Ilrin never tired of looking at the mists. Even after years of walking through them, they never failed to present new shapes and sizes to her eyes. The fog eddied and flowed about her like something alive, some last vestige of the mystical moments before the sun chased the shadows from Feylund.

She reached the center of Eld’rin, and paused, as usual, searching for Dilmir. No shape met her eye; no greeting pierced the sleepy stillness of the city. She sighed as the memories of the past week came flooding back to her, weighing her down like a hundred stones. She knew there was no use waiting for him. She knew she would only make herself late; and yet, she did not want to acknowledge that never again would they walk together under the leaves of Eld’rin.

She ceased her searching, her heart heavy, and slowly made her way to the gates, her eyes downcast. The fact that the friend she had thought she had known for seven years was in fact a descendant of Eltuthar the Black had not left her in a light mood. Even though what he had done was as clear as the new sun overhead, she constantly found herself looking around, wondering where he had gone.

Her searches were always fruitless. Dilmir wasn’t there anymore. No one met her in the mornings, no one walked with her to the gates, and his place in the afternoon training had been taken by another elf, Endir by name, who was so depressingly unskilled with the sword that Ilrin found it difficult to avoid running him through, though whether out of his lack of skill or her frustration was sometimes hard to tell.

Ilrin sighed as she walked. What had happened to Dilmir? When they had first become friends, he had told her what he had done to the wolves the night he came to Eld’rin. He had told her how he had discovered the magic within him, the magic that was far more powerful than that which any other elf possessed. But he had been afraid then, afraid of what would happen because of his power. He had told Ilrin that he must never use it again, if the elves were ever to forget it.

For seven years, he had done just that: Nothing. And then, just over a week ago, he had acted as Ilrin had never seen him act before. In just four days, he had begun drawing all attention back to himself, until he had nearly killed Aldir. She knew it had been an accident, that he would never hurt anyone on purpose, but she didn’t understand why he had suddenly decided to show his power. It was as if he had suddenly done everything he had told her he must never do, and now he was banished.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice nearby: Aldir’s. She glanced up, and saw him walking to the nearest of the four trees of Eld’rin, accompanied by a mage. She frowned. She was sure he had training at this hour in the morning. She was about to continue to the gates, when the mage said Dilmir’s name, causing her to stop. Curious, she slipped into the shadows of a high root and crept closer to Aldir and the mage.

“…and excellent execution, I might add,” the mage was saying. “You’re sure Dilmir had no idea?”

“Positive,” replied Aldir comfortably. “All I had to do was watch him for a space, so that I could determine what would trigger him. After the attack by Cyprien, it wasn’t hard. He reacted a bit more harshly than I thought he would, but the more the better.”

“It is fortunate,” agreed the mage. “He was too powerful to remain here. It’s good that he went to such an extreme…”

At this point, they entered the tree, muffling their voices and leaving Ilrin crouched in the shadows, her heart beating quickly. What did Aldir mean? It sounded as if he had set Dilmir up. And then everything made sense. The elves were afraid of Dilmir’s power, and Aldir had been sent to cause him to use it, so that they could have an excuse to banish him. Ilrin’s brow darkened with anger. What kind of twisted justice was this? If the council could banish Dilmir this way, they could just as easily banish her or any one of its other subjects.

And yet, Ilrin could not believe that Aldir could sink so low. Making sure that no one saw her, she slipped from the shadows, and hastened to pursue him.

Aldir, as it turned out, split up with the mage quickly. The mage turned, and ascended the nearby stairs, while Aldir continued through the tree. Ilrin waited, following him at a distance, until he had exited, and was between the rows of large houses, amongst which Aimim’s sat.

He turned as she called out to him, his face breaking into an easy grin. “What is it, Ilrin?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be training?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Ilrin countered.

Aldir’s smile faltered at her accusing tone. “Perhaps,” he said, slowly. “However, there are things that take precedence over training.”

“Like causing Dilmir to use his power so that you could banish him?” said Ilrin, unable to contain herself.

Aldir frowned. “How much did you hear?” he asked.

“Enough,” said Ilrin, seeing her dark look reflected in Aldir’s face.

Aldir was silent for a moment. “I don’t regret what I did, Ilrin,” he said slowly, “I believe it was for the best. I know he was your friend, and I’m sorry for that, but he was dangerous and had to be removed. Surely you see that.”

Ilrin was at a loss for words. Aldir wasn’t even denying that he had set Dilmir up. And then his words came back to her. All I had to do was watch him for a space, so that I could determine what would trigger him. After the attack by Cyprien, it wasn’t hard.

She felt her blood rise to her face as she realized what he had meant.

“I don’t want you as an enemy, Ilrin,” said Aldir.

Ilrin looked at him, hate as she had never felt before welling up in her. “Then you’ve failed,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I will never forget what you’ve done, and as long as I live, neither will you.”

Aldir’s face hardened. “So be it,” he said. “I did only what I saw as necessary. One day, you will see that I was right to act.”

Ilrin shot a look of pure venom at him, and he turned, walking away until he was swallowed by the houses. Shaking with suppressed rage, she turned as well, and reentered the tree.

She barely saw where she was going, but blindly made her way through the gates, onto the field, and up to Iliadin, who was waiting for her.

“Where have you been?” asked Iliadin, as she came up.

Ilrin started to supply an excuse, but stopped, mouth open, as she saw past Iliadin. The field was full of, not mages and their pupils, but soldiers, hundreds of them. They were all practicing spells and enchantments, the complexity of which Ilrin had never seen. “What are they doing?” she asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” said Iliadin, surprised. “The council means to move on Eltuthar.”

Ilrin snapped her head around so fast she was momentarily sure she had broken her neck. Rubbing it, she said, “Why?”

“He’s getting more powerful,” said Iliadin, shrugging her shoulders. “If we don’t strike while he’s still weak, he’ll come back worse than ever before, and we might not be able to stop him this time.”

Ilrin glanced back at the training soldiers. “How do you know he’s getting more powerful?” she asked, curious, but also a little wary.

Iliadin looked down at her. “I thought you would have heard this,” she said, evidentially surprised. “It’s been all over the city.”

“I’ve been distracted lately,” said Ilrin vaguely, still watching the soldiers.

Iliadin frowned, as if to agree with her. “The far posts have been reporting things, unnatural things, happening over there,” she said, speaking more quietly. Ilrin turned her attention to her.

“For the first few months,” continued Iliadin, “it was just sudden rain clouds and unexplained weather like that, but recently, there have been strange thunderstorms that cover half of the Great Forest, and that seem to come from nowhere. One moment, the sky is clear, the next, it’s pitch black. Some elves have even reported trees moving, like they were alive. Even the ground seems to be shifting. Eltuthar’s up there doing something, and the council won’t sit back while he gets more powerful. They mean to put a stop to it.”

It was a moment before Ilrin spoke. “But,” she said, finally seeing a problem, “how can they? The last time elves went to Eltuthar, he knew they were there long before they arrived.”

Iliadin smiled. “A Dark Elf was captured lately, and he’s being held in a secure cell. The mages are questioning him as we speak. Once he tells them how, we’ll be able to ambush Eltuthar and end his threat once and for all.”

Ilrin felt herself blanch. “You captured a Dark Elf?” she repeated. “Won’t Eltuthar interpret that as an act of war?”

Iliadin smiled down at her once again. “He doesn’t know,” she said, “at least not yet. We’ll have his secret out soon enough, before he even realizes one of his elves is missing.”

Ilrin looked doubtfully over the mass of training soldiers. If half of what she had heard of Eltuthar was true, Sonlen had only been able to beat him by a lucky blow, in which he cast a powerful curse. The king’s army would have been crushed by Eltuthar’s, had they not surrendered when Eltuthar was beaten.

“You know,” mused Iliadin, “it’s odd. Those strange storms I mentioned only started happening a week ago.”

Ilrin felt what little color was left in her face drain away. Dilmir would be with Eltuthar, she knew it. He wouldn’t be in any elven outpost, where most banished elves went, she knew that much, for he tried to avoid the company of other elves. And hadn’t Eltuthar proven that he didn’t mind a little extra power over and over again? Dilmir would fit in perfectly with him, not least because he was of his line. Doubtless, he was there at this very moment. And if the storms had only started a week ago, that meant that…

Ilrin shuddered. Could Dilmir possibly be following in the footsteps of Eltuthar? Would he?

“Ilrin?”

Ilrin looked up, momentarily surprised to find Iliadin still there, watching her.

“Are you ready to begin?”

Ilrin nodded slowly, her mind still far away.

“I hear you made quite a disturbance a day or two ago,” said Eltuthar. “Something involving a tree, I believe?” He stood solidly on the small plateau, his feet set slightly apart, his eyes alive in contrast with the rest of his face. The sun of the new morning shone brilliantly behind him.

Dilmir laughed despite himself. He wore the black leather of the Eth Aniliim now, the red symbol that was so feared etched into it. He did not, however, carry the two swords of Eltuthar’s followers; the sword he had trained with for seven years and which had weathered every one of Ilrin’s vicious blows was still tied securely to his belt. “It was an accident,” he said. “I just gave the spell too much power.”

“Exactly,” said Eltuthar, a light breeze lifting his hair. “When you attacked Cyprien on that night, you woke the magic within you. Denying it for seven years had worked well enough, though it would have broken out eventually, but after using it, there was no quelling it.”

Dilmir had suspected something similar. After all, his magic had only begun to grow after he had attacked Cyprien.

“Spells,” mused Eltuthar, “can be tricky things. If you had ever seen me duel with magic, I would have never cast a spell.”

Dilmir found this hard to believe. “Why?” he said. “Surely you had to cast something?”

Eltuthar smiled as he replied. “The magic that you possess, Dilmir, and that I did, is vastly different from that of the other elves. To change something, they must concentrate very hard, forming the magic before they release it. With us, it is the other way around. We release the magic first, then form it however we wish.”

Dilmir frowned.

“Tell me, Dilmir,” said Eltuthar, “haven’t you ever simply felt something through magic, without truly casting a spell or enchantment?”

Dilmir nodded. He had always thought that all elves could do that, however.

“That little ability means that you don’t have to think about what kind of spell you want to cast. All you have to do is release the magic, and then form it. You’ll be faster at casting a spell than any other elf, because they will, no matter how good at it they are, always have to form the spell first.”

“But then,” said Dilmir slowly, “can you cast one spell, and then change it into something completely different in the air?”

Eltuthar’s smile widened. “Precisely,” he said. “For example, that tree that I mentioned. You could easily do the same here, but without casting a spell. Try it now.”

Wondering if this could possibly work, though it made sense enough, Dilmir slowly stretched his magic out over the ground, conscious now of how he allowed it to flow from him, searching through the ground. In a moment, he found a small seed, and began to work his magic into it. Once he had learned its simple structure, he turned his attention to the magic. Carefully, slowly, wondering why this had never occurred to him before, it seemed so simple, he caused the seed to sprout, push its roots down into the earth, and then shoot upwards. The tree grew at an amazing rate, the hard case of the shell falling rapidly away, the first of the leaves unraveling in less than a second. Slowly, bark began to creep up the stem, and then widen, enlarging the trunk. For a moment, the tree looked oddly absurd, its trunk as wide around as Dilmir’s waist, its branches still thin twigs. Then those too grew, widening and lengthening, splitting in two many times, leaves sprouting all along them. In another moment, a small tree stood, placidly growing in what had been a smooth field a few short seconds ago.

Dilmir released the magic. Despite what he might want to think, controlling the tree the way he had was – there was no other word for it – fun. He liked the sense of control it gave him, but the opportunity to not have to withhold his magic for once was alone enough.

Eltuthar quietly observed the birch before commenting, “The more energy you put into the tree, the more you’ll be able to grow it, but you likely already knew that.” He fell silent then, and walked about the tree, examining it, as if trying to find a flaw. Being unable to do so, he said, “I wish I had seen the other elves’ faces when you grew that oak. I heard it was quite a sight.”

“How do you know?” asked Dilmir, puzzled.

“My Eth Aniliim are all about Eld’rin,” said Eltuthar. “They just keep to themselves most of the time. Many of them saw what you did.” He laughed. “But their faces! Such reports I’ve heard, all of them looking disbelievingly at you.”

He resumed his scrutiny of the tree, but the smile that had momentarily come, slowly slid from Dilmir’s face.

True, the elves had not been able to believe what he had done, but it had been more than that, even if Eltuthar’s elves had not seen. Ilrin had been the only elf who was not afraid of him or his power. Dilmir closed his eyes. Ilrin. Try as he might, he could not shake her from his thoughts. He was reminded constantly of her by everything he did. Only now, when she was gone, did he fully realize how much a part of him she had become. They had been together for nearly the whole time he was at Eld’rin, and he had confided everything in her. Everything, he thought bitterly, but what I should have. If I had told her who I was, nothing would have changed. She would have still been with me, trying to help. That was all she did, after all: try to help. If only I had trusted her with more. But he hadn’t. He had made a choice.

This was not the first time he had thought thus. Over the days he had spent at Arath Imil, he had constantly been reminded of things he should have told Ilrin, and now would likely never be able to.

As Eltuthar marveled over the perfection of his tree, Dilmir was slowly turned against the power within him, that which made him different. If he had never had it, none of this would have happened. If he hadn’t had it, Alfimir wouldn’t have attacked him. If he hadn’t had it, the elves would have seen him as just another elf. If he hadn’t had it, he would not now be banished, and the elves would not be turned against him, but most of all, Ilrin, whom had always been there to reassure him and sunder his doubts, would still be with him, likely laughing lightly by his side at this very moment.

Dilmir whirled around, and saw the shining edge of a blade descending rapidly towards his head. He frantically brought his sword up to meet it, but at the last moment, the blade twisted, as if alive, and snaked under his guard. In another instant, he felt the cold metal reach his neck.

The two combatants broke apart. Dilmir took a few staggering steps backwards, his breathing fast. His opponent, a tall elf with a strong build, waited for him.

The two elves stood upon a small grassy plateau. Large boulders, dark gray and moss-covered, scattered behind them, their rough shapes forming the horizon. On Dilmir’s left, the plateau dropped away suddenly, revealing an incredible view of the Great Forest, far below. On his right, a building rose, formed of columns and flowing trees. Beyond the building, the mountain on which they stood continued upwards, its jagged peak stretching to pierce the sky.

The air was clear and fresh, and the sun sent its rays down from overhead. The calls of birds drifted upwards from the trees below, lending the place a set apart, yet beautiful setting.

The part of the building closest to Dilmir was a balcony, fanning out onto the grass in a half circle. It was ringed by columns, and five steps flowed around its base, the final one slipping smoothly into the ground. Upon this balcony, his dark cloak discarded, stood Eltuthar, carefully observing the two elves before him. As they broke apart, he descended the steps, and approached Dilmir.

With the full sun shining on his face, he didn’t look quite as old and frail as he had in the forest. His hair was steel gray, no hint of white or his former black in it, and his face was creased with many lines, but his eyes sparkled with new life.

“Dilmir,” he said, coming to a halt before him, “I see that you are better than most elves your age. However, you need to learn to use all that you possess, and to use it to the full.”

Dilmir nodded, still out of breath. Eltuthar’s followers, the Eth Aniliim, or the Dark Elves as the inhabitants of Eld’rin called them, had proved to be far more adept at the blade than he had thought. Eltuthar had trained them well, and dueling one of them was not proving easy.

“You know how to block a sword,” continued Eltuthar, offering Dilmir a hand and helping him to stand, “no matter which way it turns, and you have the speed to do so. At the same time, you also have the knowledge to get past your opponent’s defenses, and the agility to carry it out. Put these things together, and you will become a swordsman none can defeat.”

Dilmir nodded again, facing his opponent. “He’s too fast,” he said, so that only Eltuthar could hear. “I can’t get away from his blade fast enough.”

Eltuthar smiled in a peculiar way that only he could. “I heard tell that you have had to deal with quick opponents before though. Overcome him the same way you did them.” He withdrew.

Dilmir frowned at his blade. It was true; he had faced a quick opponent many times before: Her name was Ilrin. He swallowed and tried to clear his mind. Thinking about Ilrin was painful.

He looked up at his opponent, who was drawing small circles in the air with the tip of his sword, waiting for him.

“Ready?” Felnir asked.

Dilmir nodded, still unable to keep Ilrin from his thoughts. He would have never guessed that he would be the next person to duel Felnir after she had.

Felnir planted his feet, his unwavering gaze latching onto Dilmir’s posture. Dilmir quickly assumed a defensive stance, and forced himself to watch Felnir’s blade. The shining edge of metal glinted in the morning sun, sending reflected beams dancing off of it.

With the suddenness of a bolt of lightning, Felnir leapt forward, his blade held at his side, ready to either strike or block at a moment’s notice.

Dilmir waited until the precise moment, and then rolled to his right. Felnir twisted in midair, trying to catch him with his sword, but his momentum carried him past. He landed solidly on his feet a few yards away, and settled into another defensive stance.

Dilmir circled about him warily, so that their positions were switched. It unnerved him how agile and controlled all of Felnir’s movements were. No matter how high he jumped, or which way he twisted, he always landed on his feet. His blade seemed to know where Dilmir was at any given moment, and seek out his unprotected points. However, Felnir was not Ilrin. His strength lay in offense, not defense. If Dilmir brought the attack to him, he could likely win.

In another moment, Felnir dropped to the ground and rolled towards him with uncanny speed. Dilmir leapt over his revolving form, deflecting the blade that snaked up towards him, and landed behind him. Or, at least he tried to.

He landed heavily on one foot, and lost his balance. Felnir whirled around, intending to strike him down, but Dilmir, taking advantage of his unbalance, dropped to the ground and rolled away. Felnir leapt after him, blade poised, but Dilmir, in an instant, jumped to his feet and deflected the blow. Felnir, however, was a master of dueling at close quarters, and whipped his sword about, pushing Dilmir’s away from him, and then finding his neck with a glint of steel.

Eltuthar stepped forward. “You did a little better that time, Dilmir,” he said, “but you still have much to learn. I think that’s enough for now, however.”

Felnir nodded and withdrew his blade, slipping it into the black leather sheath on his back. All of the Eth Aniliim carried two swords, instead of the one of the council’s army. Their swords were slightly shorter, but had much longer handles, all of them crafted from wood. Dilmir couldn’t see what use this could be, but Eltuthar had promised to tell him soon enough.

As Felnir ascended the steps to the balcony and entered the building, Dilmir, his breathing still heavy, walked towards a bench and leaned against it. Eltuthar had wanted to see his skill with the blade, but the test had left him exhausted.

The seat flowed out from the wall of the building, a shallow pool of water between it and the wood. A stream of water fell into the pool from overhead, filling the air with its pleasant splashing.

Dilmir sat, and, after a moment, Eltuthar came to the bench and sat down as well. For a space they remained there, watching the view and listening to the pool. Then Eltuthar turned and asked, “How much have you heard of me, Dilmir?”

Dilmir took his time in replying. Eltuthar lived so high up on the mountain that the air was considerably thinner. Dilmir, who was not used to such conditions, was still breathing with difficulty after the duel. “Not much,” he finally said after a moment. “I heard of you from my father, of course, and I read of your deeds when I first came to Eld’rin.”

Eltuthar nodded. “I fear very few elves have heard my side of the tale. The others would have you believe that I was a power-obsessed sorcerer who tried to overthrow the king, but that is only because they dare not reveal my true intentions.”

Dilmir looked up, intrigued. Eltuthar had always been a shadowy figure haunting his past, even if he was the head of his line. What Dilmir had learned of him had been part truth, part rumor, and part fear, but very rarely solid fact. Eltuthar sat back, closed his eyes, and spoke.

“I started out like you,” he said. “I was eager to learn the ways of the elves at Eld’rin. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for me. Soon after arriving, I began to realize that I could use magic differently from the other elves. I could do more with it, control it better, force it to do my will when the others could merely influence it. By the time they began training me in its ways, I had already figured most of its nature out for myself. I spent my free time exploring it further. By the time I was your age, I had gone further in the field of magic than even Sonlen, who was, as you know, alive at that time.”

Eltuthar paused, opening his eyes to gaze out over the cliff towards the Great Forest.

“And then,” he said slowly, continuing, “I tried to show what I had discovered to my friends. That was, I fear, a mistake. Most of the elves were interested, but when one of them tried to copy me, he got severely injured. I healed him easily of course, but that incident made clear to me that I was the only one that could wield this power. The elf’s interest was not dampened in the slightest, but the council, which had already been disturbed by my excessive use of spells, took the opportunity to get me out of the city. They banished me without a second thought. I couldn’t allow this to get in the way of what I had discovered, however. I had sensed the true potential of magic, and I vowed never to rest until I had found a way to let the other elves feel it as well.

“I came here,” he said, gesturing about him, “and built Arath Imil, My Sanctuary. As they completed their training, the elves that I had shown my knowledge to came here as well. Or, at least most of them did. Alfimir, who had at first shown interest in my ways, took the side of the council, and, knowing what I wanted to do, swore to stop me.”

“Why?” interrupted Dilmir. “All you wanted to do was show the elves their true potential.”

“In my eyes, yes,” said Eltuthar. “But to the council, I was power-hungry, and sought only to overthrow the king. At least that was their excuse. All they saw was that I was gathering followers, followers which were more loyal to me than to them. They stated that my knowledge of power, if spread, would only inspire wars and misery. Unfortunately, they were right.”

Eltuthar paused again, and gazed for a long time over the cliff, in the direction that Dilmir knew Eld’rin lay.

“I couldn’t stop, however,” he said. “I had no intention of overthrowing the king or the council, I only sought to show the elves what they could do. With those that joined me, I probed deeper into the ways of magic, looking, searching for the clue that I knew must be there. I found many things, most of which, doubtless, Sonlen or anyone else had never dreamed of, but I didn’t find what I was seeking. Nothing that I discovered would allow the other elves to wield the power that I had found. Unfortunately, those that had come with me had not been banished as well, and were still free to return to Eld’rin whenever they pleased. When they went, as they did from time to time, the other elves saw their use of power and become interested. I gained even more followers.”

“I thought they couldn’t use your power, though,” objected Dilmir.

“No,” said Eltuthar, “but I had discovered the true nature of enchantments in my search, a knowledge which enabled me to give them abilities far beyond any other elf. They still couldn’t use my magic, but they were more powerful than any normal elf – though Sonlen could have easily beaten any one of them had he had a mind to. It was this power, this affinity to magic, that the others found appealing. They were soon flocking to my little sanctuary by the droves. Unfortunately, most of them were very young, some younger than you are now, and their parents, who were content with what they had, were displeased that my ways had driven their sons and daughters from their training. They complained to the council, and the council, in turn, ordered me to stop my teachings. Having banished me, they had no power over me, and even if they had, I would not have stopped my research. Nonetheless, I explained the situation to my new followers, and told them to go back; that when their training was complete, then they would be free to study the ways of magic. Most of them took my advice, though reluctantly, but a few stayed despite what I had said. And then, I had a breakthrough.

“You know, Dilmir,” said Eltuthar, turning to him, “how one can only enchant that which lives, how magic can only be woven into living things?”

Dilmir nodded.

“I found that magic has affinity to one other thing: Energy. I could enchant energy, and that meant I could place magic anywhere on Feylund. The sudden restrictions that so hampered the elves dissolved before my eyes. Distracted, for once, from my search, I began to experiment.”

Eltuthar closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I remember,” he said, his voice distant, “the first time I tried it. I had just discovered the truth; it was still dark. I stood here, at the very edge of this cliff, and bent the world to my will. Rain fell at my slightest touch, thunder echoed through the heavens at my word, and clouds grew and dispersed as I motioned them to do so. I could feel, finally, the magic of all Feylund at my call. The other elves, of course, could learn this, as it was merely a principle which had never been discovered before. I made plans to show them my findings.

“If only,” Eltuthar said, the radiance of his recollection leaving his face, “If only I had stopped then, and returned to my search. If only I had not gotten carried away.” There was a moment of silence as he reflected on the past.

“I did, however,” he said after a moment, resuming his tale. “I was so absorbed in my discovery that I rushed to show the others what was possible. Not able to enter Eld’rin myself, I sent my followers to spread the word. Almost instantly, all of my old pupils came flooding back, eager to learn what I had discovered.

“This was too much for the council. They could not tolerate the fact that I could drain Eld’rin of a quarter of its population at a moment’s notice, and the fact that I was showing them how to wield greater power than they could was the final straw. They sent Sonlen to end my teachings, by force if necessary. I explained to him what I was trying to do. He seemed to understand my motives, but he remained firmly on the side of the council just the same. He ordered the elves to return to Eld’rin, and he ordered me to stop teaching them. He reasoned that if what I did had repercussions on the inhabitants of Eld’rin, the council could still issue me commands, even though I was banished. Preposterous, of course. They had absolved me from their laws quite easily, and I had very little reason to obey them.

“If my followers had left, everything might have worked out even then. I would have continued my studies, and the elves would have been content. Unfortunately, several of them, a good number, actually, doubtless inspired by their new power, defied Sonlen and the council, and remained. Even I told them go, but still, they stayed. And then something that I had not foreseen happened.

“Those that had returned began using their newfound power. Their use of it frightened the council. They were sure now that I was training an army in some form of dark magic to take over Eld’rin. That is when they started calling us Dark Elves. I didn’t mind, I would have resumed my research, but my pupils were less than pleased about the separation the others were treating them with. Treated as some sort of traitors, they began, slowly at first, and then more quickly, to come back to me, where they could perfect their skill. I had asked them to leave enough times, I couldn’t ask them again. The council sent me a message, warning me that if I did not cease my practices and disperse my followers, they would do it for me. I sent back a message equally as absolute, saying that they had no right to meddle in my affairs, and to leave me alone. I had grown tired of orders, none of which I had to follow, as I wasn’t under their rule any longer. I suppose I should have done what I had already done twice, and sent my followers back, but that message was too much. Shortly afterwards, I received word that the elves were training, preparing an army, readying themselves to force me to stop, and to summon their fellow elves back to Eld’rin. I had no choice. My followers began to arm themselves. I watched as the one thing the council had said my discoveries would do happened before my eyes. Almost overnight, I had gained an army nearly a thousand strong, more powerful than any on Feylund. They made me their general, and I, unwilling but unable to deny them, complied. When Sonlen came to meet us at the head of the council’s army, Alfimir on his right, I met him. I pleaded with him to stop this senselessness, that I was only trying to help the elves, not rule them, but he, though he seemed once again to understand, would not hear me. Unable to convince him, we returned to our armies to do battle.

“The rest you know,” said Eltuthar, standing. “We battled, our two armies, and far too much elven blood was spilt that day. The field where we met was dyed crimson for weeks after that confrontation. Sonlen and I met in the middle of the field, and one of the greatest duels that Feylund has yet witnessed took place. In the end, though, he defeated me. He possessed some strange form of magic that I had not discovered, and with it, cast a foul curse upon me, draining me of all my power. I could still, and still can, influence the magic about me, but my own is gone. I can store magic, a thing I will soon show you, but to use it causes me great pain, as you saw in the forest.

“Unless I am much mistaken, Dilmir,” said Eltuthar, looking at him, “you possess the same power that I once did. You are, indeed, me all over again.”

Eltuthar paused, considering Dilmir. “I only hope,” he said, half to himself, “your tale does not end as did mine.”

A rushing of air, a blast of sound, a flash of light. Alfimir turned as an elf appeared out of nowhere behind him. The elf was cloaked and hooded, his head bowed. He seemed to be hunched, as though he were doubled up in pain. In a moment, though, he raised his hand. Instantly, Alfimir was outlined in black, as though the air about him had been torn away. His eyes widened, and he seemed to bulge briefly before Dilmir’s eyes. He let the knife fall to the ground, and then fell to his knees, gasping for air. “Eltuthar?” he rasped, before falling facedown in the dead leaves, motionless.

Eltuthar remained bent double, his hands hidden in the folds of his robes. Slowly, Dilmir got up, uncertainly.

Eltuthar raised his head. An old visage met Dilmir’s eyes. The lines of the face were contorted in pain, but, as he looked, a smile cracked onto the face. “Dilmir,” he said, his voice dry with age, his breathing hard.

“Eltuthar?” said Dilmir.

Eltuthar nodded, grimacing in pain. “I found you just in time,” he said. “Another moment and you would have been beyond my aid. Tell me, why are you here? The Great Forest is no place for a lone elf to wander.”

“I’ve been banished,” said Dilmir uncertainly, not quite over the shock of meeting an ancient relative whom he had never seen before and who was considered to be the most dangerous being alive.

“Why?” rasped Eltuthar, a note of keen interest in his voice.

“I… It’s complicated,” said Dilmir. Though he had doubtless saved his life, he still couldn’t be sure he could trust this elf, even if he was who he claimed to be.

Eltuthar nodded, a pained smile on his face. “It rarely isn’t. But,” he added, “I feel certain you were banished for a power you can’t control, a magic you don’t understand.”

Dilmir nodded, wary.

Eltuthar let out a small sigh. “They banished me when I was nineteen, halfway through my last year at Eld’rin,” he said. “And now they’ve banished you, from the looks of it, earlier.”

Dilmir said nothing, but remained looking at Eltuthar.

Eltuthar, after a moment, turned. “Come with me, Dilmir,” he said. “I have a few things I believe you will be interested to learn.”

Dilmir didn’t move. “How do I know you are who you pretend to be?” he asked.

Eltuthar laughed as he turned back to him. “Can you think of anyone who would want to be me?” He looked at Dilmir. “If you must have proof, look at him.” He pointed towards Alfimir. “Not many elves could do that.” Dilmir, looking at Alfimir, finally made up his mind. He could see that Alfimir still breathed, and would be awake in an hour or two. What else could he lose?

Eltuthar, sensing his decision, turned into the forest, and, after a moment, Dilmir followed.

The elder stood at the head of the long table, his words echoing throughout the room for all to hear. “Dilmir, son of Felmir, you are hereby banished from Eld’rin by the moment you leave its boundaries. Since you have seen fit to break our laws, they shall no longer be bound to you from that time on.” He raised his hand, and Dilmir felt a shift of power in the room as an enchantment was placed upon him. The elder sat back down, the tips of his fingers touching, his head slightly bowed. “Be gone from our sight.”

Dilmir opened his eyes, the memory fading. Sharp edges of untamed bark cut into his back, though his leather tunic dulled their power. The rays of the new sun poured over the tops of the trees, illuminating the forest floor about him. Squirrels chattered, unseen above him, and the first of the birds flitted about, enjoying their own innocent pursuits. It was a beautiful day in the Great Forest, fit for many a great event.

Dilmir saw little of this, however. His head was bowed, his brow furrowed, his eyes scrutinizing the ground at his feet, seeing none of it.

How did I get into this mess? If I had just never used my power like I promised myself before I even came here, none of this would have happened. But Alfimir had to intervene. He had to attack me. If he hadn’t, what I did to Cyprien could have easily been passed off as his work. It all comes down to Alfimir. He’s the reason I’m banished, my status as an elf revoked, and Ilrin turned away from me.

“Walk into the Great Forest, and wait until sunset. They will find you.”

The assassin’s words rang clearly in Dilmir’s mind. He was in the Great Forest now, but he wasn’t going to wait until sunset for they, whoever they were, to find him. He knew who he wanted to see. Rising, he plucked a twig from the ground.

“Kelther imir en shenith Alfimiril,” he said, shading the twig with his palm. Dilmir knew the wording of the spell was rough, but could not think of the right words. The elven tongue was an ancient language, nearly forgotten, barely kept alive by those that used it. His concentration appeared to be sufficient, though, as a soft green glow lit up the stick momentarily. It brightened against his skin, then twisted in his hand, and pointed due East.

Dilmir carefully replaced it on the ground, and turned into the trees, his face set.

It did not take him long to reach his destination. He soon came across a small clearing, a little brook running nearby, and sunlight pouring in through the gap in the trees. In the center of the clearing sat Alfimir, calmly cooking something in a hollow in the ground. He looked up as Dilmir approached, but did not seem surprised to see him. His pale features looked out of place in the bright forest.

Dilmir stopped, observing Alfimir silently. After a silence, in which they both looked at each other, Alfimir said, “Is there anything you want, Dilmir?”

There seemed to be a hundred things Dilmir wanted, but all he could say was, “Why?”

“Why?” repeated Alfimir. “Why did I try to kill you?” He smiled. “I told you at the time. You are too powerful for your own good or for that of the others. I would be doing Feylund a service.”

“If you had just left me alone, none of this would have happened,” said Dilmir.

“Oh, I think it would have,” said Alfimir, “though much later. And when it did, it would not have been the nicely organized affair that you just went through.”

Dilmir could feel his anger building, and with it his power. His magic began to bubble within him like boiling water. “Your words are twisted, Ael Alfimir,” he said, emphasizing the honorary title. His voice shook slightly as he spoke. “Riddles are all that reach my ears.”

Alfimir stood. His face had worn a pleasant smile, but now all pretext was gone. His visage was rapidly darkening. “Then allow me to make things very plain for you,” he said, his voice suddenly powerful. “I know why you possess the power that you do, and why you are able to wield it when still so young. You are Dilmir, the son of Felmir, the son of Eludir, the son of Delthimir the Cursed, who’s father was Eltuthar the Black. You are the Dark General’s descendant, and his heir. It is his power that you wield, the same power that killed hundreds of your kin.”

Dilmir felt the blood slowly drain from his face. “You wiped out Eltuthar’s line long ago, erasing it from the records of history,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet.

“Or so I thought,” said Alfimir, towering over him. “What I failed to do when I sought out Eludir was to seek out his wife as well. When I killed him, she was already with child, Felmir, your father. I assumed that Eltuthar’s line would follow the customs of the elves, but no; they bred with a rapidity which amazed me, hoping that I might miss a descendant. And it appears that I did. No, Dilmir, you are Eltuthar’s heir, and you know this perfectly well.”

Dilmir could feel the last of the color draining from his face, so that he looked oddly similar to Alfimir.

Alfimir sat back down, his comfortable smile back in place at Dilmir’s look. “You’ve been friends with that Ilrin for seven years,” he said. “What would she think of you if she ever found out?”

Something clicked in Dilmir’s mind. Ilrin already knew, he had told her himself in the sanctuary. Alfimir didn’t know everything. Dilmir’s momentary shock at having his line recited in front of him, no matter that he had known it already, began to fade. Slowly, a smile crossed over his face, matching Alfimir’s.

Alfimir had tracked down his grandfather and killed him for a crime he didn’t commit. He hadn’t even hid the fact. He had also sent an assassin to kill Dilmir, and when that failed, had threatened the lives of two other elves, both innocent, and one of which had no part to play in the matter, just to get him to comply to his wishes. As these thoughts went through Dilmir’s mind, whirling in and out of his magic, he began to get angry.

He had been angry before, but never like this. Slowly, his blood began to run faster, and his pulse quickened. He felt his power begin to throb within him, beating in time with his heart, so that the edges of his vision began to flicker with each pulse. His magic grew and grew, mounting inside of him until he thought he must burst and was nearly blinded by its might, and then it stopped, as if holding its breath. The entire forest seemed to have fallen silent, waiting in the stillness. In one controlled motion, Dilmir lifted his arm, his palm pointing at Alfimir, and fired a bolt of heat at him so powerful that it knocked him flat to the ground.

“You would kill me, Alfimir,” he said, his voice perfectly controlled, “for crimes that my great great grandfather committed, just so that you may have peace of mind. And yet, you killed my grandfather for a crime that he did not commit. What kind of an elf are you?”

Alfimir rose to a sitting position, his eyes fixed on Dilmir’s. “Merely one that would protect his people,” he said. He then raised his hand.

Dilmir was not quite fast enough. The spell struck him in the chest and he was flung to the ground, pain searing the length of his body. He reached for his magic, and found it somehow withheld from him.

Slowly, his hand still outstretched as though to hold Dilmir down, Alfimir got to his feet. His face showed nothing but contempt.

Ponderously, as though he considered every motion with great care, he drew a curve in the air before him with his free hand. The air shimmered orange, and Alfimir drew from it as if drawing from a pocket a long and curved dagger. He fingered the hilt, looking down at Dilmir thoughtfully.

Dilmir tried to get up, but found quickly that he could not. Alfimir was indeed holding him still in place. Out of options, he lay back on the ground, watching the dagger.

Alfimir considered him for a moment, his head tilted to one side. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “the Dark General was not as powerful as I thought.”

A moment later, he raised the dagger high above his head, and then plunged it downwards, straight for Dilmir’s frantically beating heart.

Leather boots tramped on wood. Cloaks rustled in the night wind. Mist clung everywhere, like a delicate spider’s web of a million threads. Vines creaked and unraveled to reveal a small room, big enough only for one person. The room was bare, furnished with nothing but a chilling temperature.

Dilmir entered the room.

“You will be tried in the morning,” said the gruff voice of one of the elves. And then the vines wove themselves together, and the icy air closed in on Dilmir.

Dilmir sat. He stretched out his magic, but it met an invisible barrier which it could not cross. He had expected that. He closed his eyes, and remained thus for some time.

After what might have been minutes, hours, or days, Dilmir looked up. He saw a small window set high in the door, its surface shimmering with the enchantment that made it. He stood and looked out of it.

His memory had served him correctly. Even in the dark, he thought he knew the path that the elves had taken. Before him, separated by a raised portion of the root, was Ilrin’s house. Further, Ilrin’s room lay directly ahead, and, standing in the middle of it, looking out of her window, was Ilrin herself.

For a long time, the two of them simply watched each other. Neither moved, neither tried to say anything, though words would not have been heard in Dilmir’s cell anyway.

Ilrin’s look was hard to fathom. Dilmir had heard her speak often of seeing worse elves in those cells, brought from across the land. And now Dilmir was there.

Dilmir could tell that her face showed deep thought and confusion, amongst other things, but above all, it showed fear, fear of him.

Ilrin turned away, and left his sight. Dilmir sat back down on the cold floor and rested his head on his arms, his eyes closed against the world. If every elf in all of Feylund were turned against him, he knew he wouldn’t mind, as long as Ilrin was still with him, and believed him to be as normal as they.

Why didn’t you tell me?

Dilmir knew why he hadn’t told Ilrin. Through all of his seven years here, the thing he had most wanted was to be seen and treated as a normal elf, as though he had no strange power that he couldn’t control. And throughout every one of those seven years, Ilrin was the only elf who truly believed in him. He hadn’t told her who he was because he knew that if he had, she, too, would be turned against him, and he would have to face his identity. He hadn’t told her because he didn’t want to face the truth, because he wanted to forget what couldn’t be forgotten.

What have you done, Dilmir?

But now, every last support was gone, every single thing that Dilmir had ever used for an excuse had fled from him, and now he had to face what he had hidden from for his entire life.

“Dilmir.”

Dilmir was detached, a mere spectator of the terrible scene he had created. How, then, could Aldir speak to him?

The entire sanctuary was lit with the green glow of the fallen branch, which was slowly fading to blackness. This did nothing to hide Aldir’s expression, however. He stared at Dilmir with a mixture of disbelief and fear. Dilmir thought he detected something else behind the look as well. Was it triumph?

Dilmir was vaguely aware of his own face betraying his shock. He held his hands limply in front of him, as if not quite sure what to do with them. Their green glow slowly began to fade as did the branch.

Neither of their expressions, however, could compete with Ilrin’s.

She stood, not a muscle moving, staring at Dilmir as though an impossible truth of the universe had just been revealed to her. No fear etched her expression, but one look at it was enough to cause Dilmir to turn away.

What have I done?

“The others were right.” Aldir spoke quietly, his fear now gone. “I didn’t think you were deserving of their thoughts, but I see now I was wrong.”

Neither Dilmir nor Ilrin contradicted him. Ilrin remained staring fixedly at Dilmir, and, in time, Dilmir met her gaze. He tried to tell her he hadn’t meant it to happen, but her face conveyed only one emotion: disbelief. It was a wall through which nothing else could pass.

“I’m going to report you, Dilmir,” said Aldir quietly. Dilmir, though he still looked at Ilrin, thought his voice sounded strange, as though he were struggling to suppress something that ought not to be there.

Aldir silently reached out and took Ilrin’s hand. He then turned to the entrance to the sanctuary, but Ilrin did not move. She remained looking steadfastly at Dilmir, who returned her gaze. Aldir, after looking at her, let go and made his exit alone.

A long silence followed, broken only by a lone cricket which chirped his happy melody into the night, unaware of what had just happened. Dilmir and Ilrin stood there, neither moving, facing each other, as the light from the branch and Dilmir’s hands slowly faded, leaving them in total blackness. All Dilmir could see of Ilrin was her silhouette, barely outlined against the starlight from above.

“Dilmir?”

It was a question, nothing more. Ilrin’s voice sounded small in the sudden silence.

Dilmir didn’t know how to answer. His mind seemed to have stopped working altogether, though he was very aware of it whirring along, as though he were feeling it from someplace other than himself. “I did,” he heard himself say, his voice blank, uncomprehending.

With those two words, however, everything seemed to change. He had. He had attacked another elf, the worst crime possible. But it was worse than that, far worse. He had done what the elves had expected. He had proven them right.

“Maybe Alfimir was right,” he heard himself say. “I am too powerful.”

“No,” said Ilrin, her voice surprisingly soft. “You are powerful. You can’t deny it. But that is no reason for the elves to treat you as they did.”

Dilmir closed his eyes, unwilling to hear Ilrin. She still believed in him. After what he had just done, she still trusted him. If only she knew…

Dilmir opened his eyes. He had to tell her. She had to know the truth, the one thing he had kept from her. “Ilrin,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry, “do you remember that day when you asked me who my parents were?”

She nodded, silent.

Dilmir swallowed. “I never told you. I’ve never told anyone that doesn’t already know. When I first came here, an elf found out, though. He kept it quiet, but somehow it got out.” Dilmir swallowed again. He couldn’t go on. But he must. He could hear the tramp of elven feet fast approaching, and he knew that his time was short. He had to tell her.

“You know who the elves say I am, Ilrin.” He said, pushing on frantically. “You know what they say in dark corners and shadowy places, where they think I will not hear them. You know what they think me to be.”

He couldn’t go on, but he seemed to have said enough. A group of elves, led by Aldir, entered the sanctuary, cloaks rustling, but Ilrin had eyes only for Dilmir.

“Are you?” she breathed.

Very slowly, Dilmir nodded into the blackness. A weight dropped from his stomach as he did so, leaving behind only a kind of sickening hollow. Through the dark, he could see the first hint of fear creep slowly into Ilrin’s face. She took a step back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered. Her voice was far too quiet, but the accusing words were born to Dilmir on an ill wind, where they lodged, stinging him.

Hands seized hold of Dilmir’s shoulders as he was surrounded by elves. He was turned and led towards the entrance. At the last moment, Dilmir turned, and looked, one last time, at Ilrin. All he saw there was fear, fear of him, and what he truly was. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

What have I done?

Mist boiled as the slanting rays of the new sun struck it. The light was red, tinted with a bloody glow. Such a sunrise was usually considered a sign of ill fortune or great disaster soon to come amongst the elves, but Ilrin paid it little mind as she walked.

She had stayed up far longer than she usually did, helping her mother, and was still tired as a result. The mist that clung about her did nothing to wake her, though its cool touch caressed her face many a time, leaving small, shimmering drops of dew in her hair as she walked.

“Ilrin!”

The call only woke her partially, and she turned about, confused in the fog that bound her so tightly from the rest of Eld’rin. “Ilrin!” came the call again. “What?” asked Ilrin into the mists, her sleep still weighing heavily on her voice.

Out from the swirling fog emerged a dark shape, the figure of an elf. He drew closer, and soon resolved into Aldir, an elf two years older than Ilrin, who was nearing the end of his training. There was something in his face that Ilrin couldn’t quite place, though she thought he looked rather tense.

“I’m late, Ilrin,” he said, speaking rapidly, “but I have to talk with you. Will you come with me to the sanctuary this evening, after training?”

Ilrin gazed a little unfocusedly at him as the sleep slowly drained from her. The sanctuary was a place within Eld’rin enclosed by tall roots. Grass grew there, and several tall trees cast their shade over the area. It was a quiet and calming place, and was where elves went should they need to relax… or be unheard.

Still, Ilrin saw no reason to not accept. “Alright,” she said, a little blankly. She could not see why Aldir had asked this of her.

“As ihr selenar imil,Ilrin,” said Aldir, bowing slightly towards her. “I’ll be waiting for you outside the gate when the sun touches the horizon.” Ilrin nodded, and Aldir left, his form quickly swallowed up by the fog.

Ilrin resumed walking, her confusion covered mostly by her sleep. She had never really noticed Aldir before, even though he trained only a short distance away from her in the afternoon.

She slowly made her way down the root, tracing the familiar path. Even Dilmir, who had been down here often enough, could not have found his way in the fog. Soon, she reached the center of Eld’rin, and peered across the intervening space towards where Dilmir usually waited for her. He was not there.

In another moment, however, he came walking out of the fog, his shoulders hunched, his eyes downcast. He looked up, saw her, and without pausing, turned towards the gate, slowing his pace so that she could catch up.

“Morning,” he said as she approached. He sounded, if possible, even more tired than she felt.

“Morning,” replied Ilrin, looking at him curiously. In all the years she had known him, he had always been waiting for her. No matter how early she rose, he had been at the center of Eld’rin first. Until today.

Dilmir snapped awake so suddenly and thoroughly that Ilrin actually felt a wave of magic escape him. She drew back, a little uncertainly, but Dilmir was not looking at her. His eyes were instead fixed on a point next to the gates, which were slowly unfurling as they approached.

Ilrin followed his gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. A few elves milled about, and one with a dark cloak and a short sword in his belt leaned against a root watching them approach, but she saw nothing else. She looked back at Dilmir. He was staring intently at the elf with the sword.

“Do you know him?” asked Ilrin, motioning towards the elf.

Dilmir started and glanced at her. “No,” he said, looking back at the elf, “I just thought I did.”

Nonetheless, he allowed Ilrin to pull ahead of him, and then came up on her other side, so that he was between her and the elf. Ilrin was confused, but made no comment. She saw the elf watch them as they passed through the gate, however, and an uneasy feeling started to grow within her as she felt his eyes on her back.

The day passed quickly. Iliadin showed Ilrin the use of fire spells, and how to conjure up a shield of flame which would surround the caster. It was of little use against elves, as it was too easily negated, but wolves would flee from it, making it very useful in the Great Forest.

Ilrin learned quickly, but she couldn’t help but glance over at Dilmir from time to time. None of the other elves could, either, for that matter. His episode with the tree had not been forgotten, and Ilrin felt that it would be a long time before it would be.

Dilmir, however, seemed to be having far more trouble than he had on that day. He was constantly glancing towards Eld’rin, and seemed incapable of forming the right counterspells. In addition, what spells he did manage to cast usually came out far more powerful than they should have. Ilrin couldn’t understand why he was so unfocused until, following his gaze, she saw the same elf that had been at the gate leaning calmly against a tree root not far from where she stood. He was doing nothing, but there was no mistaking that it was he who Dilmir kept watching. Ilrin could see nothing distracting about him, save that he was watching Dilmir with the same fascination that the Dark Elves did. And yet he wasn’t a Dark Elf, Ilrin could see that plainly enough. No red emblem was visible on his tunic, which was a dark green rather than black.

Dilmir’s distraction soon spread to Ilrin. She barely avoided being struck by a spell she was supposed to be countering, and after that, she focused more on Iliadin, though she still couldn’t help herself from glancing at Dilmir from time to time.

The rest of the morning passed quickly, and soon Ilrin was to be found entering Eld’rin, Dilmir at her side. She saw him, out of the corner of her eye, glance over his shoulder. Curious, she looked back as well, and saw the elf begin to follow them.

She turned back, but not before Dilmir saw that her head had turned. He said nothing, however, and they continued on in silence.

The elf did not leave them alone. Ilrin, coming back from lunch, found him waiting once again at the gate, a placid smile on his face. He followed her and Dilmir to the training field, where he assumed a comfortable position against a nearby root, and settled to watch.

Ilrin was distracted by the elf, but not nearly as much as Dilmir. He was constantly looking over at him, forgetting what he was doing.

 The duels were no better. Ilrin defeated Dilmir as she hadn’t in days. He barely blocked her once or twice before she disarmed him. Worse still, he seemed nearly unaware that he was losing. Every chance he had, he glanced towards the elf. Finally, Ilrin could stand it no longer.

“Dilmir!” she hissed. His name, though whispered, made him turn around. He had been looking at the elf, leaving his entire side unguarded. “What are you doing?” whispered Ilrin, taking advantage of his moment of concentration.

Dilmir looked slightly confused, so Ilrin jerked her head almost imperceptibly towards the elf. Their trainer was watching curiously. “You’re hardly trying to block my attacks, and I have yet to block any of yours,” whispered Ilrin.

Dilmir looked up at her.

“What’s wrong, Dilmir?” she asked, in a softer tone.

Dilmir glanced towards the elf, and then the trainer, both watching him with odd expressions on their faces. Then he turned back to Ilrin. “I can’t tell you here, Ilrin,” he said. “I’ll tell you once we’re done.”

Ilrin looked at him, her eyes searching his. After a moment, she nodded, and flicked her sword up. Dilmir gave the elf a final glance, and then settled into his usual defensive position. In another moment, Ilrin attacked, but this time, her sword was met by Dilmir’s.

Blades flashed in the dying sun. An ominous red glow bathed the training field and the elves sparring upon it. Within Eld’rin, ancient elves, keepers of scrolls and untold records, looked fearfully at the sun. Such an omen could not be misinterpreted. Something dark was at work, and would come to pass before the night was finished.

The sun, however, was far from either Ilrin’s or Dilmir’s thoughts. They were engaged in what was surely their longest duel yet. It had already been going on for nearly ten minutes, and both of them, having already trained for nearly five hours, were getting tired.

Their blades had battled back and forth, sometimes pressing in relentlessly, sometimes warding off the other’s attacks. For once, neither could seem to get the upper hand. Dilmir had tried every trick he new of, and by the looks of it, so had Ilrin.

The assassin still reclined against the root, but Dilmir had decided that as long as he was here, and nowhere else, he couldn’t hurt anyone. This left him to concentrate on his duels, and glance at the assassin only between them.

Dilmir whirled his sword down and then up to escape what was surely Ilrin’s twentieth attempt to disarm him. Their swords came up in a lock, each wrapped around the other.

For a moment, they struggled to break the other’s grip, but all that happened was that Dilmir succeeded in driving their blades higher, so that their arms stretched to the sky.

If this had been a real duel, they would have drawn daggers and commenced fighting behind their backs, but the trainer stepped forward.

“Enough,” he said. “Lower your weapons. Dilmir, I think you’ve at last become as skilled as Ilrin. Ilrin, you are to be commended; not many elves could last that long in a duel.” Ilrin smiled briefly in the fading rays of the red sun. “And now,” said the trainer, “I think we should stop. You have both done excellently today.”

He turned and walked away, Dilmir’s eyes on his back. He had never paid him a compliment before. He turned to Ilrin, after checking to make sure that the assassin was still there, only to find her staring at the ground.

Her eyes were fixed on the last shred of sunlight as it faded from the grass, returning it to its natural green hue. “A red sunset,” she whispered.

Dilmir glanced down. Only now did he notice that the light was the deepest of crimsons. “Don’t worry,” he said, himself unconvinced.

The dwarves laughed at the elves’ superstitions, but the elves knew them to be true. There hadn’t been a red sunset or sunrise where ill news hadn’t reached them before the night was out.

Silently, Dilmir took Ilrin’s hand and led her away from the training field. The red light seemed to follow them as they walked, until it was at last swallowed by forbidding shadows. Ilrin pulled away as the gate came into view.

“I have to go,” she said, surprising Dilmir. “Alone,” she added, at his look.

Dilmir would have liked to ask why, but he knew better than to do so. What Ilrin did was her own business. He watched as she made her way towards the gate. He glanced behind him, but the assassin, for once, was gone.

As he watched, Ilrin slowed before an elf that seemed to be waiting for her at the gate. Dilmir couldn’t see his face, but he thought he recognized his figure from the training field. The two of them talked for a moment, but then they entered Eld’rin, the elf, Dilmir saw, leading Ilrin by the hand.

In that moment, a shape flickered across Dilmir’s vision. A moment later, the assassin slid smoothly through the gates. Dilmir’s mind seemed to jam. The assassin was moving fast and crouching, as if he wished to remain unseen. Dilmir knew of only one reason he would move thus.

The chill of the night air leaving him as his heart pounded against his ribs, Dilmir ran to the gate, just in time to see the assassin turn into the giant tree on the right. Ignoring the milling elves, Dilmir rushed to the tree and skidded inside. The assassin was nowhere to be seen.

He did see Ilrin, however, led by the elf, whom he now recognized as Aldir, who was a couple of years older than she. He had seen Aldir from time to time, but never met him. What was he doing?

Intrigued, but also worried lest the assassin ambush them unawares, he followed the two of them. Walking slowly, they made their way towards the sanctuary. Dilmir stopped. He had a very bad feeling about this. It was dark and quiet in the sanctuary, full of shadows and perfect hiding places. Ilrin had seen the assassin, though she didn’t know she was being followed. Still, what could she possibly be thinking? Dilmir resumed his steps.

It was cool under the massive trees of the sanctuary. Night breezes, channeled by the twisting roots, played gently across the leaves far overhead, creating a soothing sound that permeated the air. The grass underfoot was soft, and yielded a silent footstep. Ilrin and Aldir walked quietly towards a large tree in the center of the sanctuary, not speaking. Together, they sat against its rough trunk, and Dilmir, not wanting to be seen, crouched behind another.

There was no assassin to be seen in the shadows, though Dilmir searched long and hard. He was nearly convinced that the sanctuary held no threat, and was about to sneak back out, when he heard Aldir’s voice.

He couldn’t hear the words, but Aldir was murmuring something to Ilrin. Glancing over at them, Dilmir saw Aldir leaning towards Ilrin, whispering something in her ear. What held Dilmir’s concealed gaze, however, was the look on Ilrin’s face. She looked pleased, immensely so, but also a little surprised. Covering it all, however, was an extremely peculiar expression that Dilmir could not quite explain. She wore a half smile, but her eyes seemed to frown into the grass at her feet.

Suddenly, catching both Dilmir and Ilrin by surprise, Aldir shifted his position, moving closer to Ilrin. She looked at him, a little uncertainly, but he said nothing. Dilmir’s heart seemed to be beating exceptionally slowly. He had the sudden knowledge that he didn’t want to see what came next, but he had no choice. In an instant, Aldir had reached out a finger, and, very lightly, very softly, touched Ilrin’s hair.

Power exploded out of Dilmir like a burst of lightning. Green magic shot, quite independent of his thought, and yet somehow driven by a deeper part of him, from his fingers towards the sky. Dilmir was vaguely aware of his control over the magic, though he had said nothing. It seemed to obey his every whim. The trouble was, his whims were not of his creating. Before he knew what was happening, he had risen to his feet, his arm outstretched, and thin threads of light had lanced to the tree above Aldir. The magic found a branch, and severed it with a sound like a whip crack. Aldir looked up, but the tree limb was already half way to the ground.

Still not quite sure what he had done, Dilmir looked at Ilrin. Too late, he saw that she had pulled away from Aldir’s touch. And then, everything changed.

The branch landed with a terrible splintering, directly where Aldir would have been, had he not rolled out of the way at the last moment. Ilrin leapt aside, her face lit by the green glow that surrounded the branch.

Dilmir looked down at his hands. They were pulsing with green light, and he could feel power throbbing in his ears. Magic coursed through him, controlling him more than he it. He looked up just in time to see Aldir, shock on his face, staring at him.

What have I done?

There was little more than half an hour of daylight left, judging by the position of the sun. Dilmir whirled around, dodging Ilrin’s sword. The day had been uneventful, save for the fact that it was becoming increasingly harder to control his magic. No matter how much he tried to hold it back, a little too much power seemed to escape him whenever he cast a spell.

Ilrin’s blade glinted in the dying sun as it dove towards him, seeking an unprotected point on his neck. Dilmir flicked his own blade up and met it, twisting around at the same time to avoid it as it came back down.

Dilmir had spent the morning worrying about the elf. The assassin, he had realized. Assassins, hired killers, were not tolerated in Eld’rin. If one was ever found, he would be banished before he could draw a blade. The fact that one had managed to enter Eld’rin and had tried to kill him was disturbing to say the least.

And still, Dilmir had told no one about him, not even Ilrin. Normally, the news of an assassin within Eld’rin would cause soldiers to search the entire city until he was found, but Dilmir had his doubts about what the results would be in his case.

Ilrin had told him that morning the conversation she had overheard yesterday. If the elves thought that he was dangerous, telling them that an assassin had tried to kill him might have unpleasant repercussions. The elves would definitely be in no mood to help him; that was certain.

Dilmir shook his head, trying to clear it. He had been distracted the entire morning, with the result that he had done even worse than usual. The afternoon training was the only chance he had to forget about the problems the other elves created, and lose himself in the duels.

Dilmir focused his attention on the sword before him. He angled his blade upwards, intending to catch Ilrin’s as it descended towards his arm. In that moment, all thoughts but one were driven from his mind.

The assassin, arms folded, a comfortable smile lodged upon his shrouded face, was leaning comfortably against a tree root not fifty yards from where Dilmir stood. His eyes did not move from Dilmir’s face, his serrated sword, almost short enough to be a dagger, obvious beneath his dark cloak. His face was devoid of concern. Dilmir froze, his sword suspended in the air.

An instant later, Ilrin’s blade sliced painfully into his arm, dying its tip crimson, and leaving a deep cut from Dilmir’s wrist to his elbow.

“Oh!” cried Ilrin, the shock evident in her voice as she leapt back and dropped her sword, clearly mortified at what she had done. Elves began training with wooden swords, but after a year, the chance of either of them severely wounding the other was so remote that they trained with real blades. An elf’s reflexes were such that he could stop his sword an inch before it broke the skin of his opponent.

The trainer started forward, a grim expression on his face, but Dilmir, though the pain in his arm was intense, remained staring at the assassin. His smile broadened as he saw Dilmir looking at him, but he made no other movement. He might have been part of the tree against which he rested.

“Athen selar,” said the trainer, placing his palm on Dilmir’s arm. Dilmir looked up just in time to see thin lines of green magic lance from the trainer’s hand and shoot through his arm, mending it in an instant.

“That will be enough for today,” said the trainer firmly, though the sun still had a ways to go before it set. Any other elf might have inquired if Dilmir was injured anywhere else, but the trainer merely turned and walked towards the city, leaving Dilmir and a white Ilrin alone on the field.

“Are you all right?” breathed Ilrin, picking up her sword.

“Fine,” replied Dilmir, a little absently. The assassin still stood, watching him intently.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” said Ilrin, her voice clearly quavering.

Dilmir turned at the sound. She was trying to sheath her sword, but her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn’t replace it in the scabbard. Silently, Dilmir reached out and steadied the sword for her, allowing her to slide it into the leather.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I should have blocked it, I just got distracted.”

Ilrin smiled her gratitude at him, and Dilmir chanced a glance back at the assassin. He still stood there, leaning against the root comfortably. He looked back at Ilrin. She wasn’t there.

Spinning around, he saw her just behind him, walking slowly towards the shape of Eld’rin, fast fading in the dying light. He hurried to catch up with her.

As he fell in beside her, he looked back at the assassin. He had straightened, and was now watching them intently. He turned back.

“Ilrin,” he said, making up his mind. “I need to —”

But Ilrin interrupted him. “My mother wanted me home once training was done, Dilmir,” she said. “She needs my help with some things.”

Dilmir could only look at her. The assassin had said he couldn’t kill Dilmir; it was very possible that he might go after Ilrin instead. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Ilrin smiled and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dilmir.”

With a final smile, she then departed, heading towards the front gate. Dilmir wanted to call after her, to warn her, but he couldn’t form the words. As if they had a mind of their own, his feet turned, and he watched the assassin.

The elf, arms still folded, followed Ilrin with his eyes until she was out of sight. Then, moving with a deadly sense of purpose, he began to walk after her. He didn’t look right or left, and didn’t spare Dilmir so much as a glance, but remained focused on the point where Ilrin had slipped into the city. As if propelled by an invisible force, Dilmir quickly followed him.

A deep cold seemed to envelope Dilmir as he walked, his eyes intent on the back of the assassin, his mind formulating every means possible of stopping him.

The elf entered the gates easily and strode into Eld’rin, as confident as if he did this every day. Dilmir followed close behind, his breathing short and fast. Ahead, he saw Ilrin turn into the lower district, walking at a comfortable pace, wholly unaware of the procession that followed her. A moment later, the assassin took the same left turn, and Dilmir hastened his steps, lest he lose sight of him.

He need not have feared, however. The assassin’s gait was so steady, that Dilmir wondered briefly if he knew he was being followed. If he did, he didn’t show it. His pace matched that of Ilrin exactly, every step he took was in time with hers, masking his footfalls.

It suddenly dawned on Dilmir just how easy it would be to cause the assassin to turn, to give Ilrin the time to lose him. As far as he knew, he as yet did not know where she lived. All Dilmir would need to do was stop him for a few seconds. Almost without thinking, the magic began to form in his mind. His arm was halfway raised when he lowered it again.

He couldn’t use magic against the assassin; that would be what he wanted. The assassin knew perfectly well that Dilmir followed him, and he was hoping that he would attack him. If he did, he would be banished, and forced to go into the Great Forest, as the assassin had said. If the elves really were as against him as he had suggested, which Dilmir did not find hard to believe, then they would take almost any excuse to be rid of him. The assassin was trying to get him to react. And yet, how could he not, if the assassin decided to do more than just follow Ilrin?

The elf continued his even pace, however, and Dilmir kept his distance. Ilrin soon reached her house, and ducked inside the door. To Dilmir’s horror, the assassin didn’t even break his stride, but headed straight for where she had disappeared. He passed the doorway at the last moment, however, and took a left.

Ilrin’s house was triangular in shape, as many of the lower district dwellings were. It was only one level high, formed by three immensely thick roots which enclosed it, all of which served as walkways for the elves. It was surrounded by countless other houses, all very much like it. Ilrin’s house, as it so happened, was also situated next to a line of small, one room cells. Elves who were awaiting their trial by the council stayed there until they were summoned.

Dilmir, quickening his pace, turned the corner, just in time to see the assassin take another left. His pace was still steady, but he seemed to be bent on something. Dilmir walked quickly down the root, bending low to glance in the windows of Ilrin’s house, making sure he was not observed. He turned the final corner and froze for the second time that day.

The assassin stood, bent forward slightly, staring through a window. All of the houses of the lower district were sunk below the roots that led to them. Their windows were level with the path outside, so that anyone walking by would have to stop, back up, and then hunch slightly to look in. From inside, however, they provided a clear view of anyone outside, as well as offering plenty of daylight from the sky above.

The windows were naturally dark, so that everything seen through them from outside the house was shadowy and blurred, but Dilmir felt that the assassin could see through them perfectly. The windows, after all, were merely enchantments, hovering in place, designed to keep cold out and heat in.

As he watched, Dilmir suddenly realized which window the assassin was watching. He had been in Ilrin’s home only the previous night, and had not forgotten the design of her home. As if to confirm his suspicion, he saw a shape flit past the window; Ilrin was in her room.

The assassin gazed through the enchantment intently, making no move, but watching all that happened within.

Dilmir, without knowing, slowly began to form a fist with his right hand, feeling magic course through his veins, yearning to be let out against the elf, but he held it in check. He couldn’t lose control.

Dark thoughts rushed through his mind, and he was surprised when a low muttering escaped him: “Get away from her window.” He silenced himself at once, but the assassin, though he could not have possibly heard him, whipped about and faced Dilmir in an instant. Before Dilmir could react, the assassin smiled knowingly at him, and stepped backward, melting into the wood.

Dilmir rearranged himself against the hard wood of the root. His back was sore from leaning against it, but he didn’t move from his position. A full moon glowed silently overhead, its light rendering the scene a peaceful one, lit with a soft glow. It washed Ilrin’s home in white, striking the window, which let it in to reveal that all was dark inside.

Dilmir shivered momentarily against the cold, and then settled himself again against the rough bark. Only now did he appreciate how uncomfortable it must have been for the assassin to watch him and Ilrin train.

It had been two hours since the assassin had left, but Dilmir didn’t, wouldn’t, trust him to leave Ilrin alone. Fortunately, no one had seen him here, for it would not look well if he was spotted watching someone else’s home. However, he wouldn’t have left if anyone had seen him anyway.

A cricket chirped drowsily nearby; the night seemed strangely silent to Dilmir. His aunt would begin to worry about him, especially if he stayed here much longer. He had been home late before, but never by this much without telling her where he was going.

A bank of clouds scurried suddenly across the moon, hiding its brilliance and plunging Dilmir into semi-darkness. Dilmir sighed, but rose and made his way around to the front of Ilrin’s home. Still shrouded in the absence of the moon’s rays, he placed his palm softly on the wall, grown smoothly from the root on which he stood. “Ensir aniliim ethen ner aser aniliim eld’sudern as’nelikath,” he breathed, infusing the words with his magic. A brilliant blue glow suddenly lit up the wall from beneath Dilmir’s palm, and he glanced behind him to make sure no one had seen, but the next moment it was gone, and Dilmir could feel his enchantment within the wood of the house, pulsing through it. It would dissipate when morning came.

As the moon returned, its light undiminished, Dilmir turned, and began on his way back through the roots. He soon found his way, and quickened his pace until he was nearly running, not wanting to keep his aunt waiting any longer.

He dashed through the roots, almost lost his way twice, but soon found himself in front of his house. It was then that his heart nearly stopped.

The assassin stood, just inside the doorway, examining it as if checking for cracks in the wood. He turned as Dilmir skidded to a halt. His face broke into a wide grin, and stepping sideways, he melted into the wood, leaving the door dark. Dilmir didn’t wait another second, but rushed into his home.

Clouds covered the moon as Dilmir walked. His feet made little noise on the well-worn path between the roots of the lower district, and already the first of the mists were creeping upon him. Eld’rin was silent, and Dilmir found the calmness to his liking after the day’s events.

After stopping at his aunt’s house to tell her where he would be, Dilmir and Ilrin had gone into the lower district, where Ilrin had introduced him to her parents. Both her father and mother were kind elves, and it was nearly midnight before Dilmir, stuffed full of excellent food and nearly forgetting Ilrin’s duel, had bade them farewell and set off for home. He didn’t know the roots the way Ilrin did, but he was able to find his way well enough. There were several wide paths carved amongst all the roots, and it was on one of these that Dilmir now walked.

Crickets chirped nearby; the sound was quiet and pleasing to Dilmir. Somewhere far above, an owl hooted. He glanced up at the full moon as he walked, glimpsed briefly through the leafy roof of Eld’rin, but no sinister black shape appeared against it; Cyprien wouldn’t try another attack for several nights.

Out of habit, Dilmir turned towards the black shape of one of the four massive trees of Eld’rin. The city was practically empty at this hour, but he did not alter his course: Aimim would have long since gone to bed, and he was in no hurry to get home.

Fields of grain waved at him lazily in the light breeze as he walked. Many of the elves that lived in the lower district were farmers; Most of the fruit, vegetables, and bread that the elves ate were grown inside Eld’rin’s walls.

Dilmir turned into the giant tree, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall that was grown into it. To his left was a stairway, leading to the second level, but Dilmir continued walking. He was almost half way through the tree when he stopped, his eyes drawn to the stairs.

A faint light, more of a glow, had caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked up the stairway, from which it seemed to come. The stairs curved, their origin hidden by a wall, but the strange green light was definitely coming from their top. Intrigued, Dilmir climbed them.

They curved upwards for a short distance before widening into a landing, which flowed into the trunk of the tree like the stairs themselves. Hanging mysteriously in the air over the landing floated a strangely glowing orb. As Dilmir approached, he could see that it was neither solid nor gas, leaving only one thing left for it to be – magic.

Dilmir had heard of unbound magic before – strange globes of light that just floated around until they found something, or someone, to latch onto. There was nothing to fear from them, but Dilmir had never heard of any so close to Eld’rin, where so many magic-sensitive elves lived. Besides, the magic should have entered the tree itself at this distance.

He approached it cautiously, but even as he did, it flickered, and then went out, plunging him into darkness. He stood there for what was at least a minute, listening. No sound met his ears, so he turned to leave; strange magic that couldn’t be explained was best left alone.

A faint hiss reached his ears, a rasping as of metal on metal. Dilmir didn’t even think – there was only one object that could make that sound: A blade. Summoning the magic within him, he flung it outwards in a powerful wave of force. The tree absorbed the magic easily, but behind him, Dilmir heard a crash as something was flung to the floor.

He turned, but everything was still black. Thinking back on what Elmir had taught him, Dilmir uttered two words: “Veneth lith!”

Soft green light, not unlike the light that had drawn him up the stairs, suddenly poured from a point just in front of him. Momentarily dazzled, it took Dilmir a moment to see the figure struggling up against the far wall. Without pausing to consider, he flung his magic outwards and slammed him back down. He then approached, cautiously.

The figure appeared to be dressed in black, and Dilmir’s first thought was of the Dark Elves. The elf, however, as it turned out was only draped in a black cloak. The rest of his garments were a dark shade of green. Resting a few feet from his hand was a long, evil-looking dagger. His face was hidden in shadow beneath his dark hood.

“Who are you?” asked Dilmir, a little uncertainly.

The figure did not reply, though it shifted its invisible gaze to Dilmir. Then a rough male voice spoke from beneath the hood, sounding intrigued and, inexplicably, calm.

“They said you were powerful,” it mused. “They said you posed a threat and had to be removed. I see now they were right.”

“What do you want?” asked Dilmir, trying to figure out what the elf had meant.

“What do I want?” laughed the elf, “I want nothing, save what has been promised me. Those that sent me, it is what they want that you do not know.”

“Who are they?” pressed Dilmir.

“Who are they?” mimicked the elf. “Look around, you will see them everywhere. Surely you know who they are Dilmir, even if you don’t know they want you dead.”

A short pause followed this statement as Dilmir digested the elf’s words. Who would possibly want him dead? Obviously Alfimir did, though he didn’t know why, but he was somewhere in the Great Forest at the moment.

“I see now that I cannot kill you, however,” continued the elf, “so I offer you an alternative.”

“An alternative to what?” asked Dilmir, seizing on the word.

The elf ignored him. “Walk into the Great Forest, and wait until sunset. They will find you.”

“And why would I do that?” asked Dilmir, thoroughly bewildered, and a little frightened by now.

The elf smiled beneath his hood, teeth gleaming in the green light. “The one that sent me knows who you truly are, Dilmir, and you know that the others will easily believe the same. Go into the forest, or the elves will soon know what you have kept from them all these years.”

Dilmir felt himself blanch, but gripped the elf by the throat. “I can crush you in an instant,” he said, thoroughly believing it. “Tell me what is going on if you value your life.”

The elf merely smiled again. “You won’t kill me, Dilmir,” he said. “The other elves believe you would, but it is for that reason that you won’t.”

The last word escaped him like a whisper and echoed in Dilmir’s head. At the same time, the elf melted into the wood which Dilmir held him against, leaving him with nothing but his own thoughts.

Dilmir sat, his mind reeling. That was two attempts made on his life now; if only he knew why. There’s only one person who both wants me dead and is powerful enough to have others to do it for him, and that’s Alfimir. That must be why the elf wanted me to go into the forest: Alfimir’s waiting for me there.

Dilmir mulled this unpleasant thought over for awhile, but the more he thought on it, the more sense it made. It all came down to why Alfimir had attacked him. If he knew that, perhaps he could figure things out.

Shaking his head to clear it, Dilmir doused his light and went down the stairs. He resumed his journey through the quiet city, keeping an eye open and watching the shadows, but no one else surprised him that night.