Quel'Thalas, Realm in Exile
Part One: Narra
Chapter Four
Ninety-five years After Landing (95 AL)
Gorlon had always been brighter than the average, which was one reason other trolls had never liked him. Naturally a strong warrior, his ability to outthink anyone in his clan had forced respect and fear - but never admiration. Those who followed him followed because they knew he would take a high price from those who wouldn't come.
Not that the large troll, standing taller than any seen in generation at well over eight feet, really minded the situation. Fear was fine enough from others. It made them do their tasks better. What he didn't like was that these newcomers - these purple skins - come into their lands and worked on them as if they had always belonged to them. Building homes sturdier than any troll hut, and making weapons of better make than any clan ever had, they strutted along the territories they had decided as their own, secure in their own arrogance and superiority.
However, as much as he hated those who had come at the time of his grandfather's father, he had learned one thing for himself: he had learned that their arrogance wasn't simple words and shows of strength. These newcomers... these... ELVES, that was the word... had many who truly knew how to fight. Many raids had been launched upon elven settlements, and many more had failed than had been expected. He had led one such attempt. He had seen their anger and their strange powers; powers beyond what tribe shamans could muster, as well as the strength of their arrows.
He had seen it and had been, for a little while, afraid.
And for that, the elves had earned his undying hatred.
A troll came close to him, baleful dark eyes under red bangs, and growled in barely disguised glee. "We sees them. Oh yeah, we sees them."
Gorlon didn't move quite yet. "The elves?"
"Yeah. The nasty purpleskins are jus' around the bend, walking in like they own this place." glee increased in the crazed eyes. "Haven't sees us, mon. What to do, what to do?"
"Y'need to ask?" Gorlon grinned. "Signal the mons. We jump'em and kill every last elf."
"Ohh, that's a good plan, very good plan, mon." The troll vanished at once, and Gorlon was left to his grimly amused thoughts. Was it a good plan? Not really. A satisfying one? Plenty of that!
He took his position, up the though branch of a proud old tree which hid him with its thick, elderly branches. Below him, a narrow pass hidden by the shadows cast by the forest, thick with vegetation. Nothing stirred but the far-off noise of some stream and that of forest insects.
And then he saw them. Twelve elves he counted in his mind. Seven of them were females. Amongst trolls, this would have been a good thing. Not with elves. Females were nasty amongst them, nastier than the males in many ways. It was the one in the lead - a dour-eyed female - he personally selected for his strike. They were moving through the woods without making a sound, truly at ease in this environment.
Unfortunately for the poor, arrogant fools, trolls were equally as good in the forest. No, not as good. Better. They still knew the terrain better, although the elves were catching on too fast for anyone's liking. Still, it gave them an edge. Enough to let them pass undetected until they were in their grasp, right were they wanted them to.
One moment all was silence. And the next moment, Gorlon jumped on the female with a yell, followed by other trolls before he was on the ground. Very suddenly, the quite wood trail had become a fierce battlefield.
The female had one of these large elf bows, and raised it the moment he yelled. If he hadn't been utterly on top of her, the shot would have gone off and killed him, he was fairly certain. However, the angle made the shot impossible. It went wide, and the troll fell on her with all of his weights, hefting the two steel battleaxes he had once taken from corpses of dwarves who had strayed too far of their underground pits and hovels. He swung them simultaneously, cutting off an arm and the female's head before she could react, rolled away from the corpse, and came to his feet roaring.
He might never have bothered. Other elves had fallen in the surprise assault, so that only five stood against more then twenty trolls. They fought in sort of hazy rage certainly brought by fear, and managed to kill two trolls before they, in turn, were killed, one by one. Implacably and efficiently.
Once again, the forest became calmer, with only the blood and corpses to tell of the attack, which had taken place.
Gorlon didn't waste any time in directing his men. "Take their weapons and whatever you want, and then let's go. I want out of this place, mons. Elves are quick to check up on vanished warparties."
"And if they do? We just kill them, mon!" one of the others told him. He immediately threw one of his axes at him, killing him on the spot. A troll head joined the elven corpses, rolling wetly on the overgrown soil.
Gorlon hefted his other axe. "One, day, one strike. We take, we leave. Those are my rules, mons. Any want to talk stupid with that?" No one wanted to. "Then get the gear and let's leave. There'll be other days to take elven lives." he grinned to himself. Many other days. As many as he could. As many as all tribes could. Until fear of the newcomers went away.
Until the newcomer elves feared the Troll Tribes of the forests.
* * *
Five years later (100 AL)...
"A messenger?" Narra Pureglade, ruler of Silvermoon and queen of Quel'Thalas, raised an eyebrow even as she rose from her seat by the window. She had taken to looking out from this place, high atop the keep constructed by her people for her, and had seen the city of Silvermoon grow from a ramshackle town of dirty streets to a small city which almost gave a feel of home to her. It wasn't like the jungles of Ashenvale, or the city of Nighthaven. It still lacked much sophistication of elven civilizations, but it was much better than anything else the High Elves had on this colder continent.
Three weeks ago, the last stone had been put in place, completing the large wall painstainkingly built to protect them, finally sealing off troll and Remarran attacks to a far larger degree. Not that the Remarrans or the trolls had tried to test Silvermoon much. Instead, it had been the other way around. For the last decade, her forces - led by the new riders the huntresses had created - had managed to beat back the enemy, albeit at high costs. Now, only a relatively small army stood between them and Remarra. The people who wished to return to reckless usage of arcane power were losing quickly.
Thus, knowing the haughty pride of her enemies, and the lengths to which they had many times shown they were willing to go to win any engagement, the last thing she had expected was a messenger. It surprised her...and made her immediately suspicious.
She faced the young man who had come to see her, dressed in the attire of a servant. She hated what that made of her culture and of herself, but hid it as she spoke. "Unusual. And you say he comes from Remarra?"
"Yes, Your Highness. With words from their leaders, meant only for your ears."
She liked this even less. It reeked of something, and she wasn't certain of what. She quickly decided upon a course of action. "I will see him...with my husband. Where is the King?"
"Already receiving the messenger, Your Highness. He sent me for you at once."
She had to hide a grin at that. Of course, Levak would already be there. She had always been the warrior of the pair, and he had always been the philosopher. Thus, he was always quick to react to the possibility of peace, whereas she was more wary of it. This did not make him a fool - Elune knew he wasn't! - but he had certain gullibility for sweet lies that made her cringe at times. She had better hurry on to him.
"I suppose they're in the private meeting chamber? Lead me there." she said, and the servant bowed.
The way was short - the meeting room was near the place where she preferred to reflect - and before long she entered, preceded by the announcement. 'The Queen of Quel'Thalas.' Two elven males rose at once. One was Levak, calm and soft-faced with gentle, wise eyes, dressed in an elaborate tunic befitting his rank as Royal Consort and Lord of Silvermoon. She knew he hated dressing for occasions, preferring to attend meetings or discuss plans with workers and builders. But he was also a wise elf, who knew how to receive exalted guest - even Remarran ambassadors.
The other elf was taller than her dear mate, and at once she felt it. Magic. Strong magic. Carefully kept in check, but inescapable from her old Huntress senses. This elf - dressed well but not gaudily, sporting a game and fair face, was a sorcerer. And a powerful one. Not as powerful as Medarin, she felt. But too close for comfort.
She let none of the tension show as she greeted the other elf. "I welcome you to our city, messenger. Or should I say Ambassador?"
"Oh, Highness, please." the other elf said mildly, smoothly "I am but a messenger here, to give you an offer from the people of Remarra to end this unfortunate conflict."
She raised her eyebrows. "I find it ironic, that after all this time the people of Remarra would send a message. Many times over the seasons have the people of Quel'Thalas sought such a parley, but they were refused. And now you come, strangely at the time when Remarra is protected by your last forces, and is, from what we have heard, in quite a tumultuous state."
The other elf was a master. Nothing showed on his features as he spoke, always mild. "Rumours, Your Majesty. Only rumours and unfortunate times. What matters is that we are here now."
"Still," Levak said as gently as ever "The war between Quel'Thalas and the Remarrans has cost many lives, made worse by troll raids along our frontier towns. We welcome you, but your will forgive us if we are somewhat sceptical of your claims. For now, at least."
She gave her mate a quick, grateful look. Although he was all for peace, he had all but said that he would support whatever decision she would be making. It lifted a certain weight from her ever-heavy load. She gave the messenger a penetrating look, which he held quite well. She gave a nod.
"Does Remarra wish for peace?" she didn't believe it, but she wasn't about to cross the point of no return. Quel'Thalas had been built to better High Elven lives, not destroy them.
There was no hesitation as the other gave a sharp affirmative gesture. "Completely. We are ready for peace."
"Then by all means. States your leaders' proposal." 'And we will see whether you can lie well or not.' she thought grimly, as she sat at the meeting table with the two males.
* * *
Three Months Later (100 AC)...
Weil looked sombre as she packed her few possessions. "I can't believe the Queen'd do this." she muttered "After all the sacrifices, we're almost there. We've almost won. And she suddenly just turns around and buys into the Remarran talk of coexistence."
The young male who stood at the flap of her tent shrugged. "I'm certain Her Highness has her reasons."
"And if those reasons are wrong?"
There was a long pause. "She hasn't led us astray in the fifty summers of her rule, has she?"
The young female wasn't surprised by the tone of her friend. Almost ever since he had set foot upon this new world of theirs, hurt and reeling from the sad loss of his parents, Evorin had worshipped Narra Pureglade, then just the leader of small, motley village. He had found no fault in her, and had supported her actions. Even those, which were ambiguous.
Weil herself had a more realistic view of things. She had seen the deaths caused by Pureglade's hesitations, her plans, and her direct actions. She had seen many flaws - pride, reluctance to being in charge, and sometimes the hauteur only a huntress could show. It wasn't like she didn't respect the Queen. Quel'Thalas was a better place than anywhere else on this wretched piece of land, and Narra had been a generally benevolent ruler. But there were still things she could question, where Evorin would never question.
Like this. Dozens of seasons, fighting off repeated offensives by the Remarrans - with three coming to the walls of Silvermoon itself; Losing comrades upon comrades in the bloody skirmishes. Dealing with grief and loss. And now, as the Remarran lines were breaking, as the Queen's forces were ready for the very last push, the Queen decided to listen to those liars and establish peace.
No matter how she looked at it, she found that decision reckless, not to mention dangerous.
She wasn't about to argue with her oldest friend, however. "Well, let's hope everything goes alright. We're part of Her Highness' personal envoy, and I don't intend to slip up." 'Or trust in one's judgement as blindly as you do', she thought.
Evorin turned, and she marvelled how much he changed from the grief-stricken boy or the slim, almost frail elven adolescent he had been. The last sign of childhood had gone last year, and although young Evorin Eltrass was a study of perfect elven features, with a slim but athletic body honed by years of devotion to Quel'Thalas and the Queen. She had seen many of the young females looking at him in frank interest, and she couldn't really blame them. Too bad he had no idea of the effect he caused others sometimes.
"Don't you think it would be better, if the High Elves stopped warring amongst themselves and rather fought against nature, and the trolls' rampage?"
She grunted. "Of course I believe that. But I also happen to believe that the Remarrans started this war, and made sure it continued. This might be only prejudice - I don't have much faith in sorcery, even when used by our people - but I'll take this sudden conciliatory attitude with a grain of salt. And so should you, if I may say so."
He shrugged gracefully, fingering the pommel of his sword. It was rather finely made - the new smithies weren't up to Kalimdorian standard, but decades of need and efforts were paying off at last. "I suppose you're right. I can't really tell for myself. So far, the only things I've fought are trolls."
"Good for you. Killing trolls is hard enough. Killing other elves truly hurts the soul." she muttered. She had far too many images seared in her mind. So many sacrifices.... This was one of the reason she didn't want the army's actions brushed aside like the Queen was doing, whether or not that thinking was right.
Not that Evorin could know. He had joined the army as soon as his boyhood had been all but gone, but most of his previous postings had been safe inside the walls of Silvermoon, which had seen little action for at least the last three summers. As far as his stories went, he had only encountered trolls twice, in easy skirmishes. And that was all very well with Weil. She didn't wish to lose the only elf she considered family. She sighed. "Well, let's be vigilant. They might try to ambush the queen or the like."
It had more of an effect than she thought it would. He faced her with a sudden, quiet intensity, his face suddenly taut and pensive. "Yes, you're quite right. And I won't allow that to happen Weil."
She couldn't help but be taken aback by the ice in his tone. "Calm yourself. The queen will be well-protected, and I don't really thing they'd do something this foolish."
"Perhaps not directly, no." he said, grimly. To him, it seemed as if pieces had begun to fall together. "Perhaps not directly...yet..."
"Yet?" she prompted. But he simply shook his head with a smirk.
"No, impossible. I am seeing things that aren't there, surely." he took a deep breath. "Well, let us get prepared, by Elune!" And without letting her a chance to make him stay, he gracefully swept out of the tent, into the camp.
She looked at the place Evorin had bee standing at. Remembering his face, the strange, intense look he'd had. "Evo, you really are making this trip a lot more complex and unsavory than ever before."
* * *
Two weeks later (100 AL)...
"So, do we do it?" a voice asked as two shapes looked over the Thalassian encampment. Four dozen tents were there, many small ones surrounding the large ones belonging to the queen's advisors and the queen herself. Many fires were going on, and the smell of cooking could be smelt far away. At regular intervals, elven soldiers were posted, standing rigid and looking deep into the woods, seeing nearly as clearly as they would during the day.
This was a large, well-armed camp. There was no chance the Trolls would try anything, although anyone who knew things and admitted them to himself could surmise they had already come. There was no danger to the queen that way. But this way, at least, the attention was diverted outward, leaving the queen vulnerable.
And yet. "No...no, we will not do it."
"What?!? This would be the perfect opportunity!" the other voice hissed, clearly incensed. "She is far from Silvermoon, far from her keep and the foolish adoration a populace has for her! She is vulnerable!"
"You are a fool if you believe it is so. You many have conveniently forgotten, or perhaps you didn't know, but Narra Pureglade was a Huntress once. The best of her kind despite her relative youth. They say that Tyrande Whisperwing herself trained her. Even by herself, she is a great threat. And there are strong people amongst her advisors. No, we will wait."
This did not please the second, more impatient voice. "This might take far too long, and our people no longer have the time! The usurper's army is larger than ours, and they have a few sorcerers themselves, albeit few. Our lines are crumbling, our people defecting! We..."
"Do you think I need a reminder of our plight?" The first voice asked, voice calm but suddenly seized with a cold edge. It stopped the other person short. There was a moment of strained silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the wild.
"No, of course not." the other voice at last said, more grudgingly than was proper. "But this still remains a grand occasion! Our best in at least two decades!"
"I am aware of that. But there are complications. I do not trust her mate, King Levak. He is known to be very shrewd. And then there is Dehire himself, a powerful druid. THAT one is a nightmare, and will cost us much if we do anything. No, the time is not right. But I trust we will see it for ourselves soon."
"And if we don't?"
"Then we will improvise one, my friend. After all, remember that the Queen has much confidence in what I say."
* * * * * * * * * *
Four days later (100 AL)...
The days were getting longer and colder, signalling with the colouring of the leaves the end of summer. The coming of the new land's autumn, though sad because of the much colder climes the following months would be, were also a period of awe which the elves never tired of.
In Kalimdor, the leaves stayed the same through all seasons, as the climate never changed much. Here, the leaves of the three turned from green to a myriad of bright colours. Oranges, reds, yellows and gold littered the soil, falling from the branch like a magical ritual. It was an awe-inspiring sight of nature's continuing cycle in this part of the world.
Weil wished, however, that the times were as pleasant as the sights. However, it did not happen to be so. It was, in fact the opposite. She glared across the beautiful, forested valley, across from the tents which showed the green, gold and deep blue of Quel'Thalas to the cluster farther on, which in turn sported purple, silver and magenta. The colours of Dath Remar, and of the city named after him. They had arrived only two days ago, and a large tent had been erected exactly in the middle of the two groups, in plain grey, to hold the meetings between both leaderships.
"Well, I can look at this on the bright side." she muttered a bit sullenly "The Remarrans'd be foolish to attack in the open, and I don't think the trolls'll try to do anything against a group as large as ours has become." she sighed. Why didn't it make her happy? Had she become one of these elves who thrived on conflict? Elune, let it be not so!! Yet, she felt so restless...
She took her bow and strapped her sword. Her shift wouldn't begin for a little bit yet, but she'd go there and take her post anyway, if only to talk a bit and relieve the stress. She envied Evorin's trust in the Queen. He was acting with apparent confidence, certain that Narra and her advisors would settle everything without bloodshed. That naiveté. was both endearing and irritating, but she could only admit that the young male looked more rested than she had felt in many moons because of that very belief.
"The Queen's entourage will never know that an elf struck the killing blow. The proof will all point to the trolls. Let the primitive monsters bring the wrath of the foolish usurpers upon themselves!"
Weil stopped short of the place where her post would have been but a little while later. Voices. Preoccupied, talking very fast. Much emotion in the voices. It was only after a moment that the sentence she had heard fully registered, and then her stomach quickly turned to cold, hard lead. There was no doubting what she was hearing. They were talking about killing the queen and blaming the trolls for it. People of Quel'Thalas, committing treason! She clenched her teeth, and then soundlessly glided closer, until she crouched behind the bushed, which hid the conspirators.
Only the training given to her and the years of skirmishing against both elves and trolls alike kept her from gasping as she recognized the one who had been talking to another figure in the shadows. It was unmistakably Tantril, the most powerful arcane spellcaster in Silvermoon, save for Medarin himself. He had been the only one to have survived the making of the life-saving Sunwell, and had participated in many crucial battles against the Remarran forces. Few were as trusted in Silvermoon.
And he was openly talking of betrayal.
She tried to discern who was the other speaker, but couldn't recognize anyone, even with her night-vision - too far and too blurry to make anyone out. Instead, she carefully listened for more information.
The other elf - she could tell it was an elf, at least, if nothing else - muttered something, to which the elf almost laughed. "Medarin?!? The old fool doesn't know anything at all! He's blind to our cause now, if he ever believed in it in the first place! He teaches whoever comes with even a bit of potential, even those who have no hint of Quel'Dorei blood in their veins. No, he will not help us. In fact, we will have to act against him right after Pureglade dies, or he will ruin our plans."
Another, stronger mutters. "No, worry not! Dehire doesn't know. And even if he did, he's far away, holed up in the trees gossiping with the birds like all Druids of the Claw do. He's no danger here. And he's the only one who could figure out that no Trolls are anywhere near the environs with his natural links."
There was a strong mutter now, and she actually picked up the voice this time. It was a familiar voice, one that she had heard before, certainly. An image came of the Maelstrom, of Dath Remar's proud ship, sinking. And there...
Before she could go any further in her musings, she felt hands take hold of her arms. Female hands, trained and hard, Training and instinct too over as she cursed herself for leaving herself open for even just one instant. She lashed out at them, but they held firm, another pair took hold of her neck and choked her. She struggled as hard as she could, and opened her mouth to growl out something, only to have a hand forcefully close her mouth. Still, she kept struggling, angrily trying to break free of the three females who held her.
"Ah, poor child" a voice purred. "You truly hid yourself well, but you should know there are elves who have much more experience in this sort of thing than you do. That oversight, I fear, will cost you."
"What goes here?" Tantril's voice came to Weil's ears, and she looked to see him approaching. He gave her s scornful look, and then gave the others his attention. "This is no time to be playing. Sarana. Not at this time. I can't afford to have her tell anything. Just knock her out, and then we shall see what we should do about this one.
"Whatever you say." Sarana purred. At that moment, the one who had been in shadows came into focus, and Weil gave a surprised grunt. ELUNE, THAT'S-
A blow came, and everything became darkness.
* * *
Two days later (100 AL)...
Levak was a patient man, but even he, admittedly, had limits. And the Remarran delegation was quickly reaching these limits. "I don't think your incessant attacks upon our territories were what could sanely be called 'Harmless forays', sir. I dare to say Quel'Thalas owes you little in the way of reparations!"
The ambassador sat shockstill, his fine features slightly twisted into a scornful mien. "And I suppose your actions, taking our own territory and villages at your whim, is in turn only a bit of diplomatic movement?"
"What you are talking about is the direct cause of your people's inability to accept another sovereign power-"
"And you are?" the other elf retorted. Blue eyes met blue eyes in a contest of will, which was hastily broken by Medarin's steady voice.
"Please, please sirs! Today was tiring, and I propose that we adjourn this meeting and start fresh tomorrow morning."
The Remarran looked at Medarin stiffly, and was answered with a calm, challenging look. He relented with obvious reluctance. "You are...quite right. Your Majesty, honoured advisors." His acknowledgements, bare and forced, done, he and his entourage quickly picked up their items and haughtily left the meeting tent, leaving only the Thalassian delegation.
Levak looked towards his queen and love, which had barely participated in the entire encounter and talks that day. He felt personal shame at his outburst. He, a philosopher, lowered to trading insults with another. Unconceivable! "I am sorry, my Queen. I let my emotions get the better of me. It is unusual and will not happen again."
"Don't hit yourself too badly over that, Sire." Medarin grinned. "I lived with these people for years. Was one of them for years. I know how trying we 'Highborn' can be. As far as I am concerned, you showed much restrain."
"Still, this was childish. I shouldn't have-"
"Levak, everything about this is childish." Narra finally spoke at last, her first words in a long while. "Everything. And I think that its a voluntary happenstance." she settled her gentle but commanding gaze on him. "Surely you felt that as well."
He was about to say that no, he hadn't felt anything out of the ordinary, but refrained. There was something wrong here, and he HAD felt something. He had never been much of a diplomat, more interested in more abstract matters of the will and the mind than in dealing with people, but he noticed certain things. The Remarrans always agreed on what was being said, but always picked small details to do battle on, often wasting the entire session altogether. They had done this many times.
"They're stalling." he muttered, and Narra gave an approving nod. Danai, the Huntress who had risen to become the head of the Quel'Thalas military forces, frowned.
"Stalling? Your Highness, I may be bold in speaking this way, but it doesn't make much sense. I receive reports from our scouts every day, and there is no indication that what remains of their forces have moved from the defensive positions they took. Even if they were stalling, so many defected to our side, so many settlements are aligned with Silvermoon now that they would lose any renewed conflict our of sheer lack of manpower!"
This small résumé didn't seem to deter Levak's beloved, however. "I know. But I think that when we fought this costly war, we forgot about the many subtler ways that it might be won."
"An assassin?" Medarin said with a hint of disgust. As it should be. Killing was to be loathed, but killing from behind was considered lower than low. "Even so, do they believe that the realm would fall from your death, or the death of our entire advisory council? I doubt it. They are desperate, but they are not fools."
Levak mused on this. True, Silvermoon now had a solid base, and it was impossible that any death would bring it down. But it would destabilize it, perhaps long enough for the Remarrans to do some damage. Perhaps simply for them to sit and watch as the enemy, which almost destroyed their society, would weaken quickly. Perhaps it would destabilize it forever. This scared him almost as much as losing Narra to an assassin. The philosopher in him, however, immediately made connections.
"It could have to do with the strange disappearance we had two days ago. One of our soldiers, a female named Weil, disappeared without a trace shortly before her shift."
Danai cupped her chin and closed her eyes. "I admit it was a strange occurrence. Weil was known as a dutiful, promising youth. Not the kind to flee into the wild. I admit that it has...bothered me when I learned of it all. But perhaps I didn't look into it enough. I will talk to her kin, whom is known as rising star himself as they say."
The Queen nodded. "Do everything you can. I want this situation cleared out. I want to know what they are planning. I want to know if it is against me, the realm, anything. Find me answers, Danai!" her last sentence was said with all the strength of a Huntress behind it, and the military leader sat a little straighter in her chair.
"If there is anything to be found, Your Highness, then I shall find it. You have my word on this." she said firmly.
"I will help you." Medarin said, but Danai shook her head.
"Thank you, lord Medarin, but that will not be necessary. My Queen, My King." She bowed to Narra, then to Levak, and left the tent quickly, sword slapping on her tight softly. Medarin watched her go with a somewhat bitter smirk.
"I can't do it, can I? No matter how many years I have worked for Silvermoon, no matter the efforts I put into teaching magic to whoever has the will to use it...I'm still a Remarran." His voice was dejected upon saying so, albeit his face did not show much sign of it, save for the smirk. Levak wanted to say something, but knew it would be wasted. It was, after all, true: although Medarin was a respected man in Silvermoon now, some in Quel'Thalas still refused to work with him.
Narra interjected. "They are fewer now. But some are fear, keep to their prejudice." Levak felt she wasn't talking only about Medarin's case in that. "But, we must do what we must. And deal with that which would jeopardize with the health of our young realm."
"For Quel'Thalas, my love?"
"And for the High Elves, as it will always be. As long as my...our line... endures."
* * *
Three days later (100 AL)...
"Evorin, I understand your concern, but what you're asking is impossible." The captain told the anxious elven warrior. "I don't see why the Remarrans would have Weil, but even if they did, there's nothing we'd be able to do!"
"But, sir..." he struggled with the words, reined in his own panic. "We can feel something's wrong. These talks - they're not going rightly, and we all know it. Maybe Weil found something she shouldn't have."
The captain spread his hands in a helpless and equally frustrated gesture. "A supposition, my friend. And we can't search an armed enemy camp on suppositions. For all the others know, Weil went to the Enclave or worse, willingly joined the Remarran army."
"Never!" Evorin nearly exploded, "Weil would never betray Quel'Thalas, never betray the Queen." 'And', a frightened voice sounded in his head 'Even if she did, she wouldn't leave me...would she?'
The captain grimaced, probably at the accusation he had just made. Although rough-tongued and inflexible, he had always put faith in his people and trusted them. "Do you truly think I do not realize that? Weil is one of the best and most loyal. You want the truth? You might well be right. But the talks between our leaders and the Remarra delegation are flimsy enough as it is, and we can't afford to fight here. Our mutual strength is the only thing, which makes these grounds safe. I trust you remember why?"
Who could forget. In order to dispel any further tension to the already volatile situation, both sides had agreed to meet in a territory unclaimed by either side. Diplomatically correct, the decision put the meeting place right in the middle of what was certainly troll territory. Trolls...how Evorin loathed the beasts, and the knowledge they were one reason he couldn't look for Weil only deepened these feelings. His shoulders sagged in defeat.
"Then there is nothing to do. They have Weil, I am certain of this. And we cannot do a thing about that fact." he said.
This simple sentence almost killed him then and there. Once century, since the exiled High Elves had come to this land and built up small settlements as best they could. It had been a century started by the grief he had felt when he had lost his parents, and it would end with the loss of another elf he loved. The very thought made him sick at heart. But it was the truth.
The captain nodded, a grim look crossing his face. "You are right. There is nothing we can do." there was a pause, and the his eyes narrowed slightly "Officially, that is."
Evorin looked at the captain, his eyes questioning. "Sir?"
"If, however, someone was to enter that camp without my express knowledge," the captain continued with a strange, ironic tone of voice "It would be possible for us to feign ignorance and avoid the incident which could restart this conflict."
"Sir, if I may speak?"
"But of course."
"These talks are a facade." Evorin said, "A facade brought by our own disgust at killing our own people, at the lives taken when we should be focusing only on rebuilding. It's also a move made out of desperation. They had the magical advantage, but magic has become too painful for them, since they still live outside of the Sunwell's growing influence. Their armies are beaten, their people on the road to open revolt..."
"All that is known to me." The captain pointed out "To the point, young one, if you may."
"I believe they know the Queen or her councillors will never believe them. They are not fools. Fools wouldn't have prepared something for so long...I know there is something afoot. And I intend to find it."
The captain looked at him with a long, penetrating gaze. The elf male had been one of the first to join in Silvermoon's rising army, and had proven himself in battle many times. Evorin's words, suddenly, sounded like a childish rant even to his own ears - a naive speak made by a male who had never been directly involved in the war.
Was that what Weil saw at times?
But his concern for her and for the Queen was too great. He stood his ground, looking back upon the one who commanded him with as much determination as he could muster. At last, the captain gave a slight snort of amusement, and broke the contest.
"As I said. As long as one is not caught, or is not officially asked to do a thing, the danger is minimal. You have my unofficial blessing if you wish to do something."
Evorin sighed, closed his eyes. "Thank you sir." he bowed, and began to leave the tent, but the warrior's voice stopped him.
"Bring her back, young Evorin."
The young male's voice was firm. "If she lives, I will. If she does not..." his voice shook "...I will as well!"
And he was gone.
* * *
One hour later (100 AL)...
The meeting was tense. Everyone at the table had begun this conflict with confidence in their abilities, certain that the 'silly huntress dream' that Narra Pureglade had engineered - this Quel'Thalas - would never stand to the might of their magics. Even the defection wrought by Medarin and his students hadn't made them worry.
But for the last fifty years, the two sides had been locked in conflict, and the tide had turned to the rebellious ones' side. At first slowly, then more quickly, until by the last five summers nearly every battle had been lost, and they had lost control out of villages and settlements, until now. Their armies were pushed but one day's march out of their gates, faced with an even greater force which - they were grimly certain of this - would eventually prevail in a fight.
Fortunately for them, they had spent much time preparing for such an unlikely development.
"I cannot believe that we are in such a weak position that we have to use these means." One of the Highborn Councillors muttered "Couldn't we stand and fight? With our powers-"
"What powers?" The head of the council asked. "Our magic is weakened, and is painful to use. While they, by living close to this...Sunwell...are healthy and able to use their lesser spells with impunity. Their sorcerers are not equal to ours, they are less in numbers, but they can freely use their spells. With our soldiers also feeling the emptiness and not those of Quel'Thalas, tell me, what would fighting do us?"
Silence. The blonde, elder elf nodded. "There is no need to discuss it further then. We put the plan into motion. Daratu, are you quite ready?"
The younger member, who had replaced Medarin upon the traitorous leave, looked at the rest of the council with a light of determination in his eyes. He had always wanted to prove his worth, and now he was given the chance of doing so, by carrying out this most important duty.
"Yes, it is. The spell was subtly cast and reinforced over the years, and the subsequent details have been attended to." he paused a moment "Our agents were discovered at one time, but the interloper has been taken care of. All that remains is to carry the plan to its last step."
The head of the Highborn grinned. "Then let it be so. Soon, the Queen of Quel'Thalas will meet her doom by the hands of the one she trusts more than anything else..."
"...her King!"
______________________________________
Part One: Narra
Chapter Four
Ninety-five years After Landing (95 AL)
Gorlon had always been brighter than the average, which was one reason other trolls had never liked him. Naturally a strong warrior, his ability to outthink anyone in his clan had forced respect and fear - but never admiration. Those who followed him followed because they knew he would take a high price from those who wouldn't come.
Not that the large troll, standing taller than any seen in generation at well over eight feet, really minded the situation. Fear was fine enough from others. It made them do their tasks better. What he didn't like was that these newcomers - these purple skins - come into their lands and worked on them as if they had always belonged to them. Building homes sturdier than any troll hut, and making weapons of better make than any clan ever had, they strutted along the territories they had decided as their own, secure in their own arrogance and superiority.
However, as much as he hated those who had come at the time of his grandfather's father, he had learned one thing for himself: he had learned that their arrogance wasn't simple words and shows of strength. These newcomers... these... ELVES, that was the word... had many who truly knew how to fight. Many raids had been launched upon elven settlements, and many more had failed than had been expected. He had led one such attempt. He had seen their anger and their strange powers; powers beyond what tribe shamans could muster, as well as the strength of their arrows.
He had seen it and had been, for a little while, afraid.
And for that, the elves had earned his undying hatred.
A troll came close to him, baleful dark eyes under red bangs, and growled in barely disguised glee. "We sees them. Oh yeah, we sees them."
Gorlon didn't move quite yet. "The elves?"
"Yeah. The nasty purpleskins are jus' around the bend, walking in like they own this place." glee increased in the crazed eyes. "Haven't sees us, mon. What to do, what to do?"
"Y'need to ask?" Gorlon grinned. "Signal the mons. We jump'em and kill every last elf."
"Ohh, that's a good plan, very good plan, mon." The troll vanished at once, and Gorlon was left to his grimly amused thoughts. Was it a good plan? Not really. A satisfying one? Plenty of that!
He took his position, up the though branch of a proud old tree which hid him with its thick, elderly branches. Below him, a narrow pass hidden by the shadows cast by the forest, thick with vegetation. Nothing stirred but the far-off noise of some stream and that of forest insects.
And then he saw them. Twelve elves he counted in his mind. Seven of them were females. Amongst trolls, this would have been a good thing. Not with elves. Females were nasty amongst them, nastier than the males in many ways. It was the one in the lead - a dour-eyed female - he personally selected for his strike. They were moving through the woods without making a sound, truly at ease in this environment.
Unfortunately for the poor, arrogant fools, trolls were equally as good in the forest. No, not as good. Better. They still knew the terrain better, although the elves were catching on too fast for anyone's liking. Still, it gave them an edge. Enough to let them pass undetected until they were in their grasp, right were they wanted them to.
One moment all was silence. And the next moment, Gorlon jumped on the female with a yell, followed by other trolls before he was on the ground. Very suddenly, the quite wood trail had become a fierce battlefield.
The female had one of these large elf bows, and raised it the moment he yelled. If he hadn't been utterly on top of her, the shot would have gone off and killed him, he was fairly certain. However, the angle made the shot impossible. It went wide, and the troll fell on her with all of his weights, hefting the two steel battleaxes he had once taken from corpses of dwarves who had strayed too far of their underground pits and hovels. He swung them simultaneously, cutting off an arm and the female's head before she could react, rolled away from the corpse, and came to his feet roaring.
He might never have bothered. Other elves had fallen in the surprise assault, so that only five stood against more then twenty trolls. They fought in sort of hazy rage certainly brought by fear, and managed to kill two trolls before they, in turn, were killed, one by one. Implacably and efficiently.
Once again, the forest became calmer, with only the blood and corpses to tell of the attack, which had taken place.
Gorlon didn't waste any time in directing his men. "Take their weapons and whatever you want, and then let's go. I want out of this place, mons. Elves are quick to check up on vanished warparties."
"And if they do? We just kill them, mon!" one of the others told him. He immediately threw one of his axes at him, killing him on the spot. A troll head joined the elven corpses, rolling wetly on the overgrown soil.
Gorlon hefted his other axe. "One, day, one strike. We take, we leave. Those are my rules, mons. Any want to talk stupid with that?" No one wanted to. "Then get the gear and let's leave. There'll be other days to take elven lives." he grinned to himself. Many other days. As many as he could. As many as all tribes could. Until fear of the newcomers went away.
Until the newcomer elves feared the Troll Tribes of the forests.
* * *
Five years later (100 AL)...
"A messenger?" Narra Pureglade, ruler of Silvermoon and queen of Quel'Thalas, raised an eyebrow even as she rose from her seat by the window. She had taken to looking out from this place, high atop the keep constructed by her people for her, and had seen the city of Silvermoon grow from a ramshackle town of dirty streets to a small city which almost gave a feel of home to her. It wasn't like the jungles of Ashenvale, or the city of Nighthaven. It still lacked much sophistication of elven civilizations, but it was much better than anything else the High Elves had on this colder continent.
Three weeks ago, the last stone had been put in place, completing the large wall painstainkingly built to protect them, finally sealing off troll and Remarran attacks to a far larger degree. Not that the Remarrans or the trolls had tried to test Silvermoon much. Instead, it had been the other way around. For the last decade, her forces - led by the new riders the huntresses had created - had managed to beat back the enemy, albeit at high costs. Now, only a relatively small army stood between them and Remarra. The people who wished to return to reckless usage of arcane power were losing quickly.
Thus, knowing the haughty pride of her enemies, and the lengths to which they had many times shown they were willing to go to win any engagement, the last thing she had expected was a messenger. It surprised her...and made her immediately suspicious.
She faced the young man who had come to see her, dressed in the attire of a servant. She hated what that made of her culture and of herself, but hid it as she spoke. "Unusual. And you say he comes from Remarra?"
"Yes, Your Highness. With words from their leaders, meant only for your ears."
She liked this even less. It reeked of something, and she wasn't certain of what. She quickly decided upon a course of action. "I will see him...with my husband. Where is the King?"
"Already receiving the messenger, Your Highness. He sent me for you at once."
She had to hide a grin at that. Of course, Levak would already be there. She had always been the warrior of the pair, and he had always been the philosopher. Thus, he was always quick to react to the possibility of peace, whereas she was more wary of it. This did not make him a fool - Elune knew he wasn't! - but he had certain gullibility for sweet lies that made her cringe at times. She had better hurry on to him.
"I suppose they're in the private meeting chamber? Lead me there." she said, and the servant bowed.
The way was short - the meeting room was near the place where she preferred to reflect - and before long she entered, preceded by the announcement. 'The Queen of Quel'Thalas.' Two elven males rose at once. One was Levak, calm and soft-faced with gentle, wise eyes, dressed in an elaborate tunic befitting his rank as Royal Consort and Lord of Silvermoon. She knew he hated dressing for occasions, preferring to attend meetings or discuss plans with workers and builders. But he was also a wise elf, who knew how to receive exalted guest - even Remarran ambassadors.
The other elf was taller than her dear mate, and at once she felt it. Magic. Strong magic. Carefully kept in check, but inescapable from her old Huntress senses. This elf - dressed well but not gaudily, sporting a game and fair face, was a sorcerer. And a powerful one. Not as powerful as Medarin, she felt. But too close for comfort.
She let none of the tension show as she greeted the other elf. "I welcome you to our city, messenger. Or should I say Ambassador?"
"Oh, Highness, please." the other elf said mildly, smoothly "I am but a messenger here, to give you an offer from the people of Remarra to end this unfortunate conflict."
She raised her eyebrows. "I find it ironic, that after all this time the people of Remarra would send a message. Many times over the seasons have the people of Quel'Thalas sought such a parley, but they were refused. And now you come, strangely at the time when Remarra is protected by your last forces, and is, from what we have heard, in quite a tumultuous state."
The other elf was a master. Nothing showed on his features as he spoke, always mild. "Rumours, Your Majesty. Only rumours and unfortunate times. What matters is that we are here now."
"Still," Levak said as gently as ever "The war between Quel'Thalas and the Remarrans has cost many lives, made worse by troll raids along our frontier towns. We welcome you, but your will forgive us if we are somewhat sceptical of your claims. For now, at least."
She gave her mate a quick, grateful look. Although he was all for peace, he had all but said that he would support whatever decision she would be making. It lifted a certain weight from her ever-heavy load. She gave the messenger a penetrating look, which he held quite well. She gave a nod.
"Does Remarra wish for peace?" she didn't believe it, but she wasn't about to cross the point of no return. Quel'Thalas had been built to better High Elven lives, not destroy them.
There was no hesitation as the other gave a sharp affirmative gesture. "Completely. We are ready for peace."
"Then by all means. States your leaders' proposal." 'And we will see whether you can lie well or not.' she thought grimly, as she sat at the meeting table with the two males.
* * *
Three Months Later (100 AC)...
Weil looked sombre as she packed her few possessions. "I can't believe the Queen'd do this." she muttered "After all the sacrifices, we're almost there. We've almost won. And she suddenly just turns around and buys into the Remarran talk of coexistence."
The young male who stood at the flap of her tent shrugged. "I'm certain Her Highness has her reasons."
"And if those reasons are wrong?"
There was a long pause. "She hasn't led us astray in the fifty summers of her rule, has she?"
The young female wasn't surprised by the tone of her friend. Almost ever since he had set foot upon this new world of theirs, hurt and reeling from the sad loss of his parents, Evorin had worshipped Narra Pureglade, then just the leader of small, motley village. He had found no fault in her, and had supported her actions. Even those, which were ambiguous.
Weil herself had a more realistic view of things. She had seen the deaths caused by Pureglade's hesitations, her plans, and her direct actions. She had seen many flaws - pride, reluctance to being in charge, and sometimes the hauteur only a huntress could show. It wasn't like she didn't respect the Queen. Quel'Thalas was a better place than anywhere else on this wretched piece of land, and Narra had been a generally benevolent ruler. But there were still things she could question, where Evorin would never question.
Like this. Dozens of seasons, fighting off repeated offensives by the Remarrans - with three coming to the walls of Silvermoon itself; Losing comrades upon comrades in the bloody skirmishes. Dealing with grief and loss. And now, as the Remarran lines were breaking, as the Queen's forces were ready for the very last push, the Queen decided to listen to those liars and establish peace.
No matter how she looked at it, she found that decision reckless, not to mention dangerous.
She wasn't about to argue with her oldest friend, however. "Well, let's hope everything goes alright. We're part of Her Highness' personal envoy, and I don't intend to slip up." 'Or trust in one's judgement as blindly as you do', she thought.
Evorin turned, and she marvelled how much he changed from the grief-stricken boy or the slim, almost frail elven adolescent he had been. The last sign of childhood had gone last year, and although young Evorin Eltrass was a study of perfect elven features, with a slim but athletic body honed by years of devotion to Quel'Thalas and the Queen. She had seen many of the young females looking at him in frank interest, and she couldn't really blame them. Too bad he had no idea of the effect he caused others sometimes.
"Don't you think it would be better, if the High Elves stopped warring amongst themselves and rather fought against nature, and the trolls' rampage?"
She grunted. "Of course I believe that. But I also happen to believe that the Remarrans started this war, and made sure it continued. This might be only prejudice - I don't have much faith in sorcery, even when used by our people - but I'll take this sudden conciliatory attitude with a grain of salt. And so should you, if I may say so."
He shrugged gracefully, fingering the pommel of his sword. It was rather finely made - the new smithies weren't up to Kalimdorian standard, but decades of need and efforts were paying off at last. "I suppose you're right. I can't really tell for myself. So far, the only things I've fought are trolls."
"Good for you. Killing trolls is hard enough. Killing other elves truly hurts the soul." she muttered. She had far too many images seared in her mind. So many sacrifices.... This was one of the reason she didn't want the army's actions brushed aside like the Queen was doing, whether or not that thinking was right.
Not that Evorin could know. He had joined the army as soon as his boyhood had been all but gone, but most of his previous postings had been safe inside the walls of Silvermoon, which had seen little action for at least the last three summers. As far as his stories went, he had only encountered trolls twice, in easy skirmishes. And that was all very well with Weil. She didn't wish to lose the only elf she considered family. She sighed. "Well, let's be vigilant. They might try to ambush the queen or the like."
It had more of an effect than she thought it would. He faced her with a sudden, quiet intensity, his face suddenly taut and pensive. "Yes, you're quite right. And I won't allow that to happen Weil."
She couldn't help but be taken aback by the ice in his tone. "Calm yourself. The queen will be well-protected, and I don't really thing they'd do something this foolish."
"Perhaps not directly, no." he said, grimly. To him, it seemed as if pieces had begun to fall together. "Perhaps not directly...yet..."
"Yet?" she prompted. But he simply shook his head with a smirk.
"No, impossible. I am seeing things that aren't there, surely." he took a deep breath. "Well, let us get prepared, by Elune!" And without letting her a chance to make him stay, he gracefully swept out of the tent, into the camp.
She looked at the place Evorin had bee standing at. Remembering his face, the strange, intense look he'd had. "Evo, you really are making this trip a lot more complex and unsavory than ever before."
* * *
Two weeks later (100 AL)...
"So, do we do it?" a voice asked as two shapes looked over the Thalassian encampment. Four dozen tents were there, many small ones surrounding the large ones belonging to the queen's advisors and the queen herself. Many fires were going on, and the smell of cooking could be smelt far away. At regular intervals, elven soldiers were posted, standing rigid and looking deep into the woods, seeing nearly as clearly as they would during the day.
This was a large, well-armed camp. There was no chance the Trolls would try anything, although anyone who knew things and admitted them to himself could surmise they had already come. There was no danger to the queen that way. But this way, at least, the attention was diverted outward, leaving the queen vulnerable.
And yet. "No...no, we will not do it."
"What?!? This would be the perfect opportunity!" the other voice hissed, clearly incensed. "She is far from Silvermoon, far from her keep and the foolish adoration a populace has for her! She is vulnerable!"
"You are a fool if you believe it is so. You many have conveniently forgotten, or perhaps you didn't know, but Narra Pureglade was a Huntress once. The best of her kind despite her relative youth. They say that Tyrande Whisperwing herself trained her. Even by herself, she is a great threat. And there are strong people amongst her advisors. No, we will wait."
This did not please the second, more impatient voice. "This might take far too long, and our people no longer have the time! The usurper's army is larger than ours, and they have a few sorcerers themselves, albeit few. Our lines are crumbling, our people defecting! We..."
"Do you think I need a reminder of our plight?" The first voice asked, voice calm but suddenly seized with a cold edge. It stopped the other person short. There was a moment of strained silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the wild.
"No, of course not." the other voice at last said, more grudgingly than was proper. "But this still remains a grand occasion! Our best in at least two decades!"
"I am aware of that. But there are complications. I do not trust her mate, King Levak. He is known to be very shrewd. And then there is Dehire himself, a powerful druid. THAT one is a nightmare, and will cost us much if we do anything. No, the time is not right. But I trust we will see it for ourselves soon."
"And if we don't?"
"Then we will improvise one, my friend. After all, remember that the Queen has much confidence in what I say."
* * * * * * * * * *
Four days later (100 AL)...
The days were getting longer and colder, signalling with the colouring of the leaves the end of summer. The coming of the new land's autumn, though sad because of the much colder climes the following months would be, were also a period of awe which the elves never tired of.
In Kalimdor, the leaves stayed the same through all seasons, as the climate never changed much. Here, the leaves of the three turned from green to a myriad of bright colours. Oranges, reds, yellows and gold littered the soil, falling from the branch like a magical ritual. It was an awe-inspiring sight of nature's continuing cycle in this part of the world.
Weil wished, however, that the times were as pleasant as the sights. However, it did not happen to be so. It was, in fact the opposite. She glared across the beautiful, forested valley, across from the tents which showed the green, gold and deep blue of Quel'Thalas to the cluster farther on, which in turn sported purple, silver and magenta. The colours of Dath Remar, and of the city named after him. They had arrived only two days ago, and a large tent had been erected exactly in the middle of the two groups, in plain grey, to hold the meetings between both leaderships.
"Well, I can look at this on the bright side." she muttered a bit sullenly "The Remarrans'd be foolish to attack in the open, and I don't think the trolls'll try to do anything against a group as large as ours has become." she sighed. Why didn't it make her happy? Had she become one of these elves who thrived on conflict? Elune, let it be not so!! Yet, she felt so restless...
She took her bow and strapped her sword. Her shift wouldn't begin for a little bit yet, but she'd go there and take her post anyway, if only to talk a bit and relieve the stress. She envied Evorin's trust in the Queen. He was acting with apparent confidence, certain that Narra and her advisors would settle everything without bloodshed. That naiveté. was both endearing and irritating, but she could only admit that the young male looked more rested than she had felt in many moons because of that very belief.
"The Queen's entourage will never know that an elf struck the killing blow. The proof will all point to the trolls. Let the primitive monsters bring the wrath of the foolish usurpers upon themselves!"
Weil stopped short of the place where her post would have been but a little while later. Voices. Preoccupied, talking very fast. Much emotion in the voices. It was only after a moment that the sentence she had heard fully registered, and then her stomach quickly turned to cold, hard lead. There was no doubting what she was hearing. They were talking about killing the queen and blaming the trolls for it. People of Quel'Thalas, committing treason! She clenched her teeth, and then soundlessly glided closer, until she crouched behind the bushed, which hid the conspirators.
Only the training given to her and the years of skirmishing against both elves and trolls alike kept her from gasping as she recognized the one who had been talking to another figure in the shadows. It was unmistakably Tantril, the most powerful arcane spellcaster in Silvermoon, save for Medarin himself. He had been the only one to have survived the making of the life-saving Sunwell, and had participated in many crucial battles against the Remarran forces. Few were as trusted in Silvermoon.
And he was openly talking of betrayal.
She tried to discern who was the other speaker, but couldn't recognize anyone, even with her night-vision - too far and too blurry to make anyone out. Instead, she carefully listened for more information.
The other elf - she could tell it was an elf, at least, if nothing else - muttered something, to which the elf almost laughed. "Medarin?!? The old fool doesn't know anything at all! He's blind to our cause now, if he ever believed in it in the first place! He teaches whoever comes with even a bit of potential, even those who have no hint of Quel'Dorei blood in their veins. No, he will not help us. In fact, we will have to act against him right after Pureglade dies, or he will ruin our plans."
Another, stronger mutters. "No, worry not! Dehire doesn't know. And even if he did, he's far away, holed up in the trees gossiping with the birds like all Druids of the Claw do. He's no danger here. And he's the only one who could figure out that no Trolls are anywhere near the environs with his natural links."
There was a strong mutter now, and she actually picked up the voice this time. It was a familiar voice, one that she had heard before, certainly. An image came of the Maelstrom, of Dath Remar's proud ship, sinking. And there...
Before she could go any further in her musings, she felt hands take hold of her arms. Female hands, trained and hard, Training and instinct too over as she cursed herself for leaving herself open for even just one instant. She lashed out at them, but they held firm, another pair took hold of her neck and choked her. She struggled as hard as she could, and opened her mouth to growl out something, only to have a hand forcefully close her mouth. Still, she kept struggling, angrily trying to break free of the three females who held her.
"Ah, poor child" a voice purred. "You truly hid yourself well, but you should know there are elves who have much more experience in this sort of thing than you do. That oversight, I fear, will cost you."
"What goes here?" Tantril's voice came to Weil's ears, and she looked to see him approaching. He gave her s scornful look, and then gave the others his attention. "This is no time to be playing. Sarana. Not at this time. I can't afford to have her tell anything. Just knock her out, and then we shall see what we should do about this one.
"Whatever you say." Sarana purred. At that moment, the one who had been in shadows came into focus, and Weil gave a surprised grunt. ELUNE, THAT'S-
A blow came, and everything became darkness.
* * *
Two days later (100 AL)...
Levak was a patient man, but even he, admittedly, had limits. And the Remarran delegation was quickly reaching these limits. "I don't think your incessant attacks upon our territories were what could sanely be called 'Harmless forays', sir. I dare to say Quel'Thalas owes you little in the way of reparations!"
The ambassador sat shockstill, his fine features slightly twisted into a scornful mien. "And I suppose your actions, taking our own territory and villages at your whim, is in turn only a bit of diplomatic movement?"
"What you are talking about is the direct cause of your people's inability to accept another sovereign power-"
"And you are?" the other elf retorted. Blue eyes met blue eyes in a contest of will, which was hastily broken by Medarin's steady voice.
"Please, please sirs! Today was tiring, and I propose that we adjourn this meeting and start fresh tomorrow morning."
The Remarran looked at Medarin stiffly, and was answered with a calm, challenging look. He relented with obvious reluctance. "You are...quite right. Your Majesty, honoured advisors." His acknowledgements, bare and forced, done, he and his entourage quickly picked up their items and haughtily left the meeting tent, leaving only the Thalassian delegation.
Levak looked towards his queen and love, which had barely participated in the entire encounter and talks that day. He felt personal shame at his outburst. He, a philosopher, lowered to trading insults with another. Unconceivable! "I am sorry, my Queen. I let my emotions get the better of me. It is unusual and will not happen again."
"Don't hit yourself too badly over that, Sire." Medarin grinned. "I lived with these people for years. Was one of them for years. I know how trying we 'Highborn' can be. As far as I am concerned, you showed much restrain."
"Still, this was childish. I shouldn't have-"
"Levak, everything about this is childish." Narra finally spoke at last, her first words in a long while. "Everything. And I think that its a voluntary happenstance." she settled her gentle but commanding gaze on him. "Surely you felt that as well."
He was about to say that no, he hadn't felt anything out of the ordinary, but refrained. There was something wrong here, and he HAD felt something. He had never been much of a diplomat, more interested in more abstract matters of the will and the mind than in dealing with people, but he noticed certain things. The Remarrans always agreed on what was being said, but always picked small details to do battle on, often wasting the entire session altogether. They had done this many times.
"They're stalling." he muttered, and Narra gave an approving nod. Danai, the Huntress who had risen to become the head of the Quel'Thalas military forces, frowned.
"Stalling? Your Highness, I may be bold in speaking this way, but it doesn't make much sense. I receive reports from our scouts every day, and there is no indication that what remains of their forces have moved from the defensive positions they took. Even if they were stalling, so many defected to our side, so many settlements are aligned with Silvermoon now that they would lose any renewed conflict our of sheer lack of manpower!"
This small résumé didn't seem to deter Levak's beloved, however. "I know. But I think that when we fought this costly war, we forgot about the many subtler ways that it might be won."
"An assassin?" Medarin said with a hint of disgust. As it should be. Killing was to be loathed, but killing from behind was considered lower than low. "Even so, do they believe that the realm would fall from your death, or the death of our entire advisory council? I doubt it. They are desperate, but they are not fools."
Levak mused on this. True, Silvermoon now had a solid base, and it was impossible that any death would bring it down. But it would destabilize it, perhaps long enough for the Remarrans to do some damage. Perhaps simply for them to sit and watch as the enemy, which almost destroyed their society, would weaken quickly. Perhaps it would destabilize it forever. This scared him almost as much as losing Narra to an assassin. The philosopher in him, however, immediately made connections.
"It could have to do with the strange disappearance we had two days ago. One of our soldiers, a female named Weil, disappeared without a trace shortly before her shift."
Danai cupped her chin and closed her eyes. "I admit it was a strange occurrence. Weil was known as a dutiful, promising youth. Not the kind to flee into the wild. I admit that it has...bothered me when I learned of it all. But perhaps I didn't look into it enough. I will talk to her kin, whom is known as rising star himself as they say."
The Queen nodded. "Do everything you can. I want this situation cleared out. I want to know what they are planning. I want to know if it is against me, the realm, anything. Find me answers, Danai!" her last sentence was said with all the strength of a Huntress behind it, and the military leader sat a little straighter in her chair.
"If there is anything to be found, Your Highness, then I shall find it. You have my word on this." she said firmly.
"I will help you." Medarin said, but Danai shook her head.
"Thank you, lord Medarin, but that will not be necessary. My Queen, My King." She bowed to Narra, then to Levak, and left the tent quickly, sword slapping on her tight softly. Medarin watched her go with a somewhat bitter smirk.
"I can't do it, can I? No matter how many years I have worked for Silvermoon, no matter the efforts I put into teaching magic to whoever has the will to use it...I'm still a Remarran." His voice was dejected upon saying so, albeit his face did not show much sign of it, save for the smirk. Levak wanted to say something, but knew it would be wasted. It was, after all, true: although Medarin was a respected man in Silvermoon now, some in Quel'Thalas still refused to work with him.
Narra interjected. "They are fewer now. But some are fear, keep to their prejudice." Levak felt she wasn't talking only about Medarin's case in that. "But, we must do what we must. And deal with that which would jeopardize with the health of our young realm."
"For Quel'Thalas, my love?"
"And for the High Elves, as it will always be. As long as my...our line... endures."
* * *
Three days later (100 AL)...
"Evorin, I understand your concern, but what you're asking is impossible." The captain told the anxious elven warrior. "I don't see why the Remarrans would have Weil, but even if they did, there's nothing we'd be able to do!"
"But, sir..." he struggled with the words, reined in his own panic. "We can feel something's wrong. These talks - they're not going rightly, and we all know it. Maybe Weil found something she shouldn't have."
The captain spread his hands in a helpless and equally frustrated gesture. "A supposition, my friend. And we can't search an armed enemy camp on suppositions. For all the others know, Weil went to the Enclave or worse, willingly joined the Remarran army."
"Never!" Evorin nearly exploded, "Weil would never betray Quel'Thalas, never betray the Queen." 'And', a frightened voice sounded in his head 'Even if she did, she wouldn't leave me...would she?'
The captain grimaced, probably at the accusation he had just made. Although rough-tongued and inflexible, he had always put faith in his people and trusted them. "Do you truly think I do not realize that? Weil is one of the best and most loyal. You want the truth? You might well be right. But the talks between our leaders and the Remarra delegation are flimsy enough as it is, and we can't afford to fight here. Our mutual strength is the only thing, which makes these grounds safe. I trust you remember why?"
Who could forget. In order to dispel any further tension to the already volatile situation, both sides had agreed to meet in a territory unclaimed by either side. Diplomatically correct, the decision put the meeting place right in the middle of what was certainly troll territory. Trolls...how Evorin loathed the beasts, and the knowledge they were one reason he couldn't look for Weil only deepened these feelings. His shoulders sagged in defeat.
"Then there is nothing to do. They have Weil, I am certain of this. And we cannot do a thing about that fact." he said.
This simple sentence almost killed him then and there. Once century, since the exiled High Elves had come to this land and built up small settlements as best they could. It had been a century started by the grief he had felt when he had lost his parents, and it would end with the loss of another elf he loved. The very thought made him sick at heart. But it was the truth.
The captain nodded, a grim look crossing his face. "You are right. There is nothing we can do." there was a pause, and the his eyes narrowed slightly "Officially, that is."
Evorin looked at the captain, his eyes questioning. "Sir?"
"If, however, someone was to enter that camp without my express knowledge," the captain continued with a strange, ironic tone of voice "It would be possible for us to feign ignorance and avoid the incident which could restart this conflict."
"Sir, if I may speak?"
"But of course."
"These talks are a facade." Evorin said, "A facade brought by our own disgust at killing our own people, at the lives taken when we should be focusing only on rebuilding. It's also a move made out of desperation. They had the magical advantage, but magic has become too painful for them, since they still live outside of the Sunwell's growing influence. Their armies are beaten, their people on the road to open revolt..."
"All that is known to me." The captain pointed out "To the point, young one, if you may."
"I believe they know the Queen or her councillors will never believe them. They are not fools. Fools wouldn't have prepared something for so long...I know there is something afoot. And I intend to find it."
The captain looked at him with a long, penetrating gaze. The elf male had been one of the first to join in Silvermoon's rising army, and had proven himself in battle many times. Evorin's words, suddenly, sounded like a childish rant even to his own ears - a naive speak made by a male who had never been directly involved in the war.
Was that what Weil saw at times?
But his concern for her and for the Queen was too great. He stood his ground, looking back upon the one who commanded him with as much determination as he could muster. At last, the captain gave a slight snort of amusement, and broke the contest.
"As I said. As long as one is not caught, or is not officially asked to do a thing, the danger is minimal. You have my unofficial blessing if you wish to do something."
Evorin sighed, closed his eyes. "Thank you sir." he bowed, and began to leave the tent, but the warrior's voice stopped him.
"Bring her back, young Evorin."
The young male's voice was firm. "If she lives, I will. If she does not..." his voice shook "...I will as well!"
And he was gone.
* * *
One hour later (100 AL)...
The meeting was tense. Everyone at the table had begun this conflict with confidence in their abilities, certain that the 'silly huntress dream' that Narra Pureglade had engineered - this Quel'Thalas - would never stand to the might of their magics. Even the defection wrought by Medarin and his students hadn't made them worry.
But for the last fifty years, the two sides had been locked in conflict, and the tide had turned to the rebellious ones' side. At first slowly, then more quickly, until by the last five summers nearly every battle had been lost, and they had lost control out of villages and settlements, until now. Their armies were pushed but one day's march out of their gates, faced with an even greater force which - they were grimly certain of this - would eventually prevail in a fight.
Fortunately for them, they had spent much time preparing for such an unlikely development.
"I cannot believe that we are in such a weak position that we have to use these means." One of the Highborn Councillors muttered "Couldn't we stand and fight? With our powers-"
"What powers?" The head of the council asked. "Our magic is weakened, and is painful to use. While they, by living close to this...Sunwell...are healthy and able to use their lesser spells with impunity. Their sorcerers are not equal to ours, they are less in numbers, but they can freely use their spells. With our soldiers also feeling the emptiness and not those of Quel'Thalas, tell me, what would fighting do us?"
Silence. The blonde, elder elf nodded. "There is no need to discuss it further then. We put the plan into motion. Daratu, are you quite ready?"
The younger member, who had replaced Medarin upon the traitorous leave, looked at the rest of the council with a light of determination in his eyes. He had always wanted to prove his worth, and now he was given the chance of doing so, by carrying out this most important duty.
"Yes, it is. The spell was subtly cast and reinforced over the years, and the subsequent details have been attended to." he paused a moment "Our agents were discovered at one time, but the interloper has been taken care of. All that remains is to carry the plan to its last step."
The head of the Highborn grinned. "Then let it be so. Soon, the Queen of Quel'Thalas will meet her doom by the hands of the one she trusts more than anything else..."
"...her King!"
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