Asin, enneres ves elnen im il. Seneth mathal elnen arth kier imil. – “Air, fill with my magic. Absorb all magic which strikes.” This is a spell only a Dark Elf or Uncursed elf could cast, as it requires magic to stretch beyond the point where a Cursed elf can control it. It works similarly to the Asdelarcen shield, except that it offers complete immunity to spells regardless of range. However, unlike the Asdelarcen shield, it is easily unraveled by an Uncursed elf with more magic.

Asin, esvress mathal hesrenim enedil im. – “Air, repel all attacks against me” Dilmir’s first attempt at a shield to block physical attacks. Such magical constructs are notoriously unreliable.

Asin, keliess as fel esev im – “Air, keep the forest from me”

Athen – “Heal”

Dreth. Kier imit. – “Shatter. Strike them.”

Fel, hart imis! – “Forest, stop him!” Some spells, such as this, are obviously up to interpretation by the magic being used. In this case, Dilmir’s focus is what allowed the magic to carry out his will, since the instruction were vague.

Fener, edel’fener mathal! – “Fire, burn everything.” The wording of this spell caused Dilmir’s magic to burn everything it could reach. The spell was therefore only limited by how far his magic could reach. Had Eltuthar cast this same spell, a good portion of the Great Forest might have gone up in flames.

Keliess as asin arewn silin im il. Edel nolun sudern ethen imis. – “Maintain the air around my skin. Let nothing enter it.”

Kelther imir en shenith Alfimiril – “Show me the place of Alfimir.”

Kelther imir en shenith Eld’rinil – “Show me the place of Eld’rin.”

Kelther imir en shenith Inilidinil – “Show me the place of Inilidin.” The standard spell for locating people.

Ler imi elsen. Tirs imi im Eld’rin. Fesil imi ene. – “Make us energy. Take us to Eld’rin. Reform us there.”

Silin, esvress fener. Keliess fineth il imi il aseldienim. – “Skin, repel flame. Maintain the heat of our bodies.”

Venel’terenim, hart imit! – “Roots, stop them!”

Venel’terenim. Dreth. Veler im. – “Roots. Shatter. Hide me.”

---

(Semi)Complete List of Persons, Places, and Things

Aimim – Dilmir’s aunt. Aimim’s husband joined Eltuthar and was slain when the Council attacked him.

Aldir – A spy employed by the Council.

Alfimir – Eld’rin’s only archmage. Alfimir at first followed Eltuthar’s teachings, but soon defected to the side of the council.

Aranthar – A powerful elf that created the giants during the Second Age and led them against Eld’rin.

Cyprien Essenwein – Vampire and general of the undead forces on Feylund.

Delthimir the Cursed – The son of Eltuthar.

Eld’rin – The Elvish capital.

Eledim – The elf that trains Ilrin in the ways of Lifeformers.

Elmir – The elf that trains Dilmir in magic.

Endir – A young elf that dueled with Ilrin when Dilmir was with Eltuthar. A friend of Inilidin, he has become interested in Dilmir’s magic.

Felmir – Dilmir’s father.

Felnir – One of Eltuthar’s followers, a Dark Elf.

Great Forest – A vast forest defended by wolves.

Ilrin – A friend of Dilmir.

Tarrenith – A special type of bracer designed for deflecting sword-strikes.

Velyor Enedil Asvarien – Literally, shield against distance. This is the shield used by the Asdelarcen.

Dilmir was a normal elf of Feylund. He lived in Eld’rin, the elvish capital, where he practiced magic and swordplay like any other elf. His parents lived in a far village, and sent him to Eld’rin to receive his training. He lived with his aunt. There was nothing strange or different about him.

Or so he would have the other elves believe.

The truth was that Dilmir was the wielder of far more magic than any other elf. On his way to Eld’rin, the caravan he was with was ambushed by wolves – the protectors of the forest. Without thinking, Dilmir unleashed his magic at them. The battle was quickly won, but his secret was out.

The news of Dilmir’s unnatural power troubled the Council – the ruling body in Eld’rin. While Dilmir had broken no laws, they feared that the mere presence of his power would cause him to follow in Eltuthar’s footsteps.

Eltuthar had been at Eld’rin long ago, not unlike Dilmir himself. He, too, had possessed strange magic, and had begun experimenting. One thing had led to another, and when the Council demanded he cease his practices, he had refused, and civil war had erupted between those loyal to him and his magic, and those loyal to the Council. The battle ended when Sonlen, archmage of Eld’rin, placed a powerful curse on Eltuthar, draining his magic. Most believe Eltuthar died that day, but Sonlen, for reasons unknown, let him escape into the forest.

Rumors of his magic had reached Eld’rin by the time Dilmir arrived at the city. The memory of Eltuthar still fresh in their minds, nearly all the elves shunned him. Some saw him as possessing dark magic, others as just being different. Dilmir swore to never use his magic again, but he couldn’t take back what was done.

Only one elf befriended him: another student at the city by the name of Ilrin. A natural adept at the blade, Ilrin took pity on Dilmir, and resolved to not let him grow up in Eld’rin friendless. The two became inseparable.

Meanwhile, Eld’rin had a new archmage since Sonlen had died: Alfimir. Alfimir had once been a student of Eltuthar, but had renounced his teachings as dark magic, and sworn to purge them from Feylund. To this end, he hunted down Eltuthar’s line, killing his descendants without mercy. However, Alfimir had been careless, and one family had escaped his crusade.

That family was Dilmir’s.

Unknown to Alfimir, Dilmir was the direct descendent of Eltuthar. This was a secret Dilmir told no one, not even Ilrin, for if the Council ever found it, they would consider it evidence of his dark intentions, and take action immediately.

Unfortunately, Alfimir realized he had missed someone, and soon traced the final descendent to Dilmir. He arrived at Eld’rin at dusk, confronted Dilmir, and tried to slay him.

He never succeeded. By some unknown magic, Dilmir found himself transported behind Alfimir, out of harm’s way. Both Dilmir and Alfimir were shocked at what had happened, and by the time they recollected themselves, other elves had arrived.

Alfimir was employed by the Council, but his methods had to remain subtle. No one could know that the Council was willing to quietly assassinate elves they deemed a threat. For this reason, Alfimir was led away, arrested for trying to kill an elf, one of the worst of offenses. The Council’s hands were tied, and Alfimir was banished from Eld’rin.

Having failed to kill Dilmir once, the Council turned to less-savory means. They hired an assassin (something no self-respecting elf would dream of) to kill Dilmir. The assassin failed however, when Dilmir used his magic against him. Now Dilmir knew the Council was trying to get rid of him.

He continued with his daily schedule in a mockery of what was normal, but now he saw the assassin everywhere, watching him train, following him home, even shadowing Ilrin. He knew what the Council was trying to do: they were trying to get him to use his magic in public, so that they could banish him as they had Alfimir. He resolved not to play their game.

His resolve didn’t last long. Once they realized their tactics weren’t working, the Council commissioned a young elf, Aldir by name, to get close to Ilrin. Through trickery, Aldir managed to make his affection for Ilrin seem genuine, and tricked Dilmir into thinking that she shared it. Dilmir reacted again without thinking, causing a tree branch above Aldir to snap, and fall. Aldir was ready, and was unharmed, but the Council had what they needed. Dilmir was banished the next day.

Now realizing the lengths the Council had gone to, and consumed with anger at them, Dilmir sought out Alfimir, and dueled him. Alfimir was a trained archmage, however, and easily defeated Dilmir. As he prepared to slay him, again a mysterious force intervened.

This time the owner of the force showed himself. Alfimir instantly recognized the elf, and called him by name before being incapacitated: Eltuthar. Having saved his descendent again, Eltuthar brought Dilmir to his sanctuary, Arath Imil. It was here he had retreated to after Sonlen had cursed him. Here, he could study magic, and train those still loyal to him.

Dilmir soon learned the true nature of his magic, how he possessed no form of evil magic, but simply more of the same magic all elves possessed. Eltuthar also showed him why he possessed as much magic as he did: somewhere in the far distant past, all elves had become Cursed. This Curse allowed them only a small amount of magic. Somehow, Eltuthar and his descendants did not have this Curse.

Meanwhile, Alfimir, wounded but not dead, had managed to warn the Council what had happened. They now knew that they must travel to Eltuthar’s sanctuary, and once and for all end the threat his magic posed, by killing him and all of his followers.

Ilrin, when she saw the council’s army preparing, guessed at their purpose, and guessed also that Dilmir might be their target. She rode into the forest in the dead of night, and fled to Eltuthar’s sanctuary, determined to warn Dilmir.

While she arrived in time, the army was right on her heels, and attacked that night. Eltuthar’s sanctuary was burned, and nearly all of his followers were slain. Alfimir came with the army to finish the bloody work he had started, but met Dilmir there, and the two dueled again. This time Dilmir held his own, thanks to Eltuthar’s teachings, but Alfimir used some form of magic Dilmir had never seen, and won once again. Unable to win, Dilmir used his power to transport himself and Eltuthar back to Eld’rin. Ilrin, as a citizen of the city, could not be harmed by the council’s army. She was allowed to return to Eld’rin.

Eltuthar determined to continue searching for the Curse which plagued the elves. If he could but lift it, they would eventually understand their true nature, and stop hunting him and Dilmir. But he couldn’t ask Dilmir to accompany him. Dilmir needed to complete his training at Eld’rin. When he was older, he could join him, but not just yet. Therefore, he formed a plan.

With Dilmir hiding in the shadows, Eltuthar revealed himself in the midst of Eld’rin. He pretended to cast a large spell, drawing all attention to himself. In reality, Dilmir was casting the spell, but the only one to realize what was going on was Ilrin, who saw Dilmir, and wisely said nothing.

Alfimir appeared in Eld’rin, determined to end Eltuthar. He cast spell after spell, but unable to see Dilmir, couldn’t understand why nothing worked. Finally, Dilmir revealed himself, pretending to have just arrived. He pretended to be against Eltuthar, and dueled him as if fighting to protect Eld’rin.

Alfimir guessed what was going on, but was unable to stop it. Eltuthar was ‘forced’ to flee the city, and to the Council, Dilmir appeared to have saved the day. Their laws were binding, and they had no choice but to lift the banishment on Dilmir as a result. Using the same logic, they lifted Alfimir’s banishment as well.

Afterwards, Dilmir, with some help from Ilrin, decided that he had been wrong about his magic. He should never have shunned it, or let the elves tell him it was dark or evil. He had seen and felt what it could truly do, and believed, like Eltuthar, that the elves deserved to feel it as well. With Ilrin on his side, he decided to show the elves the magic, hoping that in time, they would come to see it as he did.

And thus we come to the events of this tale…

The land of Feylund, where the stories of Dilmir take place.

Feylund has existed for many years, and the legends and myths surrounding it are countless. Empires and kingdoms have come and gone, great wars have been fought, and heroes have risen and fallen throughout the ages.

Feylund is home to humans, elves, and dwarves. Humans, one of the oldest and proudest races on Feylund, maintain their traditional mountain kingdoms in the North. They are known as strong fighters and stubborn warriors, refusing to be defeated.

Dwarves are similar to the humans, but are somewhat shorter, and value knowledge over tradition. They regularly comb throughout all of Feylund, making maps and preserving any record of the past they can find. They are notorious for having long memories, and only leave their caves in the Southern Plateau to gather more knowledge.

Elves were once men, but were driven from the mountains when magic found them, and began warping them into a new species. In those early years of magic, power ran rampant amongst the elves, and they quickly expanded their borders to include the whole of the Great Forest, and much of Morindan.

With the casting of the Curse, the Elven Empire fell. Wolves – inhabitants of the Great Forest – fought them back beyond the Ans Aras, and vampires – dark invaders from another land – took Morindan from them in several bloody battles. The elves rallied, campaigning against their enemies, and were able to hold onto their other cities, although these are now stretched thin, and under constant attack.

Much of the history and geography of Feylund remains unknown to all, except for the dwarves. The men stay in their mountains, caring nothing for anything beyond their borders. The elves are locked in a constant struggle with the wolves and vampires, and know of nothing beyond the Great Forest. And the dwarves, who hold these secrets, see little reason to share them, and carve them instead on their caves.

But one day, things will change…

Ilrin was soon healed to perfection, as was Dilmir. At least, most of him was. His right hand, the hand he had struck Iskra with, seemed unlikely to ever work correctly again, despite Iyadin’s best efforts. Something had happened to the nerves there, and Dilmir could no longer control the fingers with precision. He’d have to learn to write and use a sword with his left hand. It was a small price to pay for having Ilrin back.

Endir and Felnir also escaped with minor injuries only, all of which were soon healed. Endir had successfully raised a wall of roots in front of the Lower Quarter, keeping the undead from the Elven homes, and those who hid within. Felnir had slain many Asdelarcen, the secrets of Eltuthar helping him to ward off their attacks. Together with Aldir, he had chased them from Eld’rin.

The zombies were dead, the Asdelarcen gone. Eld’rin was damaged, but it could be regrown. But the greatest loss was the elves who had been slain. The zombies had killed many, most of them young elves, since they were the ones in the middle of Eld’rin when the attack began. Their loss left the survivors angered, many elves calling for an attack on the vampires. Dilmir knew that would accomplish nothing. Soon enough, everyone would know who the real enemy was.

Many Council members had been slain in the attack, but Delarthen and most of those who ruled with him had survived. Despite what they had seen, they continued to insist that Dilmir’s magic was dangerous and foreign. The said his unnatural power had brought the Asdelarcen – something Dilmir couldn’t exactly deny – and warned that more dark forces would attack if he was not banished.

But their warnings fell on deaf ears. The whole of Eld’rin had seen Dilmir fight against the undead and the Asdelarcen. They had seen him stand between them and an army of zombies, and had seen him face and slay Cyprien, the greatest enemy they had known for two centuries.

A few remained stubbornly loyal to the Council, but most other elves seemed to consider him a hero. It was a reaction Dilmir hadn’t been ready for. Those who had shunned him now sought him out. Those who had ignored him listened when he spoke. His magic was no longer feared, but rather treated with awe and respect. It was of course a welcome change, but Dilmir found that he disliked the attention. He had grown used to having only a few friends, and felt most at ease when he was alone with Ilrin or Endir.

Of course, not all of his friends were there. The Asdelarcen might have been beaten, but Inilidin was nowhere to be found. The forest was scoured, and Dilmir teleported as far west as the ruins of Arath Imil, but no spell he used could find her. He suspected that wherever she was, the Asdelarcen had shielded her, so that she couldn’t be tracked.

He knew she was still alive, for every time he tried to locate her with a twig or a blade of grass, a soft blue glow would light up his palm. That meant she was still out there, somewhere, a captive of the Asdelarcen. They didn’t need her anymore; Dilmir knew that, so he worried what they might do with her.

One of the first things he did once he could walk without stumbling was seek out Inilidin’s parents, and swear to them that he would get her back. She had been taken because of him, and he promised them he would do everything he could to return her safely to them.

“I’m the reason she was taken,” he had said, “but I promise you I’ll get her back.”

“The Asdelarcen took her,” her father had said. “Not you. They are to blame. You left Ilrin and your aunt to search for her, even though you knew they were in danger. You tried to find her. We won’t forget that.”

Dilmir was glad they didn’t blame him, but their words still made him feel sick inside. Yes, it had been the Asdelarcen who had taken her, but it was his fault. The Asdelarcen would never have touched her if they hadn’t been trying to lure him out of Eld’rin.

But searching for Inilidin was something Dilmir unfortunately couldn’t do right away. The threat of Aranthar was imminent, and Dilmir knew they would need to come up with a plan to defeat him. If they even could.

“Don’t worry,” Felnir said when Dilmir expressed his doubts to him. “Eltuthar has a plan. The Council has been forced to give me a full pardon as a Dark Elf. I guess I killed too many Asdelarcen for them to ignore. I’ll ride out and find Eltuthar and tell him what’s happened here, and we’ll figure something out. We’ll beat him, Dilmir.”

“Can we?” Dilmir had asked. “He has so much magic…”

“So do you,” Felnir had said, putting his hand on Dilmir’s shoulder. “Magic is the answer, Dilmir. One way or another.”

His words didn’t sit well with Dilmir. Magic might be the answer, but it was definitely the problem. It had certainly brought the Asdelarcen, and look what damage that had caused.

The Council seemed to share Dilmir’s thoughts, but one who Dilmir wasn’t sure about was Alfimir. The archmage had been in the Royal Quarter when the undead attacked, and, like the Council, had been kept from attacking due to all the elves in the way. What spells he had gotten through had been ineffective against the undead.

Dilmir saw him, a few days after the attack, leaning against a root, watching him. Just watching. His face conveyed nothing; not the fear of the Council nor the admiration of the elves. Did he agree with the Council? Or had he, like so many others, changed his mind about Dilmir? It was impossible to tell.

All Dilmir knew was that, again as Eltuthar had predicted, he had removed the shields he had placed around the Council. Immunity to spells could make the Council far more powerful than they ought to be, and it seemed that Alfimir wanted that no more than Eltuthar did.

Dilmir paused when he saw Alfimir, and watched him in return, wondering. They had been something close to allies. Alfimir had certainly helped him and Eltuthar. But that had been a temporary alliance – they both knew that. There was no denying what Alfimir had done in the past. They were certainly enemies, and one day, they would have to meet and reconcile their differences. But not just yet. Aranthar was the enemy at the moment.

Alfimir might be a mystery to Dilmir, but Aldir wasn’t. At least, not as much. Ilrin told Dilmir how he had fought the Asdelarcen when the rest of the Council had surrendered, and for a while Dilmir wondered at it. Then one day, while he and Ilrin were still recovering in Aimim’s home, they saw him, outside, leaning against a root. He was watching the house, but he was making no effort to hide himself. This struck Dilmir as odd. He was a trained spy; why would he be out in broad daylight where everyone could see him?

Dilmir knew Ilrin would never speak to Aldir, so he left the house alone, walking towards him. He turned as Dilmir approached, but Dilmir called out, and he paused.

“Ilrin says you fought the Asdelarcen,” Dilmir said, as Aldir hesitated uncertainly, “when they came for her. Even though the rest of the Council surrendered.”

Aldir nodded shortly.

“Why?” Dilmir asked.

Aldir finally decided to stay put. He leaned back against the root and observed Dilmir, as if weighing whether or not he should answer. “Their choice wasn’t mine,” he finally said.

Dilmir raised an eyebrow.

“They chose to stand aside,” Aldir said, looking Dilmir in the eye. “They never surrendered. The Asdelarcen said they wanted Ilrin and you, and they decided to stand aside. I – I couldn’t be a part of that decision.”

Dilmir couldn’t feel angry at the Council, not really. Given how the Council had always acted towards him, he had always found their story of surrendering a little unplausible. If he was honest, he had already known something like this had happened. “So you attacked the Asdelarcen?” he said. “By yourself? I mean” —he realized how the question had sounded— “I mean, you were outnumbered.”

Aldir nodded. “Logic wasn’t exactly a contributing factor at that time,” he said. “I was shocked at what the Council was doing. I joined the Council, thinking they existed to protect the elves. I want to protect the elves. But when they stepped aside, I realized that the Council I thought I had joined – they never existed.”

They were silent for a moment. “So now what?” Dilmir said. “You defied the Council… what happens now?”

“I’m done with them,” Aldir said. “They say I’m not, but they don’t control me anymore. I want to serve the elves. The Council only wants to serve itself. Everything I’ve done for them… it’s been just that: for them. Not for the elves.”

He took a breath. “That includes what I did to get you banished, Dilmir. I’ve been haunted by that ever since. I believed what the Council said about you being dangerous, but I saw you fighting those undead. I know they were wrong. And I know it was wrong to get you banished.” He held out his hand. “Can you forgive me for that?”

Dilmir waved the hand aside. “I never blamed you,” he said. “I blamed the Council. You were just doing your job.”

“Ilrin blames me,” Aldir said, glancing at the window of Aimim’s house. Dilmir turned, and saw Ilrin there, watching the two of them. She turned away when she saw them looking.

“Yes,” he said fairly. “She does.”

“I’ve tried to apologize to her,” Aldir said, “many times. But she won’t hear me.”

“Give her time,” Dilmir said.

“Do you think she’ll forgive me? Eventually?”

Dilmir had to think. To be honest, he wasn’t sure. Ilrin was loyal to a fault, and never forgot betrayal. “She’ll never forget,” he said slowly. “But… in time she might at least see your side of things. I’ll talk to her, Aldir, and tell her what you’ve told me. But give it time.”

Aldir nodded. “Time,” he echoed.

But time was the one thing they were short on. Aranthar would soon approach, and Dilmir didn’t know how they were going to defeat him. Felnir’s words kept echoing in his head: ‘Magic is the answer,’ but he began to doubt them more and more. As he saw the destruction wrought on Eld’rin by Cyprien and the undead, he wondered if more magic really was the answer.

He mentioned this to Ilrin. “My magic did this,” he said. “It brought the Asdelarcen, it caused this damage, and Inilidin is gone.” He looked down. “Maybe the Council is right,” he said.

“You’re right,” Ilrin said.

Dilmir looked at her, surprised at her answer.

“You are,” she said. “Your magic did this. It might even be why Cyprien chose me to be Iskra, I don’t know.”

Dilmir felt sick at the thought.

“But that’s not what matters.”

Dilmir looked at her. “Ilrin,” he said. “I think—”

“No,” she interrupted. “It’s not. Without your magic, I wouldn’t be here right now.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “Without your magic, we’d all be dead. Without your magic, Cyprien would still exist, and Eld’rin would probably be rubble by now.”

Dilmir knew she was right, but didn’t want to admit it. He picked up a charred piece of gate and looked at it.

Gently, Ilrin pulled the piece of wood from his hand and threw it away. “If you want to blame someone, Dilmir,” she said softly, “blame Aranthar. He sent the Asdelarcen. He sent the undead. He even sent Cyprien. Not you, him. Not your magic, his.”

Dilmir finally looked at her.

“He’s responsible,” she said.

And Dilmir knew she was right. “Yes,” he said. He looked up at the ruins of the gate of Eld’rin, and felt his good hand clench into a fist. “He is.”

He would meet with Eltuthar, and together, they would find a way to stop Aranthar. They had beaten his army, they had beaten Cyprien. And when he finally attacked… they would be ready.

But that is another story.

The End

---

Dilmir’s story continues with book three, The Fall of Feylund.

Magic was the first thing Dilmir became aware of. It flowed gently in and out of him, not focusing on anything, but simply there, a constant force. He felt at ease feeling it, and allowed it to lull him back to sleep, the tide of his magic going in and out, in and out…

A short time after, a voice broke into Dilmir’s slumbering mind. It was speaking Elvish, and he couldn’t make out the words, but he felt magic flow into him. He welcomed it, the magic familiar, comforting.

Not soon after, Dilmir began to wake for real. He could hear the voice clearly now, and he sensed that he was lying on something, something soft, not hard like the ground. He opened his eyes with difficulty, seeing only light. He blinked, and focus returned.

He was lying in a bed – his bed, in Aimim’s home – and two elves were next to him, healing him. He recognized only one: Iyadin, the most well-known healer in all of Eld’rin.

He tried to get up, but immediately fell back, pain blossoming across his body. The places Iskra had struck him burned and seared, and the deep wound between his ribs stung with a more concerning pain.

“Lie still,” Iyadin said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let us heal you.”

“Ilrin,” Dilmir said, his voice hoarse. “Is she all right?”

“She hasn’t woken,” Iyadin said, “but she seems to be fine. Her injuries have been healed.”

Dilmir relaxed. “What about the battle?” he asked.

“Over,” Iyadin said. “We won. The undead turned to dust when Cyprien was slain, and the Asdelarcen fled. Those who weren’t cut down are being hunted as we speak.”

Dilmir closed his eyes. They had won. They had actually beaten Aranthar’s attack.

“How many?” he asked. “How many dead?”

Iyadin didn’t immediately answer. “Too many,” she finally said. “They’re still counting.”

Dilmir felt a wave of sickness at her words. Was Endir among that number? Or Felnir? Or anyone else he knew?

Iyadin finished healing him soon afterwards. “Stay there,” she warned. “Your body needs time to adjust. I will go check on Ilrin.”

But as she turned to leave, Ilrin herself appeared in the doorway, supported between her parents. When she saw that Dilmir was awake, she ran to him, stumbling a little, and half-sat half-fell onto his bed. She leaned forward and hugged him.

Dilmir wasn’t much of a hugger, but just then he didn’t care. He hugged her back. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Ilrin nodded, her head against his newly healed shoulder. “Just a little weak,” she said. “Iyadin’s healed everything else.”

“Cyprien didn’t hurt you?” Dilmir asked.

“No,” Ilrin said. They broke apart, Ilrin shifting into a more stable sitting position. “He took me to his castle,” she said, her voice becoming halting. “Sonya was there. I tried to escape, to fight, something, but everything was stone, and the vampires were shielded. The air was so cold…” She shivered involuntarily, as if chilled by the memory. “There was nothing I could do. Nothing to enchant. Sonya conjured Iskra somehow… I remember her floating towards me… I didn’t know what it was… she just looked like smoke. Then I felt her… inside of me… inside my head—” she shivered again. “Thank you,” she said, giving him another quick hug. “Thank you for getting her out.”

“Yes,” said a voice, “thank you.” Ilrin’s mother moved into view. She was smiling at Dilmir warmly, and bent down, hugging him as well. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for returning our daughter to us.”

Ilrin’s father came up on the other side of Dilmir’s bed. “We were wrong about you, Dilmir,” he said, his voice somewhat hoarse. Dilmir looked at him. “We let the Council convince us that you were dangerous. That your magic was dangerous.” He paused. “We should never have listened to them.” He put a hand on Dilmir’s shoulder. “You’ve returned our daughter to us. You’ve proven the Council wrong. I want” —he paused for a moment— “Thank you,” he finally said. “Thank you.”

Dilmir smiled. They had won. The army was beaten and Cyprien was dead. But just then, none of that mattered to him as much as the people about him.

They had won. 

Dilmir only just got his sword up in time as Iskra charged him, remembering too late that she was a vampire, and not Ilrin. The force of the blow from her daggers sent him backwards, and he landed again on the hard packed earth.

The elves seemed reluctant to come to his aid this time. Most of them were still dealing with the undead, who were once again streaming around Dilmir and Iskra. But a few, Dilmir saw, seemed to recognize Ilrin, and appeared unsure if they should attack her or not.

Ilrin advanced on Dilmir, and he struggled to his feet once more, dodging her next attack. She spun, catching him as he did so. Her blades slammed into his recently-restored shield, and it burst again, saving him from the blow but leaving him defenseless.

That move though… that was something Ilrin would have done. That was no vampire’s attack. Ilrin was in there, somewhere, her consciousness suppressed perhaps, but still alive. Iskra was using her memories, her strategies. And that meant Dilmir could beat her.

How many times had he fought Ilrin? He knew every move she would make, and how to respond to it. Her knew how to exploit her weaknesses and avoid her strengths. This was a fight he could win. The only difference was that Iskra was a vampire, and had strength Dilmir did not. But as long as he avoided her blades, he would be fine.

The undead continued to circle around them, so Dilmir ignored them, taking up a stance. Iskra paused, and Dilmir could see that she was evaluating his position, just as Ilrin would, looking for weaknesses.

She swung suddenly at his left side. Dilmir ducked under the blow, giving himself the perfect opportunity to strike at Iskra’s legs. But he hesitated. Ilrin was in there somewhere. He couldn’t hurt her.

Iskra swung again, and Dilmir dodged again, still reluctant to strike back. He couldn’t keep this up forever; eventually he’d have to either fight back or just let Iskra finish him. There wasn’t really much choice between the two.

Reluctantly, Dilmir evaded Iskra’s next blow, and delivered one of his own, striking her on the leg. Maybe he could just keep her down, where she wouldn’t be as much of a threat.

Iskra snarled at Dilmir’s blow, the bloodless wound seeming to infuriate her, but not much else. She swung again, faster this time, and Dilmir was barely able to get out of the way. Iskra’s other dagger flew in from the opposite direction, the two blades cutting of Dilmir’s escape. The only way out was to duck, which Dilmir did, avoiding both blades. But Iskra had anticipated the move. She angled her daggers down, and Dilmir felt them connect, slamming him into the ground.

One struck his collarbone, snapping it instantly. The other sank into his right shoulder, causing his fingers to go numb. His sword clattered from his grasp as his legs gave way.

Iskra shifted her grip on one of her daggers, preparing to plunge it into Dilmir’s heart, but then she froze, her dagger held aloft. She just stood there, grimacing as if in pain. Dilmir looked at her uncertainly.

“Get… back, elf!” she hissed.

And then Dilmir saw it: her eyes, which had burned red, were now brown, a curious and very familiar shade of brown. Ilrin was in there somewhere, and somehow, she was fighting against Iskra’s control.

Dilmir took the opportunity to grab his sword, which had fallen nearby. Unfortunately, the movement seemed to snap Iskra back into control, and she swung downwards. But she wasn’t entirely in control. Dilmir could see, even as the dagger descended, her eyes flickering between red and brown. The dagger wobbled as it plunged downwards, and Dilmir knew Ilrin was fighting for control of it, trying to divert it away from his heart.

She was only partially successful. The dagger plunged instead into Dilmir’s left shoulder, making his entire arm go numb. He felt it crack two ribs on its way. But, unable to fully control her trajectory, Iskra herself fell, landing right on top of Dilmir.

She fell on Dilmir’s right hand, knocking his sword away. Dilmir felt her armor at his fingers, but that wasn’t the only thing he felt. Whatever barrier Cyprien had against spells, Iskra seemed to have it too. She was a void to Dilmir’s magic, unable to be affected or touched by any spell.

Dilmir could tell that his hand had just passed through that barrier, because his hand felt intensely uncomfortable. The skin stretched, as if being pulled in every way at once, and it felt suddenly chilled, like all the heat had been sucked from it. But, touching her armor, Dilmir was able to feel something else: magic.

Magic was energy, and he could feel the energy within Iskra. But within that energy, twisted and knotted and tangled together, was Ilrin. How many times had he felt her magic, exploring the Curse within her? He knew her magic. And now he could sense it, fighting back against Iskra, slamming repeatedly into her control.

The contact lasted only a second. Iskra flipped up to her feet, leaving Dilmir lying there, battered and chilled. But he knew what to do. If he could touch Iskra, get through the barrier around her again, he might be able to do something. What, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he could help Ilrin somehow.

Just now though, he couldn’t move. The chilling touch of a vampire was well known amongst the elves. A single brush from them could sap an elf of all energy, rendering them incapable of movement. Apparently, being fallen on by a vampire had the same effect, because Dilmir felt cold all over, drained, almost paralyzed. He couldn’t even lift a finger.

Cyprien appeared, landing in the clearing created by the undead. “What are you doing?” he snarled at Iskra. “I told you to stay at the castle. This battle is too dangerous for you!”

Iskra looked at him, then pointedly at Dilmir, lying there helpless on the ground. Her message was clear: she was winning.

“Go!” Cyprien said. “If you want to kill elves, then go! Leave this one to me. He’s killed enough of my undead; I want to finish him myself.”

Iskra scowled, but turned and joined the tide of undead. The zombies had broken past the elves now, and were streaming into the Royal Quarter, cutting through any elf they met. Iskra was quickly swept away.

Cyprien approached Dilmir casually, knowing that he was chilled and couldn’t move. “So,” he said, idly flicking some blood from his blade, “you’re Dilmir. You’re the one Aranthar wanted gone. I see why. You’ve slain a good quarter of my undead.” He sighed. “You’ve caused me an inconvenience, Dilmir,” he said. “I’ll have to make you suffer for it before you die.” He knelt next to Dilmir, resting his sword against various limbs.

But while he had been talking, Dilmir had been working. For a Cursed elf, getting chilled was usually a death sentence. But for him, it was temporary. He could still feel the magic all around him, and he had been steadily pulling it into himself, flooding his body with energy. He still couldn’t move, not completely, but he was close.

Cyprien rested his sword, point down, against Dilmir’s stomach. “I hear a wound here leads to a slow death,” he said. “I wouldn’t know, never having died, but it seems like a good place to start.”

He raised his sword, preparing to plunge it into Dilmir. But at the same time, Dilmir flooded his right hand with energy, giving it enough feeling to grip his sword tightly, and drove it upwards, right between two plates in Cyprien’s armor, and into his heart.

Cyprien’s eyes widened as the blade connected. His sword fell from his grip, clattering harmlessly to the ground. He looked confusedly at the sword embedded in him, at Dilmir’s hand, still gripping the hilt.

“But,” he said. “You… You were chilled. You…”

“I recovered,” Dilmir said between gritted teeth. Now that feeling was returning to him, the pain of his various injuries was returning as well, all assaulting him at once.

“No,” said Cyprien. “No… you can’t…” He stood, pulling himself off of Dilmir’s sword. He staggered where he stood. “You can’t… I can’t… NO!”

Then he exploded. His body burst into a shower of ash and dark smoke, taking everything with it, armor, swords, even cloak. Cyprien Essenwein, lord of the night, was dead.

“NO!” Iskra dropped into the clearing from the sky above, too late. Ash and smoke washed over her, and she fell to her knees, staring at the place Cyprien had been. “NO!” She screamed. She kept screaming for a few moments, and Dilmir continued to pull energy into himself, hoping she wouldn’t notice him.

She did. “YOU!” she shrieked, finally looking at Dilmir and leaping to her feet. “I’ll kill you!”

But Dilmir could see her eyes flickering, brown battling red, and knew what he had to do. Iskra leapt at him, daggers curving down, and Dilmir dodged to the side, pulling his still mostly-lifeless body to the right. He wasn’t quite fast enough. One dagger bit deep into him, going between two ribs. But he kicked as Iskra sank her dagger into him, knocking her leg out, and causing her to fall forwards, this time next to him. Knowing it was going to hurt, he placed his right hand on her arm.

Again, he felt the barrier about her. The skin on his hand pulled and stretched, and he felt cold all over. But he could feel her energy, and he could feel Ilrin’s energy, the two of them locked together. Summoning the magic around him, Dilmir poured it all into Iskra, joining in the fight.

Iskra suddenly went stiff. Her eyes flickered horribly between red and brown, and Dilmir saw that she no longer had complete control of her body. Some parts she controlled, some parts Ilrin controlled. The result was that she was mostly immobile, only able to twitch back and forth. Dilmir flooded more magic into her, feeding Ilrin’s fight.

It wasn’t easy. Through his magic, Dilmir could feel the vampiric spirit within Iskra, battling Ilrin for control. They clashed again and again, Dilmir helping where he could, keeping Iskra contained.

Slowly, they began to gain ground. Over and over, they clashed with Iskra, driving her steadily from Ilrin’s body. A thin smoke began to form around Iskra, cringing in the early sunlight. And still they fought, Dilmir continuing to pull more and more magic to his aid. He was aware of his injuries, all pulling at his focus, but he stayed concentrated, forcing his magic against Iskra’s essence over and over, forcing her out.

Finally, Iskra’s body collapsed, and the black smoke about her thickened into a ball. She was out, purged from Ilrin like a poison. She shot away, up out of Eld’rin, and Dilmir didn’t have the strength to try and stop her.

Ilrin was unconscious. Dilmir’s injuries finally overwhelmed him, and he too slipped from the waking world, his broken and battered body finally succumbing to darkness.

Aldir skidded to a halt, shocked by the scene before him. Undead clashed with elves. Spells were everywhere.

He had been healed and taken to the Council’s chambers, within the Royal Quarter. There, Delarthen and the others had questioned him, trying to get to the bottom of why he had defied them. He had told them the truth, saying he was tired of the Council’s methods, and didn’t agree with them. Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to agree or disagree. He was meant only to follow orders. They had kept him up all night, questioning him, battering aside his logic, until even he wasn’t sure why he had attacked the Asdelarcen last night.

They had showed no sign of letting up, but the terrible sound of the main gate being demolished had brought a swift end to the questions. They had all run, Aldir included, to the middle of Eld’rin, to see what had happened. And there they now stood, viewing a scene of complete destruction.

It wasn’t just the undead, though they seemed to be plenty sufficient. Aldir looked to where the main gate had been, and saw a large group of Asdelarcen there, raining spells down on the elves. The Asdelarcen. They had been part of this all along. They were never going to leave Eld’rin, like they promised the Council last night. They just wanted to get Dilmir out of the way so that the undead could attack unimpeded. It all made sense now.

“You let this happen,” he said, turning angrily to the Council member standing beside him. It was Delarthen. “You let the Asdelarcen take Ilrin, and lure Dilmir away. Now look what they’ve brought us as a result.”

Delarthen did not reply. He seemed incapable of speech, staring in horror at the undead instead.

Aldir turned away in disgust. He couldn’t exactly join in the fight. He still had his sword, but there was a large group of tightly packed elves between him and the enemy. Maybe he could edge around it eventually, but judging from what he was seeing, attacking the undead was pointless anyway. Every spell disintegrated before striking them, every blade was turned aside or shattered.

As he watched though, he saw an undead burst into ash. Another disintegrated soon after. He looked, and saw Dilmir, darting between the undead, somehow getting through their shields. He seemed to have a shield of his own, for every blow the zombies rained down on him was turned aside.

Dilmir. Defending the elves. Despite everything the Council had done, despite everything the elves themselves had believed, here he was, fighting for them. In that moment, Aldir finally made up his mind: Dilmir was powerful as the Council had said, yes, but he was not a threat. Not to them. He was not dangerous.

“Look,” he said, turning to Delarthen. He pointed to Dilmir. “Look!”

Delarthen followed his finger mutely, seeing Dilmir, but seeming unable to register anything other than shock.

Aldir didn’t care. “All this time you’ve done your best to banish Dilmir,” he said, “to stop him, to kill him even. And now look: he fights for you, for Eld’rin, for all elves.” He dropped his hand, disgust building within him. “You sought to be rid of Dilmir, and you made deals with the Asdelarcen. You’ve become blinded by your fear of power; blinded until you can no longer tell friend from foe!”

“What’s done is done,” a nearby Council mage said. “I admit we made a mistake in trusting the Asdelarcen, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Aldir stepped away, looking at them all with disgust and hate. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. And then he drew his sword, turned, and plunged into the struggling mass of elves, working his way through them. Too long had he stood with the Council, too long had he been blinded by their desires and fears. But no longer. Today, he would do what he should have done years ago, and fight against the true enemies of the elves.

---

Dilmir’s shield was holding. Every time he slew an undead, he took the magic from its shield and added it to his own. As a result, he was immune to both their blows, and the spells being cast by the Asdelarcen.

The same couldn’t be said for the other elves. They fought heroically, but nothing they did mattered against the undead. The zombies plowed into them, flailing their arms every which way, felling elves with every blow.

Dilmir had killed at least seven undead so far, but he had to do something to protect the elves. They were getting slaughtered. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. He had already cast shields on some elves, but they didn’t last long. The blows from the undead were too powerful. Dilmir kept pouring magic into his shield from the undead he slew, but the other elves couldn’t do that, meaning that the shields he supplied them only lasted for a few hits.

The only thing he could do was kill the zombies faster. So he did, trying to stay between them and the elves, using his shield to block their blows, and disintegrating them once they got close enough. It was effective, but he was only one elf. Where he stood, the elves were safe, but around him, the undead pressed forward, leaving corpses in their wake.

At some point during the battle, he looked up, and saw the Asdelarcen where the main gate had been, firing spells into the struggling mass of elves. He would have done something about them, but fighting the undead required all of his concentration. However, as he looked, two figures appeared, ambushing the Asdelarcen from the side, and cutting into their ranks. One was Felnir, seemingly immune to their spells, somehow felling them just by touching them. Eltuthar’s magic. The other was Aldir. He had a shield also, likely one supplied by Alfimir, and together, he and Felnir began cutting their way through the Asdelarcen. The Asdelarcen drew their swords to defend themselves, but then the tide of undead shifted, and Dilmir lost sight of them.

Despite his worry of the past day, the battle was going well. The undead continued to strike down elves, but the elves were catching on, and were dodging the undead’s blows rather than fighting. Many had escaped to the right or left, and many more had poured into the Royal Quarter, leaving Dilmir mostly by himself.

He continued to blast apart every undead within reach, and given that they simply kept coming, there was no shortage of targets. But he was tired. He had been up all night, running from the Asdelarcen, and his muscles were spent. It was a struggle just to stand, let alone fight. His shield took more and more hits as he no longer had the energy to dodge the undead, and he feared that if something didn’t change soon, it would crumple entirely, and the undead would be able to reach him at last.

Something did eventually change, but it wasn’t the change Dilmir had hoped for: Cyprien joined in the fight.

Probably finally realizing just how many of his undead Dilmir had slain, Cyprien dropped to the ground, drew his swords, and marched through the mass of zombies. Dilmir saw him coming, and his heart sank. He couldn’t fight a vampire, much less Cyprien. Especially not now, when he could barely stand. The vampires had dark magic, power the elves knew nothing about. It didn’t follow the same rules, and seemed more powerful than Elven magic in every way.

But Dilmir had no choice. He was hemmed in, elves behind him, undead on both sides and in front. He slew the undead around him, bolstering his shield, and got a better grip on his sword, hoping by some miracle he could survive this. 

Cyprien arrived a moment later, swinging his blades powerfully against Dilmir. Dilmir blocked the blow, but was immediately thrown to the ground by the impact. Of course. Vampires were far stronger than elves. But still, he dared not let his shield take a hit like that. It would probably evaporate on the spot.

He scrambled to his feet as Cyprien approached. The undead seemed to be streaming around him and Cyprien, steering clear of them both to get to the elves behind. Dilmir hastily brushed the shields of three behind him, disintegrating them and bolstering the magic around him.

Cyprien advanced, a snarl on his face. He attacked, swinging his swords down, but Dilmir dodged to his side, avoiding the blow. Cyprien’s blades bit deep into the earth, but he wrenched them free a moment later, and swung them at Dilmir.

With nowhere to go, Dilmir was forced to block the blow again with his sword, and was again thrown to the ground. His body cried out in protest as he struck the packed earth, and for a moment, his legs refused to support him. He wasn’t going to win this.

Cyprien seemed to know he was winning. He advanced on Dilmir even as he struggled to get up, and swung his swords at him while he was down. Dilmir was forced to block the blow again, with the result that he was slammed back against the ground. Cyprien followed up with a strike from the side, and Dilmir, still recovering from the last blow, wasn’t fast enough to block it.

Cyprien’s blade hit Dilmir’s shield, and as he had known it would, it shattered, exploding in a shower of sparks. He was defenseless now. He scrambled backwards, pulling himself along the ground with feet and elbows, trying to find an undead whose shield he could absorb. But Cyprien saw what he was doing, and the undead shied away from Dilmir, controlled by Cyprien’s dark magic.

The vampire advanced, an evil smile now flickering across his face. Dilmir continued to back up, but soon felt wood at his back. He had come up against a root. There was nowhere else to go. He tried to get to his feet, but his legs didn’t seem to want to work. Even his sword felt thick and heavy, held limply in his hand.

But then the elves arrived. The undead had been streaming around Cyprien and Dilmir, reaching the elves from the sides, but that meant that where Cyprien and Dilmir fought, there was a gap, an open space. Elves, choosing Cyprien over the undead, now flooded into this area, all swinging their swords at Cyprien.

Whatever forced protected Cyprien from spells didn’t seem to work against swords. He swung in wide arcs, felling many, but he still received many blows. They were bloodless, and he seemed not to feel them. Only a sword through the heart could kill a vampire. However, he was still forced to retreat, leaping to the air and landing behind his undead army. The zombies surged forward then, the elves suddenly finding themselves surrounded.

But their attack had given Dilmir the time he needed to recover. He stood on shaky legs, recast his shield around him, and charged into the undead, felling all he met. As the undead crumpled before him, a cheer went up from the elves, and Dilmir realized that between him and those willing to fight Cyprien, they might possibly survive this.

It was at that point that a small figure, another vampire, appeared over the walls of Eld’rin, flew over the city, and landed before Dilmir.

It was Ilrin.

Or, rather, it was her body. Her hair was red now, her skin pallid. She wore a dark suit of armor, and a red cape billowed behind her. Her eyes burned red. But at the same time, it was still Ilrin. The way she stood, the way she moved, it was all her.

Dilmir just stood there and looked at her, completely devoid of anything. He couldn’t process what he was seeing. Ilrin… a vampire. No. Just… no. That couldn’t be.

“Cower!” Ilrin shouted at the mass of elves behind Dilmir. “I am Iskra, daughter of Cyprien. Your hour has come!” She turned red eyes on Dilmir. “And you,” she hissed, “I know you. You will be the first to die.” She drew from her cloak two daggers, and flew at Dilmir without a second’s hesitation.

Pre-dawn grayness lit the sky over Eld’rin. The mists filled it as usual, and frost coated its roots and branches. The city was still, the elves just beginning to wake up.

Outside of Eld’rin, to the north, a great cloud of smoke hung over the forest. The trees here were blackened, the ground scorched and charred. The great inferno which had been here was gone, put out by the Asdelarcen.

And between these two locations – the burned forest and the gates of Eld’rin – was Dilmir, hiding in one of the depressions in the ground used for training magic. He was breathing heavily, having been running most of the night. The Asdelarcen had not made it easy to get this close to Eld’rin, constantly cutting him off and forcing him to backtrack.

He had eventually made it out of the forest, but had still been unable to teleport. It seemed the Asdelarcen had woven enchantments all the way between their camp and Eld’rin. Somehow surviving his flames, the Asdelarcen had caught up with him quickly, their inhuman speed making short work of the distance. They had attacked with swords, forcing Dilmir back into the forest.

Another inferno had followed, this one slightly more successful than the first. At least a few Asdelarcen had gone down in it, but there were still over forty chasing Dilmir. He had circled around, trying to get away from their magic so that he could teleport, but he had never found a gap in their enchantments. They had met several times, Dilmir wounding several of them, and receiving several gashes in return.

The Asdelarcen had stayed in front of Eld’rin, clearly doing their best to keep him from the gate. But slowly, with a combination of fire, roots, and his own sword, Dilmir had gotten closer and closer to Eld’rin, until he had finally been able to make a run for it. He had burst from the trees, spells thudding into the ground at his heels, and had jumped into the first shelter which presented itself: the bowl of earth he was now in. Now he sat, muscles aching, breath coming in gasps, still unable to teleport, gathering his remaining strength for the final sprint.

He knew it was almost dawn. It had taken him all night just to get this far. He still had time though. The undead were still in the forest. He could still reach Eld’rin, find the Council, and warn them before it was too late. He just had to run a little further.

He peeked over the rim of the bowl. At least twenty Asdelarcen were in front of him, guarding the gate. He knew almost that same number were behind. They didn’t know which bowl he had dove into – it was still quite dark, despite the graying of the sky.

Dilmir closed his eyes, trying to regain his breath. He needed cover. He could make it to the gate and get inside, but he needed to distract the Asdelarcen to do it. They expected fire by now, and besides, he didn’t want to risk burning down the city.

Dilmir smiled. He knew what to do. “Venel’terenim,” he said, breathing slowly, feeling his magic. “Dreth. Veler im.”

The ground exploded. The roots beneath the field in front of Eld’rin shattered, bursting into a million shards of wood. A great wind came out of nowhere, whipping the slivers into a cyclone, a wall of churning brown.

Dilmir climbed out of the bowl, completely hidden from sight. The cyclone moved with him, the shards of wood spinning about him at a dizzying speed. The ground in front of Eld’rin was broken, blasted apart by the roots Dilmir had shattered. The short grass was gone, replaced by soft, churned earth.

Dilmir could feel spells ricocheting off of the walls of the cyclone, deflected by the sheer speed of the spinning bits of bark. He forced himself to run, ignoring the burning in his legs. There were cries all about him as the Asdelarcen were forced to flee, unable to penetrate the cyclone or stop it. Dilmir wished he had thought of this earlier, but he hadn’t had time to. The Asdelarcen had always been just behind him. And besides, they were masters at adapting. They would find a way through eventually.

Dilmir reached the gate, the vines which made it up now scratched and marred by his cyclone. He found the hole in it and scrambled through, leaving the storm of bark and dirt behind him, blocking the way into Eld’rin. The Asdelarcen would get through, but at least they would be delayed for a moment.

Dilmir allowed himself to pause, and catch his breath once more. Eld’rin was still shadowed, the dim half-light of pre-dawn just beginning to break. In the distance, Dilmir could see the middle of Eld’rin, and several elves there. Trainers, going to the fields. Dilmir doubted there would be any training today.

Alfimir. That was who he needed to see. Just a few days ago, Dilmir would never have gone to Alfimir, but his recent actions had changed his mind. It seemed Eltuthar was right about the archmage: Alfimir really did want to protect the elves above all else. He would know what to do.

“Kelther imir en shenith Alfimiril,” Dilmir said between gasps, picking up a stray twig as he did so. The twig glowed a dark shade of green and twisted in Dilmir’s palm, pointing east, towards the middle of Eld’rin. The Royal Quarter. Alfimir must be there.

Dilmir dropped the twig and took one shaky step forwards, but then stopped, his magic feeling something. He flung his magic wide, and felt his stomach knot unpleasantly. There was a void, hanging in the air just above the edge of the forest to the north. And directly below the void, moving slowly, was a mass of shielded undead. Cyprien was back. The army was here. The attack had begun.

After all this, after running all night, Dilmir was too late. The elves weren’t ready. The Asdelarcen had captured all of the scouts who found them, making sure the undead remained hidden. Eld’rin had plenty of mages, but they weren’t gathered or ready, and from what Eltuthar had said, there wasn’t much they could do against the undead anyway. And to top it all off, Dilmir had managed to lose both Inilidin and Ilrin in one night.

He turned, looking at the still tightly shut gate. The Council should be able to handle the Asdelarcen, but only he could defeat the undead. That was what Eltuthar had said. There was no time to warn anyone; he needed to be there, at the gate, to stop the undead. He knew what he needed to do. He’d have to get close to the zombies, close enough almost to touch them. Only then would he be able to get past their shields and destroy them. He only hoped Cyprien wouldn’t join in the fight. He had no idea how to fight a vampire.

His hope was instantly crushed. There was a blast like thunder, a flash like lightning, and the gate of Eld’rin was rent in two. The two halves blasted backwards, revealing Cyprien himself, hovering in midair, his palm raised. Dark magic.

One of the gate-halves clipped Dilmir as it flew backwards, and he was yanked backwards violently from the brief impact. He landed hard, thrown against the packed earth of Eld’rin, and for a moment, everything was a blur of sound, motion, and pain.

He struggled to come to, his tired body wanting to just shut down. But he forced himself back into wakefulness, feeling with his magic before him. The undead were there, just starting to stream through the gate.

He scrambled to his feet and moved away from the horde, towards the middle of Eld’rin. The trainers had obviously seen the gate torn in two, and were now standing, shocked, looking up at Cyprien. Unaware of what was going on, young elves were now pouring into the middle of Eld’rin, ready for training, only to stop dead at the sight which met them. Dilmir came up against an unmoving crowd of shocked elves. The zombies advanced. It was going to be a massacre.

Fortunately, the elves didn’t train all day for nothing. The shock only lasted for a moment, then the spells began. First only a few elves attacked, spells flying against the undead. The zombies ignored the assault, the spells sparking out of existence on their shields. But then more elves joined in the attack, until there was an entire hailstorm of magic streaming at the undead.

There was no effect. Eltuthar had been right. The shields about the undead were impervious to magic. Every spell which struck them died instantly, fading into the early-dawn light which was now entering Eld’rin. A red light.

A few elves fired spells at Cyprien, but these were similarly ineffective. They evaporated before him, disappearing with the boom of thunder. Whatever protection Cyprien had, it was something no one knew how to breach.

“Dilmir!” It was Felnir, Endir close behind. Both were healed fully, and both had their swords drawn. “What happened?” Felnir asked, shouting over the roar of spells. “When you didn’t return, we feared—”

“I ran into the Asdelarcen,” Dilmir said. “All of them. I only got back just now.”

“Ilrin?”

Dilmir shook his head.

“What do we do?” Endir asked, surveying the unhurried advance of the undead.

Dilmir looked at the shambling horde. “Eltuthar said only I can defeat them,” he said.

“You’ll be slaughtered!” Endir protested.

Dilmir shook his head. “I can handle them,” he said, remembering what Eltuthar had told him. “You two just try and keep people alive.” The elves had been steadily backing up, but he knew they couldn’t do this much longer. The undead were drawing closer.

“How?” Endir said. He had a point. They couldn’t fight the undead.

“Scatter,” Dilmir said. “Get the elves to run, but use magic to keep the undead contained. We don’t want them going all over Eld’rin. If we can keep them here, I’ll have a better chance of killing them. Seal off the Lower and Upper Quarters first. That’s where most of the elves are.”

Felnir nodded. “We’ll do it,” he said, already making for the Upper Quarter. Endir hesitated a moment, but then sprinted for the Lower Quarter.

Dilmir drew his sword and faced the undead horde. The mass of elves had stopped moving, finally pinned between the advancing undead and the walls of the Royal Quarter. The zombies grew closer, shambling slowly, unconcernedly. Dilmir could see that they were men and elves, some wearing tattered armor, some wearing little at all. Their skin was black, riddled with mold, and their faces were empty, their jaws slack.

The two forces met, the undead instantly becoming more alive. They lashed out, striking at every elf within reach, using their arms like cudgels. Eltuthar hadn’t been mistaken about their strength. Dilmir saw one swing its fist into an elf, sending the elf flying backwards. Another brought its arm down on an elf’s head, instantly causing his legs to buckle as he was driven to the ground.

The elves drew their swords and attacked, but these had no effect on the undead either. The shields about them were too strong, blocking both blade and magic. Dilmir knew what he had to do.

“Asin,” he said, “esvress mathal hesrenim enedil im.” Using magic to block physical attacks was foreign to him, but if Eltuthar said it would work, then it probably would. His shield glared with a white light as the spell took effect. If it had worked, his shield would block blows from the undead. But for how long, Dilmir didn’t know. Magic was powerful, but it couldn’t make him invincible.

It was now or never. He gathered his magic about him, limiting it to a small area, gripped his sword tightly, and plunged towards the undead.

He really hoped Eltuthar knew what he was talking about.

He ducked as an undead swung its arm at him. He could feel the shields around them, slippery just like those around the Asdelarcen. He reached out, his hand passing through the shield, and touched the zombie’s leg. Spongey flesh met his fingers, but he ignored the sensation, and concentrated. The zombie burst into flames, and then ash. The shield about it broke, and Dilmir felt the magic come under his control. This gave him an idea.

He quickly used the magic from the zombie – which was no small amount – to bolster his new shield. This might actually work. If he could kill the undead faster than they could overwhelm his shield, he would never be in danger.

A zombie came at him from nowhere, shuffling quickly, arms already swinging. Dilmir turned to face it, waiting. The undead crashed into his shield and tried to grab him, but was thrown backwards by the shield. For now, the spell was working. Dilmir ran to the undead, penetrated its shield with his hand, and caused it to crumble to dust.

Two down. Only an army to go.

With a blast of sound, Dilmir returned. He had been unable to find Inilidin. He wanted to keep searching, to go into the forest and somehow find her, but he didn’t know where the Asdelarcen had gone. It could take forever to find her, and time was something he did not have. He needed to make sure Ilrin was safe.

She wasn’t. As the whiteness of teleporting faded back into color, Dilmir saw those he had left, recovering from various injuries. Felnir and Ilrin’s parents were sitting against the wall, conscious but looking very dazed. Aimim had sustained an injury to her head, a trail of blood going down the side of her face. Endir seemed the least injured – he was helping Felnir to his feet. Two Council mages were there, currently occupied in healing Aimim. Ilrin was gone.

Everyone looked up as Dilmir appeared out of thin air.

“Dilmir!” Endir said. “They were just here! The Asdelarcen – quick, you might still catch them.”

“How did they get past the Council?” Dilmir asked. There had been twenty mages outside. Twenty! If what Eltuthar had said was true, they should be just as powerful as the Asdelarcen, with the shield provided by Alfimir.

“They overran us,” one of the mages supplied. “I’m sorry, Dilmir. We had to surrender. Delarthen is pursuing them now.”

Dilmir had known it was a trap, known the Asdelarcen would attack, but he would never have guessed that they could be this quick. They had fought the Council, subdued those inside, and escaped, all in the time he had spent at the main gate? It was almost impossible to believe. But they had acted quickly before.

Dilmir flung his magic wide. If the Asdelarcen had indeed just left, then they should be nearby. He ought to be able to sense them, sense their shield. His magic flew out across the Upper Quarter, finding only normal elves cowering in their homes. It spread and spread, and he continued to stretch it, until at last, at the very edges of his magic, he found them: seven Asdelarcen shields, quickly slipping away. They were already at the main gate! How could they be so fast?

“I’ve found them,” Dilmir said.

“Go,” Endir said. “We’ll be fine here.”

Dilmir nodded. They would be fine, now that the Asdelarcen had what they wanted. He pulled his magic back into himself, focused on the main gate, and once again the oppressive silence and whiteness took him.

A moment later he landed. The hole was still in the main gate, so he slipped through it. All was just as he had left it: silent and still. Behind him, Eld’rin was equally silent. Most elves had probably gone to sleep by now; Dilmir judged it to already be past midnight. There was still no moon.

He let his magic race out of him, covering the grass in front of Eld’rin, and then surging into the forest beyond. Just as before, he felt nothing. He stretched his magic to its furthest limits, and for the briefest of moments, felt two Asdelarcen shields. They moved beyond the range of his magic and vanished.

North. They were north of Eld’rin, somewhere in the forest. Again, Dilmir marveled at their speed. No elf could run that quickly, much less while hauling an unconscious victim. He knew of no spell which could be responsible, either. At least none that a Cursed elf could cast.

He had no time to ponder the speed of the Asdelarcen. He gathered his magic again, focused on the spot where he had felt the Asdelarcen, and teleported.

He landed a moment later, dark trees all around him, pines blocking out the starlight. He was deep in the forest, far deeper than elves went to train. These woods were wild, the elves’ influence over them weak. He let his magic out, let it race across the forest floor, and found the Asdelarcen far sooner than he expected.

There were nine. No, twenty. Thirty. Forty? And then he felt something else, a great mass of Asdelarcen shields, lying on the ground, unmoving. He couldn’t count them, but judged there to be at least a hundred.

Dilmir instantly whipped behind a tree trunk. What had he found? Why were there so many Asdelarcen here? Carefully, he moved out from behind the tree, and began to creep forwards. The Asdelarcen weren’t running; they were just sitting there, about a hundred yards away.

It was pitch black. All Dilmir could see was the shadows of tree trunks as they loomed up out of the darkness. Slowly, he crept closer, keeping a lock on the Asdelarcen with his magic. He couldn’t feel them, but he could feel the slipperiness of their shields, and used that like a beacon, drawing him steadily closer.

Finally he saw them. He slipped behind a tree, and saw up ahead a small clearing. Several Asdelarcen were sitting in a circle, seated around what Dilmir initially assumed to be a fire, but quickly saw was just a pile of branches, enchanted to glow with a dull red light. No, they were warming their hands over the branches, as if it were a fire. Heat without fire? Dilmir would never have thought of such a thing.

More Asdelarcen were moving about, some talking, some sitting by themselves, some clearly trying to sleep on the hard ground. A few Asdelarcen seemed to be standing guard over several limp forms. With the aid of the faint light from the not-fire, he could see the colors on their robes. Council scouts. Dilmir had found the Asdelarcen camp. Surely Ilrin was here.

But then Dilmir saw something else. Beyond the Asdelarcen, in the shadows of the trees on the other side of the clearing, was a vast mound of darkness. It was shielded like the Asdelarcen, but it was unmoving. Dilmir could feel the individual shields, about a hundred of them, all still and silent. And then it clicked.

He had found the undead army. He was sure of it. He knew little about undead, but what he did know made sense. Right now they were barely alive, without direction. That was why they were slumped, as if lifeless, on the ground in a great pile. But once whoever was controlling them arrived, they would wake, and march on Eld’rin.

No sooner had Dilmir reached this conclusion than his magic felt something, something far above him, flying through the air with impossible speed. It wasn’t a spell, and it wasn’t shielded. Dilmir could feel it. But it was strange. His magic passed around it, almost as if it wasn’t there. Merely a void in the air, a space where magic could not exist. This was no Asdelarcen trick. This was something else.

The void descended, aiming for the clearing, and landed a moment later. A dark cloak. A hood. A pale hand gripping the hilt of a short-sword. It was a vampire.

Two Asdelarcen hurried up to the vampire, each carrying one end of a shrouded figure. That was Ilrin, Dilmir was sure of it. But what did the vampires want with her? She was limp, either unconscious, or simply weakened through magic. The Asdelarcen handed her to the vampire, who took her easily in his arms.

Dilmir didn’t know what was going on, but he couldn’t let the vampire take Ilrin. He had to do something. There were a lot of Asdelarcen, but they were Cursed and he wasn’t.

He stepped out from behind the tree, and locked his magic on the void which was the vampire. A moment later, several sharp cracks echoed through the forest. Branches from above the vampire descended, roots burst from the ground, and vines whipped through the air, all seeking the vampire.

For a moment, Dilmir thought the vampire didn’t stand a chance. His attacks all seemed to strike. But then there was a report like lightning, a sudden, blinding flash, and everything – the branches, the roots, the vines, all of it – turned to ash.

Dilmir’s weapons disintegrated, and the vampire turned, allowing Dilmir to see his face. It was the only face every elf knew. The only face they all learned to fear. It was Cyprien Essenwein, lord of the night.

“Kill him!” Cyprien shouted as the Asdelarcen surged to their feet, alerted to Dilmir’s presence by his attack. “I’ll return at dawn.” Then he leapt upwards, flying up past the trees, Ilrin clutched tightly in his arms. He cleared the tree tops, and then flew east, once again going faster than Dilmir thought possible. Vampire magic. Dark magic.

Dilmir seemed rooted to the spot, his blood cold. Cyprien was gone before it even occurred to him to attack again, and by then the Asdelarcen had located him, and begun casting spells.

Five spells slammed into Dilmir’s shield before he knew what was going on. They all dissipated harmlessly against it, but they served to snap him into awareness. He ducked back behind the tree, spells slamming into it and shattering the bark.

Eld’rin! He had to get back to Eld’rin. The undead were here – the elves had to be warned. He could feel the Asdelarcen fanning out, trying to surround him. He’d have to run, try to get away from them before teleporting. Eltuthar had told him once that if a spell struck him while he was teleporting, he’d appear at his destination with the spell inside of him, nearly impossible to reverse. Dilmir would rather avoid that.

So he ran, crashing through the forest. Spells pursued him, but he dodged around trees and under logs, the spells slamming into bark and dirt all around him. The darkness blinded him, the intermittent flashes of spells serving to disorient him further. Was he even headed in the right direction?

Dilmir dove under a fallen log and held his breath, hoping maybe the Asdelarcen would lose him in the dark. If he could just stay hidden from them for a moment, he could get out of here. Dawn. Cyprien had said he’d return at dawn. Doubtless he meant to attack then, especially now that Dilmir had found the undead. That didn’t give Dilmir much time. It was still the dead of night, but dawn was only four or five hours away.

He listened as the Asdelarcen drew closer, still firing spells at every shadow. They milled about for a moment, some crossing over the log he was hiding beneath. Then they seemed to move on. He waited, listening as the sounds of pursuit grew fainter and fainter. It had worked. They had lost him. Carefully, he stood. He could still see them, a ways away, but they were plenty far. Dilmir gathered his magic, focused on Aimim’s home, and teleported.

Again, there was silence, there was whiteness… and then Dilmir was launched backwards, landing back in the forest, the blinding glare from his spell obscuring all else. Blocked. Again. Somehow, the Asdelarcen had enchanted this whole section of forest to prevent teleportation, but had been smart enough to activate it only once they were sure Dilmir was inside. Now he was trapped, and he had just given away his position.

Sure enough, he heard cries from in front of him, as the Asdelarcen realized where he was. He scrambled to his feet, blinking to get rid of the afterimage of his spell. The Asdelarcen controlled this section of the forest. Who knew what other traps they had set up? They had brought Ilrin this way, clearly intending for him to follow, and now they had him.

Spells began to rain down on him, several striking his shield and dissipating. But those which didn’t, struck the forest floor, causing vines and roots to reach out and grab Dilmir.

Dilmir blasted them back with magic, enchanting the air before them doing what enchanting the vines themselves could not. The roots were thrown back, repelled. More vines tripped him up, but he used magic against them similarly, pushing them aside.

Then he ran, aware that the Asdelarcen were very close. Spells burst into sparks on his shield, slammed into trees next to him, or thudded into the ground at his feet, blinding him with clouds of dirt.

As he ran, he let his magic expand, feeling the forest around him. It was difficult to do while running, but he started to twist the forest behind him, sending up great walls of roots and vines, sending branches crashing down, even toppling trees when he sensed Asdelarcen beneath them.

Every time, the Asdelarcen dodged his attacks. They would jerk out of the way, moving impossibly fast. They weren’t teleporting, Dilmir knew that much, but they seemed to just increase in speed, jumping this way and that, avoiding all of his attacks.

They were faster, faster than him, and it wasn’t long before they caught up with him. A sword swung behind Dilmir, barely nicking the back of his leg. Another swung at his head, just missing him. Without turning, Dilmir caused a root to rise up right between him and the pursuing Asdelarcen. That did the trick, the root slamming into them full force and knocking them down. Dilmir kept running.

Eld’rin. He had to get to Eld’rin. But he couldn’t teleport, and he had gotten all turned around with the Asdelarcen chasing him. And it was dark, too dark to see. An idea occurred to Dilmir. A foolish, wild idea. But why not?

“Fener, edel’fener mathal!” he cried, skidding to a stop. He felt his magic blast out of him, covering the roots, the trees, the ground. Every part of the forest he could touch. At least fifty Asdelarcen were in front of him. His magic touched it all.

And it all burst into fire. Every last twig, blade of grass, and dead leaf, spontaneously ignited with such force that Dilmir was thrown to the ground, flattened by the explosion. His shield kept the heat from him. The very ground he was on was encased in flames, but they could not touch him.

Well, at least now he could see.

He spun on the spot, the flaming forest even more disorienting than the dark one had been. “Kelther imir en shenith Eld’rinil!” he cried, his magic still connected to the flames. The inferno parted at his command, creating a straight corridor ahead of him. He ran down it without a second thought, trusting that it would take him to Eld’rin.

Behind him, he could feel the shielded forms of Asdelarcen, somehow still alive, chasing him. But now he had a head start. He had to get back to Eld’rin. He had to warn them.

Dawn was nearing.

Aldir had spent plenty of nights without sleep, but this was definitely one of the most uncomfortable. It was cold, almost freezing, and the side of Aimim’s house he was leaning against was hard and rough. He and twenty Council mages were standing guard outside the home, waiting, watching the mist. Aldir wasn’t sure if he expected the Asdelarcen to attack or not, but at least the tension of not knowing was serving to keep him both awake and relatively warm. If not comfortable.

But this was something Aldir wanted to do. No, something he needed to do. The other Council mages had asked him why he was here, and he had tried to explain it, but the truth was that he didn’t know himself. He just knew that this was where he needed to be, between the Asdelarcen and Ilrin.

Aldir had no delusions about Ilrin. She hated him, and probably always would. Aldir could understand why. He had pretended to get close to her, pretended to be her friend, and then betrayed her and used her to get her only true friend banished. What he had done was irredeemable, and Aldir knew it.

He supposed that was why he was here. He could never take back what he had done, but he could at least try to make up for it, if only a little. Aldir had no interest in Dilmir or his magic, or even in Ilrin. She was Dilmir’s friend, not his. But this was something he owed her. Something he had to do. So he would stay here, in the cold and the dark, and do his part to keep her safe. It was the least he could do.

Aldir sighed. His decision to help protect Ilrin had not been greeted with enthusiasm by the Council. This wasn’t his job. But then, he and the Council had been seeing less and less eye-to-eye recently. Ever since Ilrin, Aldir had grown to hate the Council, the way they sought to bend the laws to suit their own needs, their calloused disregard for the lives they were sworn to protect. Aldir had thought he was joining a noble organization when he first heard about the Council. He had thought he would be saving elves. But now that he thought back on it, he had done very little saving at all. Even banishing Dilmir had caused more harm than good.

There was a sudden rush of noise from inside the house. Aldir, being close to a window, turned and peered inside, just in time to see Dilmir vanish in a blaze of light. What was he doing? Aldir was no fool; he knew that Dilmir was more powerful than all twenty of the mages here combined. If he was gone, the Asdelarcen might attack.

Aldir turned back, scanning the mists in front of him. They were thick, heavy with frost from the winter air. He couldn’t even make out the closest house. The Asdelarcen could be a mere twenty feet away and he’d never know it. He got a better grip on the hilt of his sword.

A shadow appeared, fuzzy and unresolved in the mist. The mages tensed, unsure if it was an Asdelarcen or just a citizen. Another shadow joined it. Then two more. Then more behind them. A moment later, an entire group of elves walked out of the mist and stopped before the Council mages. There were at least fifteen of them, and they all wore the dark cloaks and hoods Aldir had come to associate with the Asdelarcen.

“Stand aside,” said the lead Asdelarcen, a tall elf with a commanding voice. “Our business is not with you.”

No one moved. Delarthen, leader of the Council, stepped forward. “You mean to harm a citizen of Eld’rin,” he said. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

There was a moment of silence. “We are many,” the lead Asdelarcen finally said. “If we fight, much Elven blood will be spilt. We both wish to avoid that. We seek only to take the girl. Ilrin. No one else need be harmed.”

It was Delarthen’s turn to be silent.

“We know,” the Asdelarcen said, lowering his voice slightly, “that you watch this girl. That you fear her as you fear Dilmir. That you would banish them both if you could. We want the same thing you do: to remove them both from Eld’rin. Let us pass. Let us take the girl, and Dilmir will follow her. Neither will return. You will be rid of them both. You don’t need to fight us.”

Delarthen remained silent. Aldir felt his heart sink. Everything the Asdelarcen had said was true: the Council did want to banish Dilmir. Ilrin and the others were lesser priorities, but the Council wouldn’t pass up a chance to be rid of Dilmir. Especially if they didn’t have to do anything except stand aside. Aldir knew what Delarthen’s answer would be before he gave it.

“No one is to be slain,” Delarthen said, making up his mind. “You will take the girl, and then you will leave, never to return.”

“Of course,” said the Asdelarcen. “We seek only Dilmir and the girl, and one will follow the other. No others shall be slain. You will never hear from us again.”

Delarthen stood aside, signaling to the other mages to do so. They stood away from the door, some with confused looks, some with expressions of grim satisfaction, knowing that they would soon be rid of Dilmir.

Aldir remained where he was, standing beside the window. He had guessed Delarthen’s response, but actually seeing it happen still took him by surprise. This was the Council. The Council! They were sworn to protect the elves, not make deals with their enemies. He watched as the Asdelarcen advanced between the ranks of mages, moving unimpeded to the door. He wanted to move, wanted to stand in their way, but he couldn’t.

The Asdelarcen reached the door, and knocked on it. It was opened a moment later by Felnir. Without hesitation, the lead Asdelarcen smote Felnir on the chest with his palm. His hand went right through Felnir’s shield, and a blast of magic followed, flinging Felnir across the room and against the opposite wall. He did not get back up.

The Asdelarcen began filing into the house, and still Aldir couldn’t move. What was wrong with him? Was he afraid? Maybe, but that wasn’t what was keeping him here. What, then? The shock? That hardly seemed likely. He had guessed, after all, what Delarthen would do. But maybe that was it. Maybe he just hadn’t believed it. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to believe it. But here was the evidence, filing into Aimim’s house before his very eyes. Realization of the full corruption of the Council crashed down on him, and Aldir finally drew his sword.

The Asdelarcen reacted faster than he had expected, the ones closest to him whipping their swords out as well.

“Aldir!” Delarthen called. “Stand down!”

But Aldir didn’t care. He leapt to the stairs, blocking the Asdelarcen, and stabbed his sword at the closest one, aiming straight for his heart. The Asdelarcen batted his blow aside easily, and whipped his blade back, slashing Aldir across the chest. The sword bit deep, scraping across Aldir’s ribs. It seared like fire, the sword severing skin and muscle as it went, and pain exploded outwards from the wound, blinding Aldir to all else. He fell backwards, his sword falling from his grip, and landed on his back just inside the doorway, blood blossoming across his chest.

“Leave him!” Delarthen commanded, striding forwards.

The Asdelarcen withdrew, though they kept their swords drawn. Delarthen ascended the stairs and pulled Aldir out of the way.

Through the haze of pain, Aldir could see the Asdelarcen subduing the occupants of the house. Felnir still lay against the wall, breathing but clearly unconscious. Endir, who had arrived just minutes ago, was again wounded, being kept down at the point of an Asdelarcen’s sword. Aimim and Ilrin’s parents had all been blasted away similarly to Felnir. Out of the three, only Aimim was conscious, a thin trickle of blood running down her forehead. She was lying against the wall, another Asdelarcen standing nearby, his blade ready if she tried to get up.

Ilrin had already been subdued. Two Asdelarcen were clutching wounds she seemed to have given them, but her sword was now lying on the floor, bloody, and Ilrin was limp, the Asdelarcen having enchanted her.

Two of them picked her up, gripping her upper arms, and dragged her past Aldir and out of the house. Aldir struggled to get up as they passed, but Delarthen forcefully put a hand on his shoulder and kept him down. The pain made Aldir’s vision flicker, and he fell back to the floor.

The Asdelarcen, having gotten what they came for, left. The mages let them go, and they all filed into the mist from whence they had come, silent and efficient. Delarthen hauled Aldir to his feet. Another mage came to help, and together they dragged him down the steps of Aimim’s home.

Delarthen let Aldir slip to the ground, and re-entered the house. Aldir could hear him speaking, presumably to whoever was still conscious: “The Asdelarcen overwhelmed us. Their numbers were too great, and we were forced to surrender. My mages will heal you, and we will pursue the Asdelarcen. They will not get away with this.”

The lying traitor! Even through the pain, Aldir struggled to stand, to turn, to strike Delarthen. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even roll over. He tried, but the pain was too much. It finally reached his mind, and darkness took him.