwell, here, could be seen clearly.
Although reluctant to kill, her people fought faster, with more vigour and strength in their postures and actions. For every Silvermoon who fell, whether it was by magic or other wise, at least two Remarran also met their doom. It wasn't something she was proud of. She would never wish to remember that battle, or any which would follow against elves. But it had to be done.
Her group, she knew, had done much damage. Mounted on these strange beasts the Baivans had collected decades ago and introduced to them recently, they were able to move with a speed nearly that of Frostsabers. She had chosen all the former huntresses who remained, and they proved to be as excellent in the new lands as they had been in the jungles of Kalimdor. Time and time again they had rushed, deflected arrows with shields, and struck, dealing death and terror. Six had fallen, but between them all, they had killed or wounded nearly a fourth of the enemy already.
One of the few Remarran mages left - she had made certain her archers pick them off as much as they could - came towards her, his face deformed by rage and fear. He shouted words of arcane, and fired a bolt of electricity to one of the huntresses. The female didn't have time to dodge, and with a scream and the taste of burnt flesh, both her steed and she fell to the ground. Blocking anger, Narra veered her animal towards the magi and charged, He saw her coming, his eyes wide, and he began to fumble the words of a spell.
"Never again, Highborn!" she growled and launched her spear. Her aim was as true as it ever had been when she fought centaurs. The bloody spear transfixed the elf, and he toppled to the ground, dead taking him quickly. Two other Remarrans came towards her, but as she unsheathed her rough iron blade to face them, the other huntresses joined her and charged them. They died within moments. She lifted her blade and said the only meaningful thing she could.
"FOR QUEL'THALAS!" she roared, and went back into the fray.
Such was the fight inside of her that she blinked several times when she saw that the Remarrans were retreating. Less than two hundred, many of these wounded, they fled under the jeers of over four hundred people of Silvermoon. She indeed saw some of her own people about to chase after them all, and wondered in disgust of what they had become.
'We took elven lives and found a way to enjoy it. Elune be merciful.' "Do not pursue them! Horns! Sound the horns to signal the end of the battle!!"
As they sounded, and the High Elves of Silvermoon broke from their pursue - many reluctantly, she heard one of the huntresses exclaim to another. "We crushed them! A magnificent victory, don't you think so?"
She looked towards the battlefield, and noticed the many wounded, and the many who would never move again. Such a loss of life, to make certain that there be a future. Was this truly the victory they hoped for? All of this death and hate...just to make certain one side won...
"For Quel'Thalas." she muttered. But this time, it held bitterness, not triumph.
* * * * * * * * * *
One year later (72 AL)...
Kelak loved when the darkening evening came. Not because he liked the darkness itself that very much, but rather because it allowed him to breathe. Silvermoon, after all, was a very lively little city by day, with small, budding shops and markets beginning to grow, while hundreds of workers were seen, actively following the ambitious plans laid by Derrigal Morningbrand. The architect himself had come to see him with a plan he'd done of the castle he wanted built for the Quel'Thalas royalty. He'd shown them with a face so close to ecstatic dementia that Kelak had given him permission simply so that the elf could be away from him.
He wasn't interested in how Morningbrand was busily tearing down buildings only to rebuild them. Nor was he concerned about the raid on Silvermoon last month - seventy suicidal trolls who'd been neutralized soon enough, although it had raised concern more were to come. Nor even was he worried about the state of the war with Remarra. At this moment, Kelak was concentrating on only one thing: channelling spiritual magic without calling upon the power of Elune.
In Ashenvale, and especially in the confines of Nighthaven, it would have been seen as heresy. But here, Elune had lost much of her influence, and people had been rather tempted by his theory: that the divine energies the druids could use were only taken from something within each person. It wasn't something most could use, of course. A minority could only reach that power, and even fewer could do great things with this strength. But he refused to believe it was related to Cenarius, or Elune, or any godlike apparition.
He had indeed interested many people with his theories. The problem was that he couldn't provide the proof for what he said yet. That was why he was sitting in the middle of a small, bare room in the mansion he and Narra lived in, and tried to produce a small light between his cupped hands.
Very young, he had been told that he had some slight potential for learning in druidic magic. He had, however, refused to follow that path, preferring research and thought into Night Elf society, its qualities and shortcomings. It was only later in his life that he had studied magic to better understand its inner workings. His thoughts on the matter - and his opinion that the arcane powers could be channelled safely - had led to his Exile, to Narra following him, and to his child's death, for which he would never completely forgive himself.
The coming here, and his uselessness in so many things, had only fuelled his need to make his theory work, to invent a new philosophy which new elves could take to heart. He was, so far, unable to even make a small light flicker, no matter the concentration he put into it.
"Maybe I am going about all this the wrong way," he mused in frustration, letting his hands fall to his side. "Perhaps...perhaps concentration is not the key."
He couldn't ask anyone about it. It would only shock the druids, and no one else he knew practiced this esoteric experiment. Yet, he wouldn't give up. The Sunwell had given him his strength back, and he had time to find out what he wanted. Seventy summers were nothing, when he could try for seven hundred more. Still, he wished to find the way he saw as soon as possible.
He chuckled wanly, fatigue seeping into his bones. "Well, it won't be today. But perhaps tomorrow. Or the day after. No need to rush quite THAT much." With that, he rose to his feet and stretched. A long day. Now, to bed he would go, for it would be another long day, with decisions and hurdles, tomorrow as it always was ever since Narra had been chosen Queen - and he, by consequence, had become the royal consort.
He left the room, and walked through the stone hall leading to the Queen's - and his own - bedchamber. He irritably yet politely replied to those who acknowledged with a respectful 'Sire' - since when had he become so untouched?!? - and finally he reached the doors, guarded by two armed elven males who immediately opened the doors for him with ridiculous bows and titles.
"I swear," he grumbled to himself "If this keeps up, I won't be able to talk to people within four centuries. No, THREE! I can't stand all this bowing and - " he stopped when he saw that, in the midst of the rather spartan room, in the large, rather well-made bed, his mate was soundly asleep.
She looked angelic when she was asleep, when the hardness of the war and the guilt many of the decisions she had thrust upon herself slipped away, and he was once more shown why exactly this precise woman had dazzled him even before he had even known her name. She obviously had a very hard day too, or else her heightened senses would have woken her up at his grumbling entrance.
Thoughts of frustration about his fruitless attempts and his annoyance at being called things he would probably never feel he were replaced with a though he hadn't had in many years. He grinned, slipped out of his clothes and into the sheets. Feeling every bit like a young eighty year old, he reached to touch his mate gently-
- And found himself nearly attacked as Narra suddenly slid on top of him, kissing him long, holding his head with one hand, the other clawing his back. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, although he felt a bit like someone was choking him. It took many long moments before she released him, however, and he caught twice when she did.
"Why you..." he coughed again, strangled between lack of air and laughter "You weren't asleep at all."
"I was." she told him with a grin as wan as his "But nobody's ever been able to surprise me in a very long time. I was tempted to let you do what you wanted, but I wanted to see your look when I'd surprise you."
"Well, you did." he said. He then saw her face tense a bit, taking once again the expression of the distraught warleader and ruler. He had been one of those who convinced her to take that mantle, a mantle, which had led to claim a great victory one year before, a battle which had claimed too many lives. He suddenly found his little search to be small compared to the burden she was forced to endure. "But I suppose it doesn't prevent anything!" he said, switching places, savouring the shocked expression on her face.
"Levak..." she began, but he cut her off swiftly.
"Words tomorrow. Right now, let me show you a few things meditating all day can teach a person." He said gently, bending over her slender but more powerful frame.
And indeed, they didn't talk until the morning.
* * * * * * * * * *
Five years later (77 AL)...
The elf ran through the forest in a panic, not caring whether he let his trace everywhere he went. He knew that his trail was easy to follow, that even a blind elf could do so. But it didn't matter. THEY were after him. And if THEY were after him, it meant that trying to be subtle meant void. Nothing at all. The pain his soul, they felt as well, and this pain had only made them more unstable, more cruel.
He couldn't let them catch him. Never! He couldn't! He would rather perish right now than be in their grasp. Yet he couldn't find it within himself to kill himself, so he chose the best course left to him: he ran like one maddened.
His breath was short. Fire in his chest, his limbs trembled; yet he ran. He had to reach some place safe, where they couldn't reach him. One of those other settlements. Baivan, or that one people said was greater than even haughty Remarra: Silvermoon. But his strength chose this moment to give out, and stumbling, he fell down with a cry. Fumbling, he desperately tried to get up, when a shadow covered him. In horror, he looked up.
And saw a cloaked form looming over him, holding a large, curved iron blade. He whined in pure terror, actually urinating at the sight. "No...nonono..." he kept repeating, like a mantra. It didn't have any effect on the looming thing he knew as an Enclave Warden.
The Warden spoke, and an elven voice, female and beautiful, but frighteningly devoid of emotion, spoke. "You left the Enclave and its grounds, breaking the Vows of Time. You have been judged and sentenced the moment you left. Now comes the time of your sentence."
"NO! NOLETMEGO!" But at that moment the curved blade went from grey to red, and he knew the end had come.
"Prepare yourself to be cleansed, Tainted One!" The warden said in a fervent voice, and struck him with her blade.
And then the pain overtook him, and he, like all the others, realized there was only one truth that one could be absolutely certain of: No one left the Enclave.
Ever.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three years later (80 AL)...
The city was shaping itself. Of that there was no doubt left. Where there had been only a large cluster of tents and a cauldron of hope amongst peoples of differing philosophies, now there was something worthwhile to be seen. Silvermoon, only a name, was becoming a power quickly.
One could see it by the changes wrought in the city itself. Tents had given way to huts, and these had been replaced by true homes of wood. Although crude, they were reaching an ever-higher level of sophistication. Markets and shops were beginning to appear, selling food or goods produced by farmers and artisans. Rough trails had become mud roads, but already the work of thousands of people had seen changes there as well: the main avenues were now cobbled.
The greatest changes were the increasing use of stone. It seemed that the leaders of Silvermoon had agreed that wood was a precious living thing, and that stone could furthermore prove most excellent in repelling attacks. For that reason, work had begun on a stone wall outside of the wooden palisade. Unfinished, it would take ten years to finish it, as well as the gates which would guard the city. But it was beginning, and that couldn't be anything but good.
Houses - belonging to prominent leaders and families - were also made in great part of stone, while the Queen's Palace - a structure situated just north of the Sunwell, truly showed what the architect Derrigal Morningbrand could do. Slender, with beautiful spires and turrets, it was as great as the castles of mighty rulers in the height of Kalimdor's glory, in the days of old Evorin's father talked about.
To the young elf, who was no longer a child and yet not quite a male, the greatest change wasn't in the beauty being built physically, but by the one he saw amongst the people themselves. For the first time since they had come to this new land, the disparate philosophies brushed shoulders. Gladers and Streamers, Baivans and even rogue Remarrans all worked together. Of course, there were some differences yet. The streamers were still heavily matriarchal; the gladers militaristic, the remarrans had the haughtiness of Highborns, and the Baivans were only interested in farming.
Still, the unity endured. To Evorin, it meant very much indeed.
"Daydreaming is all good, and I approve of imaginative minds, but I would really need that ink soon, if you don't mind."
The soft, melodious voice soon found a body as his master, Derrigal Morningbrand, stepped beside him, making him jump all the more. Once handsome, half of Derrigal's face had been burned by a group of druids to 'cleanse' him of the sins of designing many of the Kalimdoran Empire's most glorious buildings. It was said that he lost his family that night, as they abandoned him as a sinner and an elf who had consorted with evil.
This would have broken many elves, but his master hadn't. He had survived, and had joined the Exile Fleet willingly. 'The best thing I could have done.' he was known to say 'for now I can work my art without fear of dire repercussions.' In Silvermoon, he had been given all leeway to forge a city both powerful and durable. Consequently, the light in his eyes, and the passion in his voice, had never been anything but high and steady as he worked miracles.
He flushed in embarrassment. "I am sorry sir. I was just thinking that...well...that...Silvermoon. Silvermoon's becoming a true city, isn't it?"
The still-handsome parts of Derrigal's skin stretched into a smile as he looked out at the city he was working hard to design. "Yes. Yes, it is. And I intend to make it so enchanting, so beautiful, that all elven hearts will be filled with joy upon sighting its walls, and its towers and banners. This city will be the capitol city of Quel'Thalas - a great realm one day I'm certain. This will be my message, child."
"A message of achievement."
"A message of hope, rather."
He couldn't help it: he looked at his friend and mentor - the only elf he fully confided in, after Weil - and blurted: "Hope? But we have hope! With Queen Narra leading us, harm will never befall us!"
"That is what they said about Azshara, too, child. And in the beginning, they were right. She was a good elf, but so reckless, so arrogant. So confident that she could control others."
Evorin flushed again, in reactive anger this time. Of all the great people of Silvermoon - Leval, Alibia, Dehire, Medarin - of all of them, none could even come close to the respect and admiration he had for Narra Pureglade, who had forced the people together and, by that, ensured their freedom and survival. He thus disliked when anyone attempted to slight her, even a good friend who had helped him for six summers now.
"The queen isn't trying to control anyone!" he said hotly, and then before he could stop himself "You've seen her, you should know!"
If the elven architect was upset by what his younger friend had said, he did not show it. Instead, taking things in stride as he always did, he calmly replied. "I know this. You are right, I HAVE seen her. She is not Azshara. Colder to begin with, but a stronger honour and good will towards others, if one looks deeper. Yes, it is very unlikely that she will be corrupted, especially with the people she keeps around herself..." he stopped, thoughtful. "However..."
"However?"
"However, child, there is the fact that a few will believe and think ill of her. Not just those outside Quel'Thalas' sphere of influence. Some, inside, do and probably always mistrust the queen. These, my young friend, are those we all must be wary of, lest they destroy what we are attempting to forge here."
Evorin, first bewildered, remembered the conversation he had overheard many years ago. Two voices speaking ill of the queen. Dissenters? And in that case, were there many more. He had made an oath to watch over the queen then, and it had seemed childish soonafter, and he had forgotten. Now, however, with Derrigal speaking, he was forced to look at his oath far more seriously.
"Depressing." he said, and that was all they said on the subject in the very end. Then the scarred elf regained his spirits, and sent him to fetch some ink. There was work to do, after all.
'Indeed, sir.' Evorin said as he walked to the market 'I, too, have some work to do...'
* * * * * * * * * *
Six years later (86 AL)...
Weil watched as the barricades of the village crumbled before the strength of a magical bolt and the press of the Remarrans who had attacked it. Already wounded from an arrow shot, she could only watch helplessly as the few remaining defenders of the town of Delfer desperately tried to maintain a position against far superior forces.
The attacked had come faster than anyone had expected, and at the worst possible time, as the nearby garrisons had been pulled for a few days for new drills. A window of four days, which the Remarrans had taken. It had been all that the townspeople and the few soldiers remaining could do to barricade the wooden gates to the town and defend themselves. The enemy, however, had soldiers and magic.
Weil had grown in a time of uncertainty and turmoil - she knew how to react to it. As soon as she had been informed of the situation, she had taken a few people with her and had worked to delay the enemy long enough for an evacuation to take place. It had been partially successful, as the population had been able to leave, but the enemy had seen them. They thus had no idea if the refugees had made it to the more secure lands near the capital.
But whether or not they had, one thing was certain: Delfer could no longer be held. One of Queen Narra's five villages had fallen to the enemy.
The enemy...when she'd been young, she'd found absurd the very idea that High Elves should war against each other when all resources and efforts should be cast on adapting and surviving in these new lands. These thoughts, however, had given place to the harsh reality of seeing friends fall, of being afraid, wounded, and most of all, angry.
The Remarrans would get no more mercy from her than Trolls would. And that made her decision much easier to take in the end. She gestured to the two soldiers of any rank who remained, and they came close as soon as a respite came in the attacks.
"We can't hold this town anymore." she said grimly "I have no intention of letting them win more than they already have. You know what this means..."
They nodded to her. There was no need to explain further. "Then burn everything. Make certain they get nothing from Delfer. I can only hope we can now go and warn the queen. The Remarrans have decided to go on the offensive."
From then on, she was certain, the war would become far more deadly than it had ever be thus far!