“No. I absolutely forbid it.”

Dilmir sighed, and tried, again, to explain.

He had teleported himself and Ilrin back to Aimim’s home, where, with the help of both Aimim and Felnir, Ilrin had been quickly healed of the lingering effects of the Asdelarcen’s curse. The Council, hearing that Aimim had been attacked, had sent several mages to guard the house.

Then Ilrin’s parents had arrived, demanding that Ilrin return with them to their home. In a way, Dilmir could understand their logic. He was the one who had brought the Asdelarcen here; being in close proximity to him seemed to be asking for trouble.

But things had changed. The Asdelarcen were after Ilrin now, as he had explained several times already. They had attacked her twice, and nearly succeeded in removing her from the city only a few short hours ago. Dilmir had been there both times to stop them, but the Asdelarcen kept adapting. He needed Ilrin where he could be sure she was safe, and that meant right next to him.

Ilrin herself was sitting in a corner of the living room, silently observing her parents and Dilmir. Dilmir was sure she agreed with him, but knew also that she didn’t like going against her parents. So she remained silent, watching.

Aimim and Felnir were there too. Ilrin’s parents had objected vehemently to Felnir’s presence once they understood he was a Dark Elf, but Dilmir had been ready for that. Alfimir himself had given Felnir permission to stay in Eld’rin, and as he had pointed out, he would never have done that if Felnir was a threat to anyone. If anything, it meant Felnir could help.

And so Ilrin’s parents had gone back to their original argument, saying that being in the same house as Dilmir was inviting trouble. Dilmir hated arguing with them. He had known them for several years, and had grown to like them, to see them almost as a second father and mother. But that had been before they had listened to the Council about him, and before they had decided he was dangerous.

“Look,” Dilmir said, finally tiring of the circular arguments. “The Asdelarcen are after her, not me. They’ve attacked her twice in one day. I can protect her. It’s safer for everyone if we all stay together.”

He paused. Ilrin’s parents looked mutinous. He didn’t like having to say that, drawing attention to his power. But it was true. They were all safer if they stuck together.

“You used to know me,” he said, lowering his voice to a more normal volume. “You used to trust me. I know things have changed, and I know there’s danger. But I’m asking you: trust me again, as you once did.”

Ilrin’s parents looked at each other. Her father looked angry. Her mother looked uncertain.

“We should stay,” Ilrin said, finally speaking. Her parents looked at her. “We should,” she said softly. “This is the safest place in Eld’rin.”

“I don’t suppose we have a choice,” Ilrin’s father said. He turned to Dilmir. “But if we stay here,” he warned, “it’s because of you. You say you can keep Ilrin safe. If she’s harmed…”  

“She’ll be safe here,” Dilmir said. “I swear it.”

And for once, he believed it. The Asdelarcen kept adapting to what he did, but he wasn’t the only obstacle to them anymore. Felnir was here, possessing strange new magic from Eltuthar, and there was a small army outside, at least twenty Council mages surrounding the house. When they had learned that Ilrin was staying in Aimim’s home, they had doubled the guard.  Dilmir wasn’t sure if that was because both Aimim and Ilrin were in the same location, or just because they didn’t trust him. Possibly both. Either way, he was glad for once for their protection. It would be hard indeed for the Asdelarcen to attack now.

Once again, all they could do was wait. Dilmir had told no one, not even Ilrin, about the approaching undead army. He agreed with the Council: there was no need to cause a panic. For all they knew, the army was already somewhere nearby, and elves fleeing Eld’rin could run right into their waiting arms. It would be best for the scouts Alfimir had sent to find the undead first. Then the Council could assemble an army and meet them outside of Eld’rin. Dilmir would be there of course, and with any luck, the army would fall. But until they knew where the undead were, they could only wait.

Ilrin’s parents sat down at the table, and Ilrin quickly moved to join them, speaking to them both in a voice too quiet for Dilmir to hear. He crossed to a window, and looked out.

A double line of mages was in front of the front door, their backs to it. Night had come, darkness settling over Eld’rin, and already the mists had begun to form, hiding the shapes of the other houses in the Upper Quarter. It was late, far later than Dilmir had realized.

He scanned the line of mages, wondering if Alfimir was there. Dilmir doubted he would be. The archmage was probably doing his best to find the undead army, coordinating with scouts and mages. Sure enough, Alfimir was not to be found amongst the ranks of the Council. But oddly, Aldir was.

What was he doing here? Dilmir remembered seeing him earlier, guarding the Lower Quarter with the other mages, and again it struck him as odd. Aldir was a spy, not a mage. Dilmir had seen him train a few times with the sword, and he was a fair fighter, but he was no warrior. What did he mean by standing guard here? Dilmir shook his head, and turned away from the window.

Felnir was yawning and stretching, clearly the most at ease in the room. He hadn’t been here for the other attacks, so DIlmir supposed that made sense. Ilrin and her parents were sitting around the table, quiet, concern and worry etched on their faces. Aimim was sitting in a chair against the wall, watching them. They were all waiting, waiting to see what the Asdelarcen would do next. Was the combined threat of Dilmir, Felnir, and twenty mages enough to keep them away?

There was a sudden pounding on the door, and everyone jumped. Dilmir was closest; he strode to the door and opened it, and a mage helped Endir inside. He was bleeding.

“Endir!” Both Dilmir and Ilrin cried. Dilmir took him from the mage and hauled him inside, closing the door behind the mage as he left. Endir seemed to have sustained several slices from a sword, and there was a bloody bruise on the side of his head. He slumped to the floor, and Ilrin knelt by his side, quickly healing him.

“What – What happened?” Dilmir asked.

Endir seemed to be wavering in and out of consciousness. “Inilidin,” he croaked. “They… took Inilidin.”

Dilmir’s anger and magic blasted out of him unexpectedly, breaking a nearby vase. Asdelarcen! Of course! He should have known this would happen. He had been so focused on the threat to himself and to Ilrin, that he hadn’t even thought about Endir or Inilidin. The Asdelarcen couldn’t reach Ilrin, not with him here, so they had gone for who they could reach. He should have seen this coming.

“What happened?” Ilrin asked, gently helping Endir to sit up.

Endir shook his head. “I was there,” he said, still a little groggily, “at her home. Just to see her, you know? They blasted through the door. Turned it to ash. They went right through me and her parents… we didn’t stand a chance. They knocked us all out – had to hit me with a sword because of my shield. Then they grabbed Inilidin. They know how to go through the shields… they enchanted her so she couldn’t fight back, and left.”

“How long ago?” Dilmir asked. He could stop them if they were still in the city.

But Endir shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I lost consciousness. It could have just happened, or it could have been a while ago.”

Well, there was only one way to find out. They had tried to get Ilrin out through the main gate; it stood to reason they’d try to get Inilidin out the same way. Dilmir just had to be there waiting when they did. He pulled his magic in, and was about to cast the spell, but then paused, a horrible thought occurring to him.

“Hurry,” Ilrin said, looking at him. “You might still catch them.”

“What if it’s a trap?” Dilmir said, looking at her. It suddenly all made sense. They’d been going after Ilrin all this time, even when the Council had been guarding her. Inilidin had been unprotected. Why go after her now? Unless… “They’re trying to lure me out,” Dilmir said. “The Asdelarcen. They don’t want Inilidin. They want me… or you.”

Ilrin looked at him, and Dilmir knew she realized the same thing. It was a trap. If he left, even for an instant, the Asdelarcen would probably attack.

Ilrin stood. “You have to try,” she said. “You can’t just leave her. Go quickly. Find her. Stop them. Then bring her back here. I know you can do it quickly.”

That was true. Dilmir could teleport to the main gates, spread his magic out, and find the Asdelarcen. Freeing Inilidin ought to be fast, unless the Asdelarcen had again adapted. But what about while he was gone? How long would it take him? Long enough for the Asdelarcen to attack?

“Go,” Felnir said, approaching. “We’re not defenseless here. There are twenty mages outside. Plus me,” he added. “I won’t let any Asdelarcen get inside.”

He had no choice. Dilmir was loathe to leave, knowing it was a trap, but Ilrin was right: he couldn’t leave Inilidin. She was innocent in all this, her only crime being his friend. He couldn’t let the Asdelarcen take her for that.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. “Stay safe.”

Ilrin nodded.

And then Dilmir teleported to the main gate.

He landed a moment later. The dark main gate of Eld’rin loomed behind him, shut tight against the night. Everything was shadows here; not even the moon was out. Winter was truly here now, the chill in the air turning Dilmir’s breath to clouds of white mist.

Dilmir flung his magic wide in all directions, searching, feeling for the familiar slippery feel of an Asdelarcen’s shield. There was nothing. He pushed his magic to the limits, covering the entirety of the Lower Quarter – further than he had ever gone before – but still he felt nothing. It seemed that Eld’rin was devoid of Asdelarcen.

He turned, wondering if the Asdelarcen had somehow already gotten past the gate, and saw two shadowy forms lying on the ground nearby. He ran up to them. Council mages, slain by the sword. The Asdelarcen had come this way, and had already escaped. Endir must have been out for longer than he realized.

Dilmir looked at the gate, and sure enough, there was a hole in it, the vines blasted aside to create a gap large enough for an elf to climb through. Dilmir slipped through the smoking hole, coming out on the other side of the gate, outside of Eld’rin.

Again, he flung his magic wide, pushing it to its boundaries, searching the fields around Eld’rin and the forest beyond. Nothing. No hint of Asdelarcen, no hint of elves at all. The forest was empty, save for the nighttime creatures prowling it, unaware of Dilmir’s touch.

Dilmir wasn’t about to give up. He picked a single blade of grass from where he stood, and rested it in his palm. “Kelther imir en shenith Inilidinil,” he said. He had used this spell once before, when trying to find Alfimir in the forest. The spell had found him, even though he had been far beyond the range of Dilmir’s magic.

But that did not happen now. The blade of grass lit up with a soft blue glow, but instead of pointing in a specific direction, curled in on itself, unable to find its target. At least she was alive. The grass wouldn’t have lit up at all if she wasn’t. But where she was, Dilmir couldn’t say.

He strained his magic, pushing the boundary of how far it would go, but he only felt more nighttime creatures of the forest. No elves, no magic, and certainly no Asdelarcen. Inilidin was gone.

Dilmir stood there for a moment more, conflicted. He knew every second he stayed out here, Ilrin could be in danger. But he couldn’t just leave Inilidin. He had to find her. He could teleport further into the forest and try again, sending his magic outwards. But he knew that could take forever. He had no idea in what direction the Asdelarcen had taken her. He couldn’t possibly scour the whole of the forest. He would find her. He would. But he needed to return to Ilrin. He needed to know she was safe.

He pulled his magic back into himself, hating himself for leaving Inilidin, but knowing he had no choice. “I’ll find her,” he promised himself. “I swear I’ll find her.” And then he teleported, sound ceasing, colors brightening to white.

It seemed that Eltuthar was right about Alfimir. Felnir went to find him, and returned shortly afterwards, saying he had agreed to help. The archmage didn’t want to help Dilmir or Eltuthar, but the threat of the undead was something he could not ignore. He had agreed to learn the Velyor Enedil Asvarien from Felnir, and when Felnir had left, was preparing to depart for the Council Mages guarding Eld’rin, to cast the shield on them. As Eltuthar had suspected, he would not show them how to create the shield; only cast it on them himself.

It seemed too convenient to be true, until Dilmir reminded himself that this was only an alliance of convenience. Once the threat of the undead was gone, they would have to deal with the repercussions of what they had shown Alfimir. From now on, he had the power to create an army of Asdelarcen. Eltuthar didn’t seem overly worried by this, but his optimism didn’t spread to Dilmir.

However, this meant that the Council had the same advantages as the Asdelarcen. Both were immune to spells now. That at least was good, as it meant Ilrin was actually protected. The Council wouldn’t let her leave her home, and still wouldn’t let Dilmir anywhere near her, but at least she was safe. That was enough for now.

Eltuthar had left shortly after Felnir. It was far too dangerous for him in Eld’rin. The Council would arrest him if they found him, but that wasn’t what he feared. If the Asdelarcen learned he was here, they would certainly try their best to kill him. He was, after all, the whole reason Aranthar was attacking Eld’rin.

Therefore, he had told Dilmir to teleport him back to the dwarves. Dilmir had never teleported anyone so far away, but Eltuthar assured him that he couldn’t be too far off. Dilmir hoped he was right. Eltuthar had vanished in a blaze of light and a blast of sound, leaving Dilmir with no way to know if he had arrived where he was supposed to. But at least he was far away, and safe.

Felnir had stayed behind. Dilmir was sure the Council would arrest Felnir once they knew he was here, but again what Eltuthar had said about Alfimir held true. Felnir was a Dark Elf, and as such had powers the Council did not. Alfimir knew this, and knew therefore that he could be of help if the undead attacked. So he had allowed Felnir to stay in Eld’rin, at least until the danger had passed. Alfimir didn’t rule the Council, but he was an archmage, and his word was not to be questioned. So Felnir stayed.

Dilmir wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel anymore. He knew who the Asdelarcen were and why they were here, but he also knew that an undead army was on its way. He could defeat the zombies, but could he kill them all? And what about Cyprien? He was supposed to be leading the army, and would doubtless be ready for Dilmir. Then there was Ilrin. She was safe, but was the cost too high? Would Alfimir turn on him and Eltuthar once the threat was passed? No, on the whole, things had gone from bad to worse. The most Dilmir could say was that for once he at least knew most of what was going on.

These thoughts circled in his mind as the day progressed. It felt strange, not going to training, but there was far too much going on. Noon arrived, and Aimim provided lunch for the three of them (Felnir was still there, having nowhere else to go).

Dilmir asked Felnir about the Asdelarcen. They might be Cursed, but they knew things they shouldn’t, like how to enchant energy. And during their last attack on him, their spells had swerved to avoid an obstacle.

“That’s nothing new,” Felnir said when Dilmir mentioned this. He grabbed a hunk of bread and bit into it with gusto. Apparently being on the run with Eltuthar hadn’t afforded a great opportunity for large meals. “Spells can be as simple or as complex as you make them. You can easily make a spell sense what’s in front of it, and turn to avoid it. You’ll probably learn that before your training ends. You just don’t see it done very often.”

Dilmir nodded. That made sense. “What about enchanting energy, though?” he said. “I thought only Eltuthar knew how to do that.”

“So did I,” Felnir said, now grabbing a wheel of cheese and cutting himself a large wedge. “But you have to remember that the secrets of magic were known and studied long before the Curse was cast. A lot’s been forgotten since then. Eltuthar is just rediscovering it.”

“So Aranthar must have just found out the same secret,” Dilmir realized.

Felnir nodded, mouth finally too full to speak.

If anything, that made Aranthar more dangerous. He and Eltuthar had both been studying magic, but Aranthar had been doing so for much longer. Who knew what secrets he had discovered which Eltuthar knew nothing about? How were they possibly going to survive Aranthar when he finally decided to attack?

The undead. They were the threat right now. One problem at a time. They’d deal with Aranthar when he arrived.

They finished lunch soon after. Not sure what else to do, Dilmir decided to go to training. He was sure Erundil would be waiting for him, and there wasn’t much else he could do right now. Ilrin was safe, the Asdelarcen had the Council to deal with, and Alfimir was sure to have scouts scouring the forests around Eld’rin, searching for the undead. Until the undead came, Dilmir might as well continue training.

Felnir said he would stay put. Alfimir had given him leave to stay in Eld’rin until the threat was past, but he was still a Dark Elf. Many here thought of him as the enemy, so it was best if he didn’t go walking around Eld’rin if he didn’t need to.

Dilmir strapped on his tarrenith and his sword, donned a cloak, and opened the door. Eld’rin was unusually quiet. The presence of the mages inside the city had made the atmosphere tense. The Council had chosen not to tell people about the approaching army until they found it, to prevent a panic, so it was the Asdelarcen the people feared. Dilmir was no longer their only target, and if the Council was taking the threat seriously, then so should they. As a result, almost everyone was either home, or at training. Very few elves were to be seen walking about Eld’rin.

The uneasy atmosphere quickly spread to Dilmir as he stood in the doorway. Felnir came up behind him.

“Everything fine?” he asked.

Dilmir nodded. “Just thinking,” he said. He descended the steps to the ground below.

“Be careful,” Aimim said, standing in the doorway as well.

Dilmir turned. “You be careful too,” he said. “The Asdelarcen don’t seem to be after me anymore.”

“She’ll be fine,” Felnir said. “I’ll—” He abruptly stopped talking, looking at something beyond Dilmir. His eyes narrowed, then widened in realization. “Duck!” he shouted, pulling Aimim down.

Dilmir flattened himself to the ground, surging his magic outwards as he did. He should have done that before he ever opened the door.

A spell flew through the open doorway, right where Aimim had been standing, and embedded itself on the far wall. Dilmir had felt it as it flew past, and it had been slippery. Asdelarcen.

Both he and Felnir leapt to their feet. Dilmir’s magic raced out from him, quickly locating several shielded Asdelarcen – at least eight in total – spread around the house in a semi-circle, hidden behind other Elven houses. They must have just been waiting for him to leave.

“Venel’terenim, hart imit!” he cried. His magic dove into the ground, causing the roots beneath the Upper Quarter to spring upwards. Several Asdelarcen were pinned to the ground instantly. The rest ran, dodging Dilmir’s attack as if they had expected it. They only ran for a moment, before turning and all casting spells simultaneously at Dilmir.

Dilmir’s first thought was to block the spells with roots, but the Asdelarcen were probably ready for that. He couldn’t touch them with his magic, and he couldn’t block them with roots. What was left? He didn’t have time…

“Asin,” Felnir shouted, leaping to the ground next to Dilmir, “enneres ves elnen im il. Seneth mathal elnen arth kier imil.” Dilmir couldn’t begin to guess what the spell had done, but Felnir charged forwards, completely unarmed. He took all the spells aimed for Dilmir, straight to the chest before Dilmir had time to react.

The spells dissipated before reaching him, vanishing harmlessly.

“You – What—”

“I’m a Dark Elf,” Felnir said, glancing at Dilmir.

Of course. He must be using one of Eltuthar’s secrets. Dilmir immediately wondered why Eltuthar had refrained from teaching him this incredibly useful skill, but he didn’t have time to think for long.

Seeing that their spells were useless, the Asdelarcen Dilmir had not already trapped with roots – five in all – drew their swords and advanced. The image clicked in Dilmir’s memory. What was he doing? He had dealt with this just this morning.

He raised his hand, flooded his magic into the roots below his feet, and said, “Dreth. Kier imit.”

The roots shattered, thousands of sharp splinters exploding outwards, all aiming towards the Asdelarcen. As before, they seemed to have no defense against the attack. Several raised their cloaks to ward off the slivers of wood; the rest just turned and ran. It didn’t matter. The splinters caught up with them in less than a second, tearing into them like a thousand jagged shards of glass. The Asdelarcen fell to the ground, crying out in pain.

Dilmir didn’t bother trying to stop the Asdelarcen as they staggered to their feet and ran. The ones he had trapped with roots also wriggled free and escaped. He had beaten them; he had stopped the attack. Actually finishing the job, actually killing them, never entered his mind. It was the greatest of crimes to kill another elf. Only the Council or the archmage could make that decision.

Besides, the attack didn’t make any sense. Why had the Asdelarcen suddenly decided to attack him again? The attack didn’t fit with their other attempts to kill him either. Every time, they had adapted, compensating for what he had done previously. This time they had just attacked. It was almost as if they hadn’t planned the attack fully. As if their attention was somewhere else. As if…

“Ilrin,” Dilmir muttered, sheathing his sword. The attack had been a distraction. The Asdelarcen had adapted, trying to keep him occupied while they went after Ilrin again. It was the only explanation.

“They’re after Ilrin,” Dilmir said, turning to Felnir. “I’m sure of it.”

“Go,” he said, not bothering to ask how Dilmir had reached his conclusion. “I’ll stay here in case they attack again.”

Dilmir nodded, and then sprinted through the Upper Quarter. The more he ran, the more he became convinced that the attack had been a diversion. The Asdelarcen had shown themselves to be adaptable and capable. Attacking Dilmir without even bothering to compensate for what he had done just that morning wasn’t like them. The real attack was going on deep in the Lower Quarter. Dilmir only hoped the Council mages could handle it.

He sprinted out of the Upper Quarter, and made straight for the entrance to the Lower Quarter. A Council mage was positioned on either side of the entrance, and they, recognizing Dilmir, made to stop him. Dilmir had no time to explain. He caused two thick roots to burst from the ground on either side of him, shielding him from the mages as he ran past them into the Lower Quarter.

As he did so, he glanced back, and saw that Aldir was with the Council mages. This struck him as odd. Aldir was no mage. What was he doing there? He had no time to wonder though. With each footfall, more time passed. Would the Asdelarcen get past the Council? Could they hold them off until he got there?

Dilmir finally rounded the last bend and saw Ilrin’s house. It was surrounded, not by mages standing at attention, but several elves, lying prone on the roots. By the way they were lying, Dilmir guessed that they were either dying, or already dead. No one else was there, and the door to Ilrin’s home was blasted apart, leaving a dark hole.

Dilmir rushed forward, noting as he did so that several of the dead elves were Asdelarcen. So the Council had at least put up a fight. In fact, most of the dead elves were Asdelarcen. Only a few were Council mages. Where were the rest?

Dilmir skidded to a halt in front of a mage who was still alive. He had clearly been blasted backwards by some force, and had hit his back against the root. Now he was trying to heal himself, but his injuries were making it difficult, distracting him. One needed complete focus to use magic; debilitating pain tended to get in the way.

“Athen,” Dilmir said, touching the mage on the shoulder. He had to touch him, because he was encased in a slippery shield of magic – the result of the spell Felnir had shown Alfimir. Most of the mage’s injuries healed, Dilmir’s magic being sufficient to dull his pain.

“Did they take Ilrin?” Dilmir asked, kneeling beside the mage.

The mage nodded with difficulty. “Attacked us,” he said. “Couldn’t stop them… her parents tried to fight… knocked them out.” He nodded to the forms of Ilrin’s parents, lying just within the door. Dilmir could see them breathing. They were all right for the moment.

“Where did they go?”

“Entrance,” the mage coughed. “Main gate. Hurry; they just left.”

Dilmir nodded and stood. The Asdelarcen were fast, fast enough to attack, overpower Ilrin and her family, and escape. But Dilmir was faster.

He gathered his magic, not bothering to cast a spell, his concentration sufficient, and teleported himself to the main gate. Again, sound ceased briefly as everything turned to white. Then Dilmir landed at the main gate, right between two surprised Council mages. He was just in time.

Two Asdelarcen appeared, dragging an unconscious Ilrin between them. They had come from one of the main trees of Eld’rin, which meant they had somehow managed to run all the way through the Lower Quarter, and past more mages, before reaching the gate. Dilmir immediately sensed they would not be easy to stop.

He was wrong. As he sent his magic towards them, he quickly realized the one thing they had forgotten. The Asdelarcen were shielded from magic, but Ilrin wasn’t. Dilmir quickly merged his magic with hers, finding an enchantment from the Asdelarcen rendering her muscles slack and limp, and undid it.

Ilrin sprang to life, jerking out of the Asdelarcen’s surprised grips. They turned, not understanding how she had freed herself of their enchantment, and their moment of hesitation gave the Council mages behind Dilmir enough time to figure out what was going on.

Knowing spells were pointless, they drew their swords and charged the Asdelarcen. The Asdelarcen seemed to realize this was a fight they couldn’t win. They looked at Ilrin, somehow free of their magic, looked at Dilmir, all too ready to blast them into oblivion, and at the oncoming mages, their swords glinting in the noon sun. Then they turned and ran.

The Council mages pursued them, trying to cut off their escape with spells, but Dilmir didn’t follow. He ran to Ilrin, who was looking a little unsteady and very confused.

“What – How?”

“The Asdelarcen tried to take you,” Dilmir said. “They distracted me. Are you all right?”

Ilrin nodded. “What about my parents?” she asked.

“They’re unconscious,” Dilmir said, “but I think they’ll be fine. The Asdelarcen were just after you.”

Ilrin nodded. “I tried to fight,” she said, her voice slurring some. “But they struck me. They went through my shield… like you did with their roots. They drained my energy. Then they enchanted me…” She dropped to her knees, unable to stay standing.

“Right,” Dilmir said, hauling her to her feet and surging his magic into both of them. “That’s it. From now on, we’re staying together.”

And in an instant, he had teleported them both back to Aimim’s home.

It was still morning when Dilmir exited the Lower Quarter, alone. They had reported the attack as he had suggested. Bound by their laws, the Council had been forced to act, although Dilmir privately thought that several of their members wished the Asdelarcen had just finished him off.

Ilrin had been sent home, and Council mages had been stationed outside her door. Mages had also been stationed throughout Eld’rin: at the main gate, at the entrance to the Lower Quarter; everywhere there was a chokepoint.

Dilmir was beginning to doubt what he had said earlier about feeling safer with mages around. The Asdelarcen seemed to be Cursed – of that he was fairly sure now – but they still had magic neither he nor the Council seemed to know about. They were shielded, as were their spells, and that gave them a great advantage. Dilmir wasn’t sure if the Council mages were really much of a threat to them, and if that was the case, then Ilrin really wasn’t protected at all.

Once he realized this, Dilmir had tried to stay and guard Ilrin as well, but the Council wouldn’t have it. They couldn’t easily claim he was a threat, since the Asdelarcen had attacked him as well as Ilrin, but Ilrin’s parents had protested, saying that he was responsible for the presences of the Asdelarcen, and that everyone near him was in danger.

Dilmir hadn’t expected that. He had met Ilrin’s parents before, and had liked them. Yes, they believed the Council, but they had seemed more open-minded than most. To hear them say what they had… it had been a blow Dilmir hadn’t been expecting.

And so here he was, leaving the Lower Quarter. Training had begun long ago, but there was little point in going there. Dilmir doubted he could keep his mind on what Elmir was saying, and he didn’t want to anyway. He was worried about Ilrin, about the Asdelarcen attacking her again. But he couldn’t go there either. Her parents had forbidden him from coming near their home, or their daughter.

Dilmir paused in the middle of Eld’rin, unsure where to go or what to do. He had to stop the Asdelarcen someway. But how?

Someone whispered his name from the nearby shadows.

He turned. The sun was up by now, casting long shadows across Eld’rin. The voice had come from one of these, but he saw no one.

“Dilmir!” came the whisper again.

He caught sight briefly of a hand, beckoning him towards the closest, and darkest, shadow. He paused only a moment, and then approached the shadow cautiously. He could just make out the shape of an elf standing there, crouched, hiding in the shadow.

The elf reached out and pulled Dilmir into the shadow. It was only then that Dilmir recognized him.

“Felnir?” he said.

When Eltuthar had been attacked at Arath Imil, Alfimir had slain all of his followers, the Eth Aniliim, or Dark Elves as the Council liked to call them. None had survived. However, Felnir had been imprisoned by the Council at the time, captured as a Dark Elf, and had thus escaped Alfimir’s fiery purge. The Council had been forced to let him go when Eltuthar fled. That had been the last Dilmir had seen of him.

“What are you doing here?” Dilmir asked.

“Looking for you,” Felnir said. “Eltuthar’s with me. He needs to see you.”

“Eltuthar – What, here?” Dilmir lowered his voice. “If he’s caught—”

“He won’t be,” Felnir assured him. “He teleported both of us right into your Aunt’s home. No one knows he’s there.”

Eltuthar was Uncursed like Dilmir, but to end the Civil War, Sonlen – who had been archmage then – had put his own brand of curse on him. All of Eltuthar’s magic had been purged from him. While he could still sense the magic about himself, to use it caused him great pain. If he continued to use magic, Sonlen’s curse would kill him. To teleport both himself and Felnir to Eld’rin must have been very dangerous.

But he was here now, and there was no one Dilmir would rather talk to. Eltuthar knew more about magic than anyone he knew. He could answer all of Dilmir’s questions about the Asdelarcen. He might even know how to get rid of them.

Dilmir nodded to Felnir, and they set out for the Upper Quarter, Felnir keeping his hood low to hide his face. He was still a Dark Elf, and as such was technically an enemy of the elves. It would be better if he wasn’t seen.

They arrived at Aimim’s home shortly afterwards, Dilmir opening the door and stepping inside. He closed it quickly once Felnir entered.

Eltuthar was there, sitting in a chair in the living room, speaking with Aimim. He turned as Dilmir entered, and all of Dilmir’s thoughts about the Asdelarcen died instantly.

The last time he had seen Eltuthar, he had been strong. He was in his middle years by Elven standards, and his hair had been gray, but he had still exuded a sense of power and command.

Now he was weak. His cloak was dusty and tattered. His skin was drawn, the bones of his face sharply defined. He slumped in the chair wearily, as if he didn’t even have the strength to stand.

“Dilmir,” he said weakly, his thin face breaking into a smile.

“What happened to you?” Dilmir said, before he could stop himself.

Eltuthar’s smile flickered. “Sit, Dilmir,” he said. “There is much I have to tell you.”

Dilmir sat, Felnir finding a seat as well.

“To answer your question,” Eltuthar said, shifting in his seat to face Dilmir (Dilmir saw him wince), “Morindan happened to me.”

“Morindan?” Dilmir repeated. Morindan was the land to the east of Eld’rin, a place of death, ruled by Cyprien and his vampires.

“Morindan,” Eltuthar agreed grimly. “I had been hearing rumors for some time, rumors about the vampires and undead moving, massing at Cyprien’s castle. The land itself was growing cold and oddly still, and I found that all the energy, all the magic, had been sucked out of it. I hastened to Cyprien’s castle, hoping to uncover what was happening.

“I arrived in time to overhear a meeting between Cyprien and an elf called Aranthar.”

Aranthar. The name stirred something in Dilmir’s memory, but he couldn’t place it. He glanced at Felnir, but saw that the name meant nothing to him either.

“An elf?” Felnir said. “Cyprien was actually meeting with an elf?”

Eltuthar nodded. “Plotting, actually. They both seemed to want to destroy Eld’rin, but Aranthar couldn’t do so just yet. He said something about his work in Annelintia being incomplete, and that he couldn’t leave until it was. What that work might be, I have no idea.

“But he also said that because of me, he had to attack Eld’rin early. Apparently, word of my research on the Curse had somehow reached him. He said it was possible I would succeed in lifting it, and that attacking Eld’rin and sowing chaos amongst the elves would buy him some time if I was successful. I was, understandably, both elated and horrified at the same time.”

“Who is this Aranthar?” Dilmir asked.

“I didn’t immediately recognize the name either,” Eltuthar said. “I’ve been hiding with the dwarves though, and they had several records about him. Once I realized who he was, I hastened here with Felnir, to warn you, Dilmir. You see… Aranthar is of our line. He is Uncursed.”

The meaning of these words did not strike Dilmir right away. “Uncursed?” he repeated.

“Uncursed,” Eltuthar confirmed. “And he’s been alive for much longer than either of us. He’s been alive for so long that I’m sure he’s using magic to keep himself that way.”

“How old is he?” Dilmir asked.

“At least two hundred fifty,” Eltuthar said grimly.

The full meaning of what Eltuthar was saying finally sank in. Dilmir had the magic of nearly nineteen years, and he was easily the most powerful elf in Feylund. Or at least he had thought so. But now this Aranthar was Uncursed and had the magic of two hundred fifty years? And he wanted to destroy Eld’rin? Dilmir couldn’t even imagine what an elf could do with so much power. He didn’t know what to say, and just sat there, trying to grapple with the number.

“Currently,” Eltuthar said, “Aranthar is in Annelintia. He said he couldn’t leave there for at least a few months, and left soon after meeting with Cyprien. So at least we don’t have to worry about him just yet. But he left an army with Cyprien, around a hundred undead, and told Cyprien to use them against Eld’rin. He said these undead were shielded with magic, and I found his words to be true. Each was surrounded with more magic than a Cursed elf can possess, and their strength had been augmented as well. One blow from them could probably slay an elf instantly, and the magic makes them immune to both spell and sword. Only you, Dilmir, can hope to defeat them.”

Dilmir’s ability to respond had long since left him.

“Where are these undead now?” Felnir asked.

“That I don’t know,” Eltuthar said. “I had trouble getting out of Morindan unseen. It took much longer than I anticipated, and the toll on me living in a place with no magic for so long was unpleasant. As you might have noticed.” He spread his arms wide, showing just how thin he truly was. “Unfortunately, I lost track of the undead. Cyprien could have led them here already.”

“There’s been no attack,” Dilmir said, finally regaining the ability of speech. “If they were here, they would attack.”

“That’s the last thing Aranthar mentioned,” Eltuthar said. “He has agents in Eld’rin, and told Cyprien to wait until they said it was safe to attack. What they’re waiting for, I’m not sure, but—”

“The Asdelarcen!” Dilmir said, suddenly springing to his feet.

“The – who?” Eltuthar repeated.

“The Asdelarcen,” Dilmir said. “They’ve been here, attacking me. They must be Aranthar’s agents! Who else could it be?”

“You’ve been attacked?” Eltuthar said sharply. “Who are these Asdelarcen? Dilmir, tell me what’s been going on.”

So Dilmir did. He told Eltuthar about the Asdelarcen and their attacks, how their magic was slippery, how he couldn’t affect it, and how they now seemed to be going after his friends.

When he finished, Eltuthar leaned back in his chair. “These are Aranthar’s agents,” he said. “I have no doubt.” He was silent for a moment. “As for why they’ve turned to your friends,” he said, “I have no idea. But it seems clear that they’ve been trying to get rid of you, knowing that you pose a threat to the undead.”

“Can I defeat the undead though?” Dilmir said. “If they’re shielded like the Asdelarcen…”

“You said you broke through the shield once, right?” Eltuthar said.

Dilmir nodded.

“By touching the root they had enchanted? Yes, that’s the secret.” Eltuthar leaned forward. “There was a spell, back in the early days of magic before the Curse, which could create such a shield. It was the dwarves of all people who uncovered the secret; apparently they make a habit of preserving very old documents. That’s how I know about it.

“According to what I read, it is possible to measure the distance magic has traveled. It loses power as it travels, so when a spell is cast, or even when you use your magic, Dilmir, it’s slightly less powerful even a few feet away than it is right next to you. There was a spell which could detect this drop in power, and if it was above a certain threshold, just block any magic which touched it. The only way around it is to enchant the object at point blank range, which is what you did when you touched that root. The drop in power was too low for the enchantment to sense, therefore it couldn’t block you.”

“So…” Dilmir said, trying to keep up, “essentially if I touch an Asdelarcen, I can go right through his shield?”

Eltuthar nodded.

“And the same holds true for the undead?” Dilmir guessed.

Again, Eltuthar nodded. “But,” he added a moment later, “the undead have two shields. One is identical to what these Asdelarcen have. You can get through that. But beyond that is a shield of pure magic, strong enough to deflect any spell from a Cursed elf. Only you have the magic to overwhelm that shield.”

“That’s not much of an advantage,” Felnir pointed out. “Why are the Asdelarcen so worried about Dilmir stopping the undead? If he has to walk right up to them, they could kill him easily.”

“Not… quite,” Eltuthar said. “I won’t deny it’s dangerous, but as an Uncursed elf, Dilmir, you have certain advantages. Magic is best suited to blocking energy. If you try and block a physical object or force with it, usually nothing happens.”

Dilmir knew this. That was why he hadn’t bothered modifying his shield when the thorns were crushing him – it wouldn’t have made any difference.

“However,” Eltuthar said, “this is only because the energy required to block a physical force is a ridiculously large amount. A Cursed elf could never hope to conjure such a shield. But you, Dilmir, have access to much more magic.”

“So if I make a shield to block the attacks of these undead,” Dilmir said, “it will just… work?”

“No,” Eltuthar said. “You merely have the magic to make the shield at least take a hit. After one or two blows, the shield will evaporate. However, being Uncursed, you can pull magic from nearby, and use it to keep the shield up. It’s still dangerous, but if you can keep your shield in place, the undead won’t be able to hurt you.”

Dilmir sat back, trying to process what Eltuthar had said.

“My guess,” Eltuthar said, “is that Aranthar doesn’t think you can possibly defeat all of the undead. But he still wants you out of the way before he attacks, because there are only a hundred zombies. My best guess is that Aranthar has limited numbers of them, and doesn’t want to lose any.”

“Ilrin,” Dilmir said to himself. He had been thinking about the shields of the Asdelarcen, and had just realized something. “If the Asdelarcen can block magic from everywhere except right next to them, then they are immune to spells, right?”

Eltuthar nodded. “Completely,” he said.

“Then the Council mages guarding Ilrin have no chance against them,” Dilmir said. “The Asdelarcen are immune to spells, and their own spells are shielded; there’s nothing the Council can do. The Asdelarcen could just walk in there and take her.”

Eltuthar sat back, thinking. Dilmir remained standing, on the verge of leaving Eltuthar and running straight to the Lower Quarter.

“I think,” Eltuthar finally said, “that it’s time we alert Alfimir to what is going on.”

“Alfimir?” Dilmir echoed, his worry temporarily interrupted.

“Yes,” Eltuthar said. “We have to warn the Council about the undead. And I think… I think it’s time we gave the Council an edge against these Asdelarcen. You can’t be everywhere, Dilmir, and the Council is bound by its laws to protect Ilrin. They need to be able to fight back against the Asdelarcen.”

“But… how?”

“Simple,” Eltuthar said. “This shield the Asdelarcen possess – it is easily created by even a Cursed elf. The secret of its formation was lost long ago, but I, in my studies, uncovered it. We will show this to Alfimir, and he in turn will shield the Council just as the Asdelarcen are.”

Dilmir was shocked into silence. It was Felnir who finally spoke.

“That’s… That’s stupid,” he said bluntly. “Alfimir is our greatest enemy. Why would we give him such a secret?”

“Alfimir is not our greatest enemy,” Eltuthar said. “Aranthar is, and he’s Alfimir’s enemy too. Right now, the most important thing is that we stop these undead. I think Alfimir will recognize that.”

“But…” Felnir protested. “You’ll be giving him a great advantage over us as well! A shield even Dilmir here can’t breach easily?”

“You’ve met Alfimir before,” Eltuthar said calmly. “Consider what you know of him. I’ve known him for most of my life. He has one goal only: to protect the elves. However misguided he might be, every action he takes ultimately stems from that single drive. He fears my magic, and what it can do in the hands of power-hungry elves. That is why I can entrust him with the secret of these shields: because I know that he will keep it hidden, and never let the Council or anyone else know how to create them. He was there at the Civil War. Neither of us want to repeat that.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Felnir said. “What if Alfimir has changed? What if you tell him how to create this shield, and then he turns around and tells the secret to the Council?”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Eltuthar said, his voice still calm. “You know we can.” He looked pointedly at Felnir.

The look stirred something in Dilmir: a small shred of resentment. “You’ve known how to create these shields all this time,” he said to Eltuthar, “but you never showed me? Why? Why didn’t you show me the secrets of magic you had found?”

Eltuthar turned to him. “Because I was afraid and unsure,” he said. His response had been quick, and Dilmir guessed he had thought about this conversation for a long time. “You have to understand,” Eltuthar said, “that I caused one of the bloodiest battles in Elven history with those secrets. I never, ever, want to see that repeated. I trusted you, Dilmir, I did, but I saw far too much of myself in you. You had good intentions, but I did too when I was young. I didn’t tell you everything I had found because I didn’t want to take the risk – however small – of starting another war. And besides, you didn’t need to know them. I didn’t know about Aranthar then.”

“Well I could use them now,” Dilmir said, wavering between resentment and simple exasperation.

“And I’ll tell you,” Eltuthar said. “But right now time is of the essence. We have to warn Alfimir about the undead. If we find them and destroy them, then I’ll tell you everything I can, Dilmir. But until then, time is against us.

“Felnir,” he said, turning, “you must find Alfimir. I will be arrested if caught, but the Council has no grounds on which to hold you. And I doubt Dilmir has much credibility with the Council at the moment. It has to be you. When you see him, tell him how to form the Velyor Enedil Asvarien. That’s the shield the Asdelarcen are using. You remember the spell?”

Felnir nodded, frowning. “And you’re sure about this,” he said. “Telling this to Alfimir?”

“Alfimir is nothing if not predictable,” Eltuthar said. “And besides, him having the shield hardly spells our doom.”

Felnir nodded grimly, and stood.

“What do I do?” Dilmir asked.

Eltuthar looked at him. “Stay alive,” he said. “And try to keep everyone else alive too. You might be able to kill these undead, but it won’t be easy. You’ll have to be ready when they come.”

Dilmir nodded. A few short minutes ago, he had been concerned about the Asdelarcen and the threat to Ilrin. Leave it to Eltuthar to introduce an undead army and an all-powerful elf into the mix. Dilmir only hoped that was the end of the surprises.

Ilrin watched the early morning mist outside her window. It eddied back and forth, thick, quickly obscuring everything. It always grew thicker in the winter.

The rest of yesterday had been without incident. Ilrin wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Dilmir had told her how he had been able to control the roots once he touched them, and how the Asdelarcen’s spells had been blocked by his shield, but neither of them really thought the Asdelarcen had been beaten.

Dilmir had very nearly been killed. Somehow, this time it felt far more real to Ilrin. Even when they had both been surrounded by fire, she had known how to get out, provided she had enough magic. This time, neither of them had known what to do. Dilmir had told her how, before he had touched the roots, there had been a moment where he had realized just how powerless he was.

Dilmir, powerless. It was a concept neither of them were familiar with. Yes, Dilmir had again survived, and this time several Asdelarcen had been captured. But somehow it didn’t feel like a victory. Ilrin knew the rest of the Asdelarcen were still out there, and the lack of an attack since then had her worried. She doubted they would just give up. They were planning something, and she hated to think what it might be. All of their attacks had been close calls. Would they eventually come up with something Dilmir simply couldn’t escape?

She shook herself. She couldn’t stay here all day, thinking. Dilmir was probably already at the middle of Eld’rin, waiting for her.

Along with Endir and Inilidin, they had discussed the Asdelarcen and their attacks far into the night, staying up much later than they should have. Endir had been elated that his idea for a shield had worked so well, and had insisted on modifying it, adding even more safeguards. Ilrin had to admit it was a good idea, and Dilmir had replicated the new shield for all of them.

Eventually they had needed to concede that it was time to return home. Endir and Inilidin had left, and Dilmir had walked Ilrin to the middle of Eld’rin as he always did. Ilrin wasn’t sure why he always did that, nor why he insisted on waiting for her every morning. But she had no objections, and he seemed to enjoy it.

She glanced around her room quickly, making sure she had everything she needed. She had slept in this morning; Eledim would be waiting for her impatiently.

Sighing at the thought, she left her room, walked down the short hall, and entered the living room. Her parents were still sitting at the breakfast table, their schedules not quite as demanding as hers. She crossed to the door and was about to open it, when her father’s voice stopped her.

“Ilrin,” he said.

She turned.

He got up and walked to where she stood. “I want you to stop spending time with Dilmir,” he said.

Ilrin looked up at him, completely bewildered. “Why?” she finally asked.

“Because it’s dangerous,” her mother said, standing as well.

This again. “He’s not dangerous,” Ilrin said. She was surprised. Her parents believed the Council like almost everyone else, but they had also met Dilmir on several occasions, and knew that he was no one to be feared. They generally didn’t mind her spending time with him.

“It’s not that,” her mother said, “it’s because of the danger he’s attracting. These Asdelarcen… everyone around him is in danger.”

Ilrin’s father nodded. “They don’t care who they attack,” he said. “And you’ve already been attacked once. We just don’t want you hurt.”

“So you want me to stop spending time with him as a result?” Ilrin asked. “Shun him like everyone else?”

“Not shun him, no,” her mother said gently, approaching her. “We just want you out of harm’s way. Being around him is dangerous right now.”

“Not being around him is dangerous,” Ilrin countered. “He’s the only one who can stop these attacks.” She didn’t know if this was true, but he was certainly the only one capable of handling them.

“These Asdelarcen have attacked only him,” her father said. “He’s the target, not anyone else. Someone’s after him, and we wouldn’t see you hurt as a result.”  

“I’m not going to stop spending time with him,” Ilrin said. “I’ll be careful, both of us will, but he’s my friend. I’m not going to run away because I might get hurt.”

She opened the door and left before her parents could protest. It closed behind her, and she walked down the root. She understood them; they just wanted to keep her safe. And they were right, she knew that too. But abandoning Dilmir was the last thing he needed right now. She meant what she had said: she was his friend, and friends didn’t abandon each other when there was danger. 

Still, they had a point. He was attracting danger, and being around him was dangerous. But Ilrin had known about his magic long before the other elves had, and she hadn’t abandoned him then. She wasn’t about to now, either. She hated going against her parents though. She knew they just wanted to keep her safe, but staying away from Dilmir just wasn’t the answer.

She walked down the roots, the mist hiding her, her feet knowing the way out of the Lower Quarter. It was still quite dark, the mist and shadows combining to hide Ilrin from the world, isolating her from all else.

At least until a shape drifted out of the mist and joined her. It was Inilidin, beads of dew clinging to her hair. She caught up to Ilrin quickly, and they continued down the root together.

No one could ever replace Dilmir for Ilrin, but it was Inilidin she could confide in. She listened well, never judged, and unlike Dilmir, didn’t assume every problem was one she needed to personally fix. Not that Ilrin disliked that about Dilmir. But it did mean she didn’t tell him everything. With Inilidin, it was different.

She told Inilidin about what her parents had said, and about how she knew they were right, but also knew that distancing herself from Dilmir was not the answer. As she had known she would, Inilidin was sympathetic and understanding.

“You just have to be patient,” she said. “They know Dilmir. They’ve met him. Once this is over, they won’t mind you seeing him.”

“I know,” Ilrin said. “I still don’t like going against them like that though.” They were silent for a moment, the mist shrouding them from the world as they walked. “What about your parents?” she asked. “Do they still believe the Council?”

Inilidin nodded. “I don’t know how I can convince them otherwise,” she said. “They haven’t met Dilmir like your parents have. They really think he’s dangerous.” She sighed. “I hate sneaking out every night.”

“I know,” Ilrin said. “But things will change in time. Eventually, everyone will have to admit that Dilmir really is just trying to help. Sometimes I wonder—”

But what Ilrin wondered was abruptly lost, as a spell flew by her, narrowly missing her arm, and slammed into the bark of the root just ahead of them. Thorns instantly sprouted in their path, quickly growing in size, trying to block their way forward.

Ilrin didn’t pause to think. “Run, Inilidin!” she cried, dashing for the thorns herself.

Inilidin reached them first, scrambling through the only remaining gap. The thorns scratched her as she squeezed by them, snagging on her clothing and costing precious seconds as she struggled. By the time she was free, the gap was almost gone. Ilrin was trapped.

“Go!” she told Inilidin.

Inilidin didn’t waste any time arguing, but promptly ran away down the root, the mist quickly enveloping her. No spells went after her. For that, Ilrin was thankful. Unable to get past the thorns, she turned to face whoever had cast the spell.

Three elves, hooded and cloaked, were quickly approaching her out of the mist. Asdelarcen, she was sure of it. What they wanted with her, she couldn’t guess. Her father’s words came back to her unbidden, and she realized she might have been hasty in disagreeing with him.

The three Asdelarcen stopped a short distance away, mist eddying about them. “Come with us,” the middle one said, “and you won’t be harmed.”

Ilrin wasn’t about to come with them willingly. She drew her sword, silently thankful that she had it with her out of pure habit.

“Do not be foolish,” the left-most Asdelarcen said. “We do not want to hurt you. Come with us.”

“No,” Ilrin said. There really wasn’t anything else to say.

The Asdelarcen looked at each other, nodded, and as one drew their swords. Ilrin realized they weren’t even going to try spells. Did they know about the shields? How could they, unless they had spies inside Eld’rin?

Slowly, the three Asdelarcen advanced. The two on either side fanned out, trying to come at Ilrin from the sides, while the middle one walked forwards slowly. Ilrin was gifted with the sword, and her particular style made it easier for her to fight multiple opponents. But these were three grown elves, and she didn’t have much space.

The Asdelarcen clearly knew she could handle a sword, because they didn’t attack immediately. The ones on either side made a few feints, but never fully committed. They stayed out of Ilrin’s reach, and she backed up as far as she could, her back almost touching the thorns behind her.

They knew she couldn’t watch them all. Sure enough, the second she turned slightly to her left, the one on her right attacked. She turned to face him, and the one on her left attacked, the middle Asdelarcen closing in to make sure she didn’t escape.

Ilrin could only go one way, and that was forwards, towards the Asdelarcen on her right. She drove her sword towards him, forcing him to get out of the way, and leapt away from the Asdelarcen behind her.

The middle Asdelarcen swung his sword at her, forcing her to duck. She swiped her sword at his legs as she did so, causing him to leap backwards to avoid the blow, but even as she did so, she felt a sword connect with her back.

She shied away from the stroke, feeling the blade glance off of her ribs rather than penetrate deeply. Still, it stung horribly and she sucked in her breath involuntarily at the sudden pain. She spun on the spot, trying to strike at whoever had struck her, but the Asdelarcen ducked just as she had, and swung at her feet.

Ilrin leapt out of the way, but she was surrounded. She leapt away from one Asdelarcen only to move into the blade of another, this one slicing into her left arm. She cried out as the blade sliced deep, severing muscle, and pulled her arm away.

She was backed up against the wall of the root they were all on now, her back on fire, her arm streaming blood and deadened to all sensation. The Asdelarcen knew she was cornered, and all attacked at once. One struck her sword, wrenching it from her grasp. Another sliced his sword across her right leg, causing her to fall. The other lowered his blade until it pointed at her throat.

They didn’t mean to kill her. They wanted her alive. This, more than anything else, frightened Ilrin. What could they want with her? What did they mean to do? She couldn’t think. Her mind was going fuzzy from all the pain. Or maybe it was the blood loss. She didn’t even immediately register it as two of the Asdelarcen stooped, and hauled her to her feet.

“Quickly,” the third Asdelarcen said.

And then the world flipped upside down. The root they were on tossed and writhed like a snake, and Ilrin was thrown down with the Asdelarcen. The thorns behind her parted in an explosion of ash, and beyond them, mist swirling about him, Dilmir appeared, hand outstretched, fury burning in his eyes. Inilidin was behind him.

The Asdelarcen scrambled to their feet, backing away from Dilmir, but they didn’t run. They still had their swords drawn, and neither Dilmir nor Inilidin had a sword, as both only trained at the blade in the afternoon.

They eyed each other for a moment, the Asdelarcen and Dilmir. Then as one, the Asdelarcen charged, swords held ready.

Dilmir didn’t even move. With a horrible splintering, the root between him and the Asdelarcen shattered, countless shards of wood exploding outwards. Somehow, they all flew towards the Asdelarcen, none coming close to Ilrin.

The Asdelarcen tried to turn, to raise their cloaks to shelter themselves, but it was no use. Thousands of sharp splinters of wood blasted into them, shredding their cloaks into nothingness, and embedding themselves in the leather jerkins they wore underneath. They cried out, two falling to their hands and knees, as blood blossomed across them from a hundred small cuts. The wood wasn’t lethal, but Ilrin was sure it was very painful. And judging by Dilmir’s look, he meant to finish the job.

The Asdelarcen must have reached the same conclusion. They scrambled to their feet and ran, staggering into the mist as quickly as they could, leaving a trail of blood. Dilmir stood for a moment, clearly wanting to pursue them. But then he lowered his hand, and turned instead to Ilrin.

She felt a sudden shift in energy, and felt his magic flood into her. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable sensation. It sometimes felt like someone was within her, controlling a part of her almost. Dilmir was the only one who could do it, and Ilrin had never told him how it felt, so he had no way to know how uncomfortable it could be at times.

Dilmir didn’t bother to speak any Elvish. He just twisted his magic with hers, commanding the magic to heal her body. Ilrin felt her back grow new skin, the slice in her arm knit together, and her leg stop throbbing. But Dilmir was no Lifeformer, and the healing was imperfect. No matter. She could fix it.

He withdrew his magic as Inilidin approached, and helped her to her feet. Ilrin nodded her thanks.

“What – What did they want?” Inilidin asked, her voice quavering. “Why did they attack us?” She looked uncertainly at Dilmir.

“I don’t know,” Dilmir said, the anger slowly leaving his eyes. “I thought they were only interested in me, but it seems like they’re going after my friends now.”

“What do we do?” Ilrin asked.

Dilmir was silent for a moment. “We report this,” he said. “Asdelarcen in Eld’rin? The Council will have to act. To be honest, I’ll feel a lot safer with mages everywhere in the city. It will make it harder for the Asdelarcen to act.”

Ilrin nodded. He was right; it was the obvious thing to do. As she began healing herself more completely, she remembered her parents. If they had wanted her to stay away from Dilmir before, they would be doubly sure now.

The three of them looked at each other in silence as Ilrin worked. The same thought was on all their minds: why had the Asdelarcen attacked them? What were they planning?

Cyprien wished he wasn’t here, stuck in the Great Forest, waiting. He liked to always either be plotting or attacking, and right now he was doing neither. The Asdelarcen were having a meeting nearby, their voices carrying to Cyprien, but he tried to ignore them.

Iskra. That’s what he should be doing: trying to find her a body. If not for Aranthar, he would have started searching long ago. Once Eld’rin was destroyed, he would let the elves panic for a bit before attacking again. He’d visit some of the villages in disguise, try to pick up rumors of any young elf who the elves might fear or respect.

She had to be young. Elves lived a ridiculously long time compared to humans and dwarves, but the older they got, the less suitable they became for possession. Of course, she couldn’t be too young. She had to be well known, or at least recognizable. That was the whole point. Iskra would inspire far more fear if she inhabited a body the elves already knew.

“We don’t need to kill him,” one of the Asdelarcen said, his whisper carrying to Cyprien through the bare trees.

Cyprien glared at him, annoyed at having his thoughts interrupted.

“Those were Aranthar’s instructions,” another whispered back. “We’ve got to kill him.”

“Aranthar said he couldn’t be present,” the first said. “Killing him is preferrable, but he never said it was necessary.”

Cyprien frowned. More delays. He got up and walked over to where the Asdelarcen were, leaning on trees or sitting on stumps. “What’s happened?” he asked. He was getting tired of waiting. He might as well help if he could.

“Dilmir,” one of the Asdelarcen said. “He has some magical shield we can’t penetrate, and he’s found a way to influence our enchantments.”

“So you can’t kill him,” Cyprien surmised.

“We could, eventually,” the Asdelarcen replied. “We’d find a way past his shield. But it would take time, and we’re all impatient to destroy Eld’rin. We need to get rid of him some other way.”

No one spoke. Cyprien glanced at them all, displeased with their lack of initiative. “And you have no ideas?” he said.

“Well…” said another Asdelarcen, this one much older than the others, “none of which are particularly easy. Obviously we can’t kill him, so we’ve got to pull him away from Eld’rin. Far enough away that he won’t know when we attack.”

“A distraction,” said the first Asdelarcen.

Everyone nodded, but no one seemed to have any further suggestions. Cyprien looked at them all with contempt. They had no idea how to handle elves. Manipulating them was easy.

“Kidnap a friend,” he said. “Someone he’s bound to go after. Lead him along as far as you want, and by the time he finally realizes Eld’rin has been attacked, it will be too late.”

“That… could work,” said the old Asdelarcen.

“Of course it will work,” Cyprien said impatiently. “It happens every time I abduct an elf for possession. Some fool always comes chasing after them.”

A few of the Asdelarcen edged away from him at the mention of possession.

“Who though?” the old Asdelarcen said. “He has no immediate family there, and we can’t just abduct any friend of his. We have to be sure he’ll follow, and keep following.”

“Ilrin,” one said. Several nodded in agreement.

But the old Asdelarcen shook his head. “Too difficult,” he said. “She’s the obvious target, but she’s never alone. Dilmir is always with her, and when he isn’t, the Council is watching her.”

This struck Cyprien as odd. He had never heard of this Ilrin. “Why?” he said. “Why does the Council watch her?”

The Asdelarcen shrugged. “Afraid of her,” one of them said. “Dilmir’s been teaching her magic, so they’re afraid of what she might do.”

“Is she… well known?” Cyprien asked.

Several Asdelarcen looked at him quizzically. “I suppose,” one said. “In Eld’rin, at least. Everyone knows she’s Dilmir’s friend.”

Cyprien felt a smile flit across his face. A young elf who was feared. Yes, he would prefer to have an elf known by all, but such a prize wasn’t commonly available. He would settle for one known to those in Eld’rin. If she was young enough, this Ilrin would make a fine host for Iskra.

“Is she training right now?” Cyprien asked.

General confused nods.

“Take me to where I can see her,” Cyprien said. He had to see her, to see if she would do.

None of the Asdelarcen moved.

“Now,” Cyprien said, letting the word out slowly.

Several jumped up to do his bidding. Cyprien followed them through the bare trees, cold leaves rustling underfoot as they approached the edge of the forest. Soon he could see elves past the trees. He and the Asdelarcen stayed behind the trunks, staying hidden.

“There,” one Asdelarcen said, pointing.

Cyprien looked. All the elves seemed to be grouped up, watching something on the ground Cyprien couldn’t see. He looked at where the Asdelarcen was pointing, and saw her: a young elf of about eighteen or nineteen years, with curiously brown hair.

A faint sense of familiarity stirred in Cyprien. Perhaps he had seen this girl before, on some nightly raid. But that hardly mattered. He looked at her critically. Yes. Yes, she would do nicely. She was young, healthy, and he could see the other elves standing apart from her, as if they were afraid of catching something. He nodded to himself.

He turned, silently moving back further into the wood, signaling the Asdelarcen to follow. They did so mutely, probably wondering why he had wanted to see her. He didn’t need to explain himself to them. They were elves.

Cyprien reached where the undead lay a few moments later, the Asdelarcen who had stayed behind in a tense knot nearby. He strode up to them purposefully.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, speaking directly to the old Asdelarcen, assuming him to be in charge. “You take this Ilrin, bring her to me, and I’ll take her off your hands. I’m sure it will be easier evading Dilmir without having to take her with you.”

“As you say,” the Asdelarcen said nervously. “But what do you want with her?” he asked.

“That is my business,” Cyprien said, glaring at the elf for daring to ask.

“What if Dilmir figures out we don’t have her?” another Asdelarcen asked.

“Then let him come to me,” Cyprien said. “Uncursed or not, he’s still an elf.”

The old Asdelarcen shook his head. “She’s guarded,” he said. “Dilmir has other friends who would be easier to take.”

Cyprien stepped close to him. “I don’t want his other friends,” he hissed menacingly. “I want her. You will take her, you will bring her to me, I will take her to my castle, and then I will attack Eld’rin.”

“Of course,” the old Asdelarcen said, paling due to Cyprien’s sheer proximity. “We’ll find a way to capture her.”

“Good,” Cyprien said, stepping back. “Do it quickly. I grow tired of waiting.”

“So,” Endir said, idly staring at a nearby root as he thought, “you can’t control the spells these elves cast… what about them? Their own magic? Can you feel that?”

Dilmir shook his head. “Slippery like the spells,” he said.

“Hmm.”

“If you can’t control them or their spells,” Inilidin said, “then you have to focus on what you can control: what’s around them, what’s around you.”

Dilmir nodded. They were all sitting in their usual spot near the upper quarter, Dilmir having related the day’s events. He was leaning against a root, still trying to process everything which had happened. Ilrin was sitting on the ground, unusually quiet, clearly thinking. Only Inilidin and Endir had spoken.

“Inilidin’s right,” Endir said. “What you need is… a shield.” He looked up. “That’s it, Dilmir. You can enchant energy, right? Enchant the air around you. Make a barrier no spell can penetrate.”

Dilmir considered the idea. It was a good idea, except…

“They adapt though,” he said. “These Asdelarcen, they’ve been testing me. It’s obvious now. Every time I escape one of their traps, they find a way to keep me from doing the same thing again. They obviously know things about magic I don’t. I don’t even know if Eltuthar could explain everything they’ve done. I don’t know if a simple shield is going to stop them.”

“Worth a shot,” Endir said.

“I agree,” Ilrin said, finally looking up. Dilmir looked at her. “Inilidin’s right,” she said. “You have to focus on what you can control. These Asdelarcen – you don’t know what they’re going to try next. You might not have time to react, but a shield could allow you to prepare now.”

“What if they don’t use spells next time though?” Dilmir asked. “What if—”

“They aren’t like you,” Ilrin interrupted. Dilmir looked at her, surprised. “You don’t use spells,” she said. “They do.”

Her ability to guess what he was thinking was uncanny. “What about the one we spoke to, though?” he said. “He teleported. No Cursed elf can do that.”

“He didn’t teleport,” Ilrin said. “I’ve seen you and Eltuthar do it, when I was at Arath Imil. It was loud, and there was a blinding light.”

Dilmir considered this. It was true: he had never seen what it looked like when someone teleported. “Then where did he go?” he asked.

“Hiding?” Endir suggested. “You said you could still feel that the tree was slippery – maybe he was right next to it and you just couldn’t tell, since they were both slippery.”

Dilmir paused. “That… actually makes sense,” he said. So the Asdelarcen had been right there the whole time, hoping Dilmir wouldn’t bother to look. They were cleverer than he had thought. But at least they weren’t like him, Uncursed. Ilrin had a point. They kept using spells, and elves just didn’t need to do that if they were Uncursed.

“So this shield,” Endir said, “what should it do?”

“Block everything possible,” Ilrin said. “Definitely everything the Asdelarcen have used so far.”

Dilmir listened to them, an odd sense of trepidation growing in him. They were all taking this a lot better than he was. The Asdelarcen’s words still haunted him: ‘Greater magic draws greater foes’. This wasn’t the Council, or even Alfimir. This was something else, something Dilmir knew nothing about.

“Dilmir?” Ilrin said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “The shield. You need to make it.”

“Right,” Dilmir said. “Sorry.”

Creating the shield took at least two hours. The three of them kept coming up with more and more additions, speculating endlessly on what the Asdelarcen might do. First the shield had to block fire. Then it had to block spells the Asdelarcen might use. Then they realized that the Asdelarcen might be able to just counter it like a spell, and they had to add in counter-measures to specifically guard against that. And so it went, on and on, the three of them trying to think of every possible addition to the shield. Dilmir added everything they suggested, but his trepidation only increased. He had gotten too used to being in control. Now that he had encountered something he wasn’t familiar with, he felt vulnerable.

Eventually they exhausted all possible ideas for the shield. Dilmir replicated what they had done three times, one shield each for Ilrin, Inilidin, and Endir. The Asdelarcen seemed to be focused on him, but they had shown that they didn’t care if he was with anyone when they attacked. Better for them all to have shields. By then, it was almost midnight. Endir and Inilidin departed, and Dilmir walked Ilrin back to the Lower Quarter.

He felt the new shield around himself as he walked back. It was an odd feeling, having a sheath of magic surrounding him. He felt confident it would block any attack from a Cursed elf – indeed, he wished he had thought of this idea long ago. But with the Asdelarcen, he just couldn’t be sure. They seemed to know things about magic they shouldn’t.

He and Ilrin parted, and he returned home, shutting the door softly and moving quietly to his bedroom. Aimim had long since gone to sleep, and he didn’t want to wake her.

Aimim. She was in danger too, as long as he was in her home. Dilmir silently stood in the hallway and stretched his magic out over the house, quickly locating Aimim. He replicated his shield again, placing it around her. She wouldn’t be able to tell it was there – Cursed elves couldn’t feel magic outside of themselves like he could – but that didn’t matter. It would keep her safe. Hopefully.

Satisfied that he had done all he could, Dilmir crept to his bed, undressed, and lay down, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. His magic was as restless as his mind, stretching over Aimim’s house and beyond, tense, ready, searching for any sign of the Asdelarcen or their magic.

They aren’t in Eld’rin, Dilmir told himself. Every attack has been outside in the forest. It must be too dangerous for them here. The Council or Alfimir would probably catch them if they entered the city.

His thoughts didn’t make him feel any better. Eventually, he entered a fitful sleep, his dreams ebbing and flowing with his magic. He woke up several times, convinced his magic had felt something, or that he had heard some sound, but every time there was nothing there.

After what felt like hours, Dilmir woke, and saw that the sky outside was a predawn shade of gray. He got and dressed, feeling drained and exhausted. He could tell this would be a long day.

Aimim was waiting for him with breakfast. Neither of them spoke as they ate. Dilmir had told Aimim what had happened in the forest, and he could tell that she was worried.

“It’s all right, Aunt,” he said. “The Council has forbidden training in the forest until they’re sure it’s safe. We’ll all be out in front of Eld’rin, and there’ll be mages there too, just in case.”

It was true. Dilmir doubted the Council would have taken the threat so seriously if he had been attacked alone, but they couldn’t ignore Erundil. He was a respected elder. Therefore, the forest was being scoured by mages as they spoke, and the Council had commissioned a handful to stand guard while the elves trained.

Aimim nodded at his words, but still looked worried. She kept glancing out of the window, where the early morning mist still covered everything. To be honest, Dilmir wasn’t much reassured either. If he could barely escape the attacks of the Asdelarcen, were Council mages really going to be that much help?

Breakfast was over quickly. Dilmir pulled on the woolen overshirt Aimim offered him, donned a cloak for good measure, and opened the front door. Mist pooled just beyond it, the ground disappearing quickly in a white haze. Everywhere Dilmir looked there was mist. It seemed as if the house was alone in it, isolated, trapped in a field of white uncertainty. Dilmir spread his magic outwards, but felt nothing.

“Be careful,” Aimim said, standing behind him.

“I will be,” Dilmir said. And then, even though his trepidation was again mounting, he stepped out into the mist. Aimim’s house was instantly swallowed up, and Dilmir was left to walk alone, the dense fog silent and unmoving.

Dilmir’s magic told him no one was nearby as he walked, but he still couldn’t keep from sticking to the houses as he passed them, peering around each corner. The mist was thicker than he had ever seen it, a sure sign of snow soon to come. It thinned a bit as he approached the middle of Eld’rin, allowing him to see the Lower Quarter beyond. There the mist was the thickest, hanging over the roots like a silent cloak.

He didn’t have to wait long. Ilrin soon appeared, walking quickly through the mist. She looked almost as tired as Dilmir felt, and he guessed that she hadn’t slept much either.

“Anything?” she asked as she came up.

“Nothing,” Dilmir replied.

Ilrin nodded. “They wouldn’t come here,” she reasoned. “Not into Eld’rin.” It was the same thing Dilmir had told himself. She didn’t sound any more convinced than he had been.

Together, they walked towards the gate, the silent mist finally dissipating as they moved further away from the Lower Quarter. Other elves joined them, also going to training, but they were unusually silent. No one knew what to make of the attacks.

Beyond the gate, it was just as Dilmir had described to Aimim: the field was already full of elves, since the forest was currently unsafe. Council mages, at least ten, ringed the field, standing at regular intervals, watching everything which happened. Dilmir looked to his left, and saw Alfimir there, leaning against a root, watching as well. Dilmir wasn’t sure if that made him feel safer or not.

Dilmir spotted Elmir in their usual depression of grass. Eledim, Ilrin’s trainer, was waiting for her closer to the forest, right next to one of the Council mages.

“Be careful,” he said to Ilrin.

“You too,” she said. Then she left, heading for Eledim.

Elmir wore his usual blank face as Dilmir approached. He seemed perfectly at ease, not concerned in the least with the circumstances. But then, that was how he always looked. Dilmir was fairly sure a dragon could fly overhead and not get much more than a raised eyebrow out of Elmir.

The thought made him smile. At least some things never changed. “Aseleth, Manithar,” he said, entering the bowl.

Elmir nodded in response. “Given recent occurrences,” he said, “I thought it might be advantageous to bypass a few lessons, and start focusing on spells which are a bit more relevant. We’ll start with how to recognize spells designed to cause fire.”

Dilmir smiled again, briefly. He had never thought he’d find Elmir’s unshakeable attitude comforting, but just then, he did. He began listening as Elmir started to explain the appearance of various spells.

As the lesson continued, and no attack came, Dilmir began to relax. He let his magic out, feeling it flow around him. He quickly felt Ilrin and Eledim nearby, but didn’t focus too closely on them. Eledim wouldn’t like that.

Everything seemed to be normal, aside from how crowded the field was, and the presence of the mages. Dilmir stretched his magic towards the forest, but felt nothing there. Maybe the Asdelarcen wouldn’t try anything with so many mages around.

He was wrong. He had just decided that they were safe here, when five spells, shielded and slippery, sped from the forest towards him.

His magic sensed them first, speeding through the trees in a low arc, descending rapidly towards where he and Elmir stood. He spun on the spot, and was just able to see them, barely visible against the weak sunlight, streaking down towards him. They were all different colors, clearly all designed to do different things. The Asdelarcen had changed their attack again.

Dilmir didn’t even bother trying to affect the spells. He plunged his magic into the ground, quickly found a root, and sent it skyward, causing it to sprout a lattice of vines in the path of the spells. But even as he did so, he remembered it probably wouldn’t work. The Asdelarcen kept adapting to everything he did, and he had already blocked one of their spells in a similar fashion.

Sure enough, the five spells swerved around the lattice as if they could see it, met on the other side, and continued their downward trajectory. Spells couldn’t do that – react in midair. Could they? Dilmir wasn’t sure. He was out of options, and had no time to react further.

The five spells arrived. Two seemed to explode in the air, a few feet away from Dilmir. One flew into the ground a short distance away, and another struck the grass practically at Dilmir’s feet. Dilmir looked at the spot doubtfully. Spells didn’t just miss like that.

He had forgotten about the fifth spell. It was slower than the others, but he heard it coming, a rushing of wind announcing its presence. He looked up just in time for it to slam head-on into his chest.

Dilmir’s shield absorbed it. He looked at the spot where the spell had dissipated, countered perfectly by one of Endir’s endless suggestions. It had actually worked.

A moment later, he realized that the spell had been designed to distract him while the other four spells did their work. The two which had seemed to explode in midair had now enchanted the air around Dilmir and Elmir – something Dilmir was vaguely aware of as being something only he and Eltuthar, and those they had taught, knew how to do. Dilmir was now encased in a hemisphere of magic, shielded like the spells. He instantly guessed that teleporting out wasn’t an option.

The spell which had struck the ground a ways away had pulled several roots from the earth. They now sprung up all along the edge of the bowl Dilmir and Elmir were in, curving upwards until they met in the middle, forming a spherical cage. They quickly wove themselves together, blocking off Dilmir’s view of the rest of the field. Thorns, thick as Dilmir’s arm, sprouted along the inside of the roots, and then the entire cage began to contract quickly, growing smaller and smaller. These roots, too, were shielded, unable to be touched by Dilmir’s magic.

The final spell, which had struck the grass near Dilmir, seemed to be the most deadly. As he watched the roots constricting together, wondering how he could possibly get out, a thick white smoke began to rise from the ground, from the very grass itself. This was no innocent white mist. It covered Dilmir’s feet quickly, and his skin began to burn and blister. Poison. He stretched his magic forward, and found that the grass, too, was shielded.

This was it then. Dilmir was completely enclosed in a sphere of magic he could neither control nor breach. If the poison didn’t get him, then presumably the thorns would. His new shield was designed to thwart things like magic and fire, but against a physical attack, like being skewered by a thorn, there was little he could do. Magic didn’t work against things like that. Maybe it could protect him for a few seconds, but it couldn’t stop the thorns indefinitely. The poison though…

“Keliess as asin arewn silin im il! Edel nolun sudern ethen imis!” Dilmir said, directing his magic at his own shield. Instantly, the burning sensation in his feet vanished. He might not be able to do much, but he could at least filter the poison from the air before it reached him. He turned, and cast the same spell on Elmir.

“Any ideas?” he asked the old elf. “I can’t enchant anything: the grass, the roots; it’s all shielded.” The thorns drew closer.

“If you can’t do anything,” Elmir replied, “then I doubt I can.” His voice was still somehow miraculously calm. Despite his words, he turned, and began casting spells at the roots. They all dissipated against the wood.

Dilmir turned as well, flinging his magic at the approaching roots, but there was nothing he could do. His magic slipped and slid over them, unable to get through whatever shield the Asdelarcen had conjured.

They continued to back up as the roots drew closer, until they were back-to-back. The roots were almost upon them, the thorns pressed up against them, the poisonous fog – not a threat any longer but still thick – up over their heads, blinding them to all else.

There was nothing they could do. Dilmir’s magic was getting further and further constricted, lashing out repeatedly at the roots but unable to touch them. How could the Asdelarcen do this, if they were Cursed? He was Uncursed. He was supposed to be more powerful than this.

The roots squeezed tighter. Dilmir and Elmir shifted, trying to get between the thorns, but they were running out of room. One sharp point snagged Dilmir’s woolen overshirt. Another was slowly tearing his cloak. The roots were nearly crushing them now, the wood only a few inches from their faces. Dilmir put his hands on the closest root, trying ineffectually to keep it from him.

His magic flooded into the root, able to reach it at last. Dilmir pulled his hand away in shock, and the connection was severed.

Dilmir only hesitated for a second. Then he placed both hands back on the root. There it was, the magic of the root, just waiting to be controlled. How he could suddenly control the root by touching it, Dilmir couldn’t even begin to guess, but there was no time to wonder. He quickly flooded the root with his magic, and stopped it from constricting. Slowly, the roots began to ease up, giving him and Elmir room to move.

Dilmir didn’t know what had just happened, but just now, he didn’t care. He knelt down and placed his hand on the grass. Again, he seemed to go right through whatever barrier the Asdelarcen had created, his magic flooding into the grass and stopping it from creating more of the poisonous fog.

Somehow, someway, Dilmir had discovered a weakness the Asdelarcen had missed. He placed his hand again on the roots surrounding them, felt his magic flood into them, and blasted them apart.

Pale sunlight struck them, along with sound, both of which had been blocked by the roots. Dilmir quickly saw that the Council mages, as well as Alfimir, were nearby. He guessed they had been unable to stop the roots. Ilrin also was near; she let out a wordless cry when she saw Dilmir, and ran towards him. Many elves had gathered, most probably unsure what had caused the roots.

But Dilmir didn’t immediately notice any of them. He stepped from the roots, and flung his magic towards the forest, stretching it as far as it would go. The Asdelarcen weren’t going to get away this time.

Five spells had been cast at Dilmir, but he was only able to find three elves, shielded in slippery magic, backing away, further in the forest. Remembering their own spells, Dilmir flooded his magic into the ground just behind them, and caused the twigs and dead leaves to begin to emit a cloud of paralyzing poison. He waited until the Asdelarcen realized what was going on, and then swept his magic forwards, causing the cloud of poison to move with it. The Asdelarcen were trapped, and being flushed out of the forest like a fox smoked out of its den. They had no choice but to run right towards Dilmir.

They crashed out of the forest a moment later, choking on what little of the poison they had inhaled, their cloaks torn with the haste of their flight.

The assembled elves backed away as they appeared, unsure who they were, but startled by their appearance. Alfimir looked at the Asdelarcen, and then at Dilmir, questioningly.

“These are the ones responsible,” Dilmir said to Alfimir, keeping his eyes fixed on the Asdelarcen.

As if to prove his words true, the Asdelarcen straightened, saw Dilmir, and collectively raised their palms and fired three separate spells at him.

They were only a few feet away, meaning Dilmir didn’t have time to block them. Fortunately, he didn’t need to. Elmir had come up from behind Dilmir, and both he and Alfimir raised their palms and cast a spell without a moment of hesitation. The two spells collided with two of the Asdelarcen’s spells, negating each other in a shower of energy and sparks. Perfect counterspells. That left one spell, speeding towards Dilmir. It struck his shield, and faded harmlessly into nothingness.  

Dilmir looked up from where the spell had struck, and saw the Asdelarcen standing there, watching him. They seemed to realize what was coming next.

In an instant, Dilmir had sent roots upwards from the ground, surrounding the Asdelarcen. They turned to flee, but the roots pounced, toppling them to the ground, and then binding them there, holding them secure. They were helpless, surrounded by elves. There would be no escape this time.

Alfimir approached the Asdelarcen warily, along with several Council mages. Dilmir watched as they knelt down, and began to question them. They had attacked an elf, a citizen of Eld’rin, and for that, they would be held by the Council, and questioned until they had nothing left to hide.

But that wasn’t what was on Dilmir’s mind. He might have beaten these three, but there had been five spells which flew out of the forest. Five Asdelarcen. Every time they attacked, their numbers seemed to increase, and their methods grew more and more deadly. Dilmir might have escaped again, and this time he seemed to have an edge, but he doubted very much the Asdelarcen were finished with him. They would keep coming, keep attacking.

What would come next? And would Dilmir be able to escape it again?

Magic which couldn’t be explained was taken very seriously by the Council. That was why they were so against Dilmir, and why, once Erundil recovered himself enough to fully relate what had happened, several mages were dispatched into the forest. Alfimir led a group to where Erundil and Dilmir had trained, trying to find who had caused the fire. A larger group split up, searching out the elves still training in the forest, unaware of what had happened.

It seemed clear to Dilmir that he was the only target, but he went into the forest anyway, heading for where he knew Ilrin was training. He didn’t like the strange magic any more than the Council. He had gotten used to controlling everything he could feel; a piece of magic he couldn’t control was quite unnerving, and not something to be taken lightly.

The similarities between the fire in the forest and the fire used by Alfimir at Arath Imil were not lost on Dilmir. Both had been used as traps, surrounding him and constricting, and both had resisted his attempts to quench them. But this was different.

At Arath Imil, he had been able to feel the fire, and the magic controlling it. He had been able to fight it, but the fire had fought back, simply refusing to go out. These spells were different. Dilmir couldn’t even touch them. Despite the similarities, he was convinced Alfimir was not behind the attacks. He might want Dilmir dead, but he would never have attacked Erundil. He was sworn to protect the elves.

These thoughts ran through Dilmir’s mind as he made his way through the forest. This section of the Great Forest was safe, free of wolves. They only really controlled territory west of the Ans Aras, the river which split the Great Forest down the middle. Here, east of the river, Dilmir could follow the Elven path without worrying about them.

The elves trained in various clearings just off of the path, but Dilmir saw that these were already empty as he ran by. Someone had already warned them. Ilrin would be deep into the forest however, where no sound from other training elves could disturb her studies.

Dilmir eventually found them – Ilrin and her trainer, Eledim – in one of the last clearings. They both looked up as he entered the clearing, Ilrin surprised, Eledim frowning. Dilmir knew why: Lifeformers guarded the secrets of their craft carefully.

“There’s danger in the forest,” he said, trying to catch his breath between words.

“Wolves?” Ilrin asked, getting to her feet (she had been kneeling, probably growing some plant).

Dilmir shook his head. “Mages,” he said. “There was an attack… The Council has ordered everyone back into Eld’rin while Alfimir investigates.”

He had teetered for a moment on saying who had been attacked, but had decided against it. The threat was real; he didn’t need Eledim doubting his words anymore than she already did.

She looked at him suspiciously, but if the Council and Alfimir were involved, she had no choice. “Come,” she said to Ilrin.

Then, without waiting, she strode from the clearing.

Ilrin looked after her for a moment, and then moved to where Dilmir still stood, breathing heavily. “What happened?” she asked.

She knew there was something he hadn’t said. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Someone attacked us – me and Erundil. They used spells, but I couldn’t feel them. I couldn’t control them. We need to get back to Eld’rin,” he added. “They could still be out here.”

Ilrin nodded.

Even as he spoke, Dilmir let his magic flow out of him, realizing he should have done it long ago. Two years, and he was still getting used to it. The magic flooded over the forest, Dilmir sensing every speck of energy around. Nothing. They were alone. But then Dilmir had thought that while dueling Erundil, too.

“Come on,” he said, leading the way back to the path.

Ilrin followed him silently, perhaps sensing just how worried he felt.   

They moved down the path, not running, but walking quickly. Dilmir kept his magic unbound, allowing it to flow freely around them.

The reality of the attack was finally beginning to settle in. Dilmir had gotten so used to being in control that it had taken him this long to fully realize how close he had come to not making it out of that fire. It had taken a spell from Eltuthar, a spell which according to all other elves wasn’t supposed to be possible, just to escape. This was no attack from the Council, easily thwarted by a few enchantments. This was something else entirely.

It was still mid-afternoon, but due to the closeness of the trees and the overcast sky, it was dark in the forest, Dilmir and Ilrin moving through an almost-twilight. Eledim was long out of sight. The entire forest was silent, the pines dark, the other trees bare. Only the rustling of the leaves underfoot made any noise.

They continued on for some time, the silence and darkness starting to get to Dilmir. He wasn’t usually jumpy, but he was sensing everything around them with his magic, and the tension was beginning to mount. Ilrin took his hand in hers, and Dilmir felt his tension lessen. He gave her a quick smile.

They were nearing the edge of the forest, and Dilmir was just able to make out clear sky through the trees, when he finally felt what he had been dreading: a spell, slippery and untouchable, racing through the air towards him.

Dilmir wasn’t going to let the spell anywhere near him or Ilrin. He flung his magic forwards, in the direction of the spell, and caused vines and roots to sprout from the forest floor in the spell’s path.

The spell struck, and the makeshift barrier – a good fifty feet in front of them – exploded into flame. Dilmir could still feel the barrier, the roots which made it up under his control. But the fire was shielded. He couldn’t stop the barrier from burning. He caused the roots to fall to the ground, but the fire stayed, a burning wall of flames rising from the earth. The flames began to ignite leaves and fallen twigs on the ground, moving quickly towards them.

The fire was right in their way, blocking them from Eld’rin. Dilmir turned to Ilrin, unsure what to do. She nodded to the right, and they left the path, both running in that direction. The fire chased them, as if drawn to them, passing around trees, leaping across bare ground. It was almost alive, and all the time, Dilmir couldn’t touch it. Again, any barrier he created would be flammable and not stop the flames.

Dilmir finally halted, stopping Ilrin with him. The fire was gaining on them; they couldn’t keep running forever. “I’m going to teleport us!” he shouted to Ilrin over the crackling of the approaching fire. “Hold on!” Ilrin gripped his hand tightly and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Ler imi elsen! Tirs imi im Eld’rin! Fesil imi ene!”

Again, Dilmir felt sudden heat. Then the sound died, color merged to white, and then… they were both thrown violently to the ground, right where they had been.

The spell had been blocked. Actually blocked. Who could do that? Who would know how? Not even Dilmir could guess how that was possible.

He scrambled to his feet, helping Ilrin up as he stood. The fire surrounded them now, a perfect circle, the walls of flame too high to see over. Dilmir pushed at it with his magic, using every ounce of power he had, but it was no use; he couldn’t touch it. Slowly, the circle of fire began to constrict. He was out of options.

“Dilmir!” Ilrin cried.

He turned to her.

“I can get us out of here,” she said, “but I need your magic!”

Dilmir didn’t hesitate. He didn’t pause to wonder what Ilrin’s idea could be, or how it could use more magic than she possessed. He just merged his magic with her own, giving her complete control over it. “Hurry,” he said. The flames were getting closer.

Ilrin wasted no time. “Silin, esvress fener! Keliess fineth il imi il aseldienim!”

Dilmir was ready to feel Ilrin use a vast amount of magic, but nothing seemed to happen. It took him a second to realize the heat from the fire had vanished.

“Walk through it,” Ilrin said.

“What?” Dilmir said. “The fire?”

Ilrin nodded. “Keep your magic linked with mine. I don’t know how strong the fire is; I might need your magic to keep the spell in place.”

This was magic Dilmir was unused to: Lifeformer magic. He had no time to question it though; the fire was mere feet away, and closing quickly. Trusting Ilrin, he turned, and put one foot into the fire.

Now he felt the drain on his magic. It was slight though, hardly anything to worry about. It was a strange feeling, having someone else control his magic. Dilmir hadn’t even known it was possible until Ilrin did it. He supposed it must be another secret of the Lifeformers.

Ilrin stepped into the fire, and the pull on Dilmir’s magic doubled. He still had plenty though. He and Ilrin looked at each other, nodded, and stepped fully into the fire.

For a moment, Dilmir was blinded. All about him was light, yellow and brilliant orange blazing around him, hurting his eyes, Ilrin’s hand in his the only tie he had to direction, his feet somehow finding the ground as they stumbled forwards. His magic continued to drain, quickly using up far more than the Curse would have allowed. Dilmir continued to feed his magic into Ilrin as it depleted, wondering as he did so how long the flames could last.

And then they were out. They took two final steps and collapsed to their knees, the relative darkness blinding them as effectively as the flames had. Dilmir turned, and saw the fire behind them, a half-sphere of flame. As he watched, it slowly constricted in on itself, growing smaller and smaller, until it fizzled out of existence.

Dilmir watched the spot for a moment. Then he pulled his magic from Ilrin, and flung it outwards in all directions. The elf responsible had to be nearby.

Over burnt ground, around charred trees, through chill air his magic sped, searching, vengeful, hungry. And finally he found what he sought: an elf, at the very edges of his magic, running. His magic was slippery, but that didn’t matter to Dilmir.

“Fel, hart imis!” he shouted. He felt the forest about the elf come alive, vines tripping him, roots snaking over him and binding him to the ground, tree branches fencing him in.

He hastily pulled Ilrin to her feet, and then ran to where he knew the elf lay, held immobile by the forest.

It was just light enough in the forest to see the elf, firmly bound by vines and roots. He was lying face up, and Dilmir could see that he wore a dark cloak, with a dagger strapped to his side. He wore no armor; only a padded jerkin. He wore no emblem, no symbol of who he might be working for.

Dilmir knelt beside him, his magic still in full control of the forest. “Who are you?” he asked.

The elf blinked up at him.

“Who are you!” Dilmir repeated.

The elf smiled. “We are the Asdelarcen,” he replied. His voice was calm, too calm.

Asdelarcen. The word was Elvish, but Dilmir didn’t know it’s meaning. He glanced to Ilrin.

“The directing hand,” she whispered.

He turned back to the elf. “You said ‘we,’” he said. “There are more of you?”

“Many,” the elf said, still smiling.

“Why are you doing this?” Dilmir asked. “Why are you attacking me?”

“Greater magic draws greater foes,” the elf said.

“That’s no answer,” Dilmir snarled.

The elf’s eyes flicked to the left, somewhere above Dilmir. Dilmir felt a spell fly from his bound hand, and heard a corresponding crack. He turned. Ilrin screamed. A tree was falling right at them.

Dilmir lunged out of the way, grabbing Ilrin around the waist and taking her with him. He refocused his magic on the tree, but wasn’t entirely surprised to find it shielded from him, slippery like the spells. It crashed to the ground, right where they had been. The Asdelarcen was gone, the shielded tree the only remaining sign of his presence.

Had he teleported? He shouldn’t be able to, unless he was Uncursed like Dilmir was. And if he was…

‘Greater magic draws greater foes’ he had said. What manner of enemy was after Dilmir? And why?

Dilmir continued to muse over the spell he had felt. Elmir dismissed him at noon, and he returned to Aimim’s home for a midday meal. He told her about the spell, but she was as puzzled as he was. She had never heard of shielded spells.

That meant the only person who might know the meaning of the spell would be Eltuthar, which of course did Dilmir very little good. He had no idea where Eltuthar was, let alone how to reach him. For this, he was on his own.

Dilmir briefly considered the Council as the source of the spell, but quickly dismissed it. The magic was far beyond their capabilities. Alfimir might be able to somehow shield magic – Dilmir had actually seen him do something similar once – but why would he attack now? He and the Council had been content to leave Dilmir alone for two years. Attacking now not only made no sense, but it wasn’t their style. A spell in broad daylight? No, someone else was to blame.

These thoughts continued to circle in Dilmir’s mind as he thanked a concerned Aimim for the meal, and headed off to his afternoon training. Remembering what the trainer had said yesterday, he made for the forest, where he knew Erundil waited, ready to train him with the sword.

He shivered as he neared the beginning of the forest. He’d warm up soon enough, but just now the cold was biting. If anything, it had gotten colder as the day progressed. The sky was a blank white-gray as well; it would snow eventually for sure.

Most of the trees in the forest were pines, but there were still quite a few deciduous trees, their limbs bare and stark, red and brown leaves covering the forest floor. Dilmir didn’t go far into the forest, turning off of the path soon and making his way to a small clearing. Erundil was there waiting for him.

Erundil had the taut, lean look of a battle-hardened elf. Dilmir didn’t know his background, but he guessed he had fought against the wolves of the forest many times. He was skilled with the blade: while Dilmir’s duels with Ilrin meant he could hold his own, he still had to pay attention. Erundil could capitalize on the slightest mistake.

“Sword out,” Erundil said, his own already unsheathed and at his side.

Dilmir pulled his sword from its sheath. His tarrenith was already strapped to his left arm.

“Forms,” Erundil said, his voice blank.

Dilmir had never been able to tell if Erundil disapproved of his magic, or simply didn’t care. All he knew was that the old elf rarely spoke more than three words together, and that his tone never changed.

Dilmir began the first of the Blade Forms – a series of exercises designed to stretch the muscles, while practicing the various sword movements needed in combat. Erundil stayed where he was, watching. Dilmir had to execute the form perfectly, or he’d have to do it all over again.

As he practiced, Dilmir’s thoughts strayed. He had done the form so many times that he didn’t need to think about the individual moves; his muscle memory carried him through them perfectly.

He thought about Ilrin. He’d much rather be fighting her right now than Erundil. Yes, Erundil was the harder challenge, but Dilmir had more fun with Ilrin. He could relax around her like he could never relax around most other elves. He wondered where she was. Probably somewhere deeper in the forest, still practicing magic. She stayed there throughout the day usually, only practicing with swords some days.

Dilmir finished the form.

“Good enough,” Erundil said. He stepped forward. Training with the sword was fairly simple: you could spend all day learning various positions and blocks, but you only really got better through practice. Erundil raised his sword so it pointed up, and Dilmir did the same.

“Begin,” he said.

As before, neither of them attacked immediately, instead waiting for the other to start moving. Erundil slowly began circling to the right, so Dilmir began circling to the left. However, an opening wouldn’t just present itself: you had to make it appear. And so the feints began.

Erundil quickly narrowed the circle, coming closer to Dilmir until he was within striking range. Then he made a few jabs, first right, then left, trying to get Dilmir to swing wide to block, and thus open himself up.

Dilmir kept his sword close, and his tarrenith ready. He made a few feints as well, attacking when Erundil did, forcing him to fall back to block the blow. Slowly, the duel grew faster and more complicated, each strike an opening, each opening attacked, each attack blocked.

As he fought, Dilmir let his magic out. It took concentration to keep it bottled up inside of him; it was far easier just to let it flow outwards as far as it could, not doing anything, but feeling everything. Dilmir remained connected to it, and it made him calmer, being aware of his surroundings.

And then without warning, he felt it: the same slippery magic.

Erundil’s sword crashed against his own, punishing him for the split-second lapse in concentration, and Dilmir was forced to leap backwards, flinging his arms wide, indicating for Erundil to stop.

Erundil halted his forward momentum with difficulty. “What?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice at being forced to stop.

Dilmir held up a hand, concentrating on his magic. He could feel it: another slippery spell, coming closer, speeding along a straight line between the trees. Another spell joined it. And then a third. Three spells coming at him, all slippery, all resistant to Dilmir’s touch.

But they weren’t aimed at him. Dilmir could tell their trajectory was far too low, and sure enough, a moment later they struck the forest floor at the edge of the clearing. Flames sprang up from where they had struck, flames which grew into a wall of fire far too fast to be natural. Instantly, the chill of the air was gone, replaced with a searing heat.

The fire was shielded, slippery like the spells had been. Dilmir tried to touch it with his magic, to envelop it, to bend it to his will, but he just couldn’t do it. His magic flowed around it, unable to find purchase.

Still not particularly worried, Dilmir focused on the middle of the flames, slamming the whole of his magic into one single point. Nothing. His power just curved around the fire, like a stream diverted by a boulder.

Then the flames began to move. The wall expanded, growing to the left and right, quickly igniting the dead leaves and sparse grass of the clearing. It didn’t move forwards, towards Dilmir or Erundil, but began to encircle them instead.

“Dilmir?” Erundil said, for the first time a slight waver in his voice.

Dilmir frowned. Now they were in danger. “Back up,” he said. The flames weren’t moving particularly quickly, allowing him and Erundil to walk out of the circle they were creating. Whoever was controlling the flames obviously was in no hurry.

Dilmir had just reached this conclusion when more fire ignited behind them, quickly joining up with that in front of them to make a circle. He turned on the spot. Now they were trapped.

Stay calm, he told himself, finally feeling his control over the situation begin to slip.

The flames constricted, the circle growing smaller slowly.

Dilmir forced himself to think. He couldn’t control the fire, so what could he do? He had to effect it somehow… but how? Everything he could throw on the fire with his magic was flammable: trees, bushes. There was no sand or water nearby. Doubtless he had been attacked here for that very reason.

“Dilmir,” Erundil said, next to him. “We’ve got to get out of here. Can’t you do something?”

Dilmir glanced at Erundil. The old elf seemed uncharacteristically nervous. Dilmir supposed he didn’t trust magic – many elves didn’t. That was probably why he had become a master with the sword.

Dilmir knew he had to stop the fire somehow, but there was nothing he could do. The flames drew closer and closer, and Dilmir remembered the last time he had faced a fire he couldn’t control. It had been when he was banished, when Alfimir had attacked Arath Imil, Eltuthar’s sanctuary. How had he escaped then?

And Dilmir remembered.

He gripped Erundil’s shoulder, pulled all of his magic into himself, and cast one of the few spells Eltuthar had taught him: “Ler imi elsen. Tirs imi im Eld’rin. Fesil imi ene.”

For a moment, Dilmir thought the spell hadn’t worked, and that he was being burned by the flames. But then the heat left, sound faded, and even color turned to pure white. The only sensation was one of being stretched, scattered somehow, and moving very, very fast.

And then Dilmir opened his eyes, and found that they were in the middle of Eld’rin. He had just teleported using magic.

Erundil spun on the spot, trying to take in what had just happened, apparently struck speechless. Dilmir didn’t blame him. The magic it took to cast such a spell was well beyond the amount allowed by the Curse. Only he or Eltuthar could do such a thing. For everyone else, teleportation was supposed to be impossible, a myth from the distant past.

Several elves had noticed them appear out of nowhere, and were now approaching them warily. And then Dilmir saw Alfimir, his cloak billowing, walking towards them quickly.

Alfimir stopped in front of them and looked them up and down, noting their rapid breathing and their singed state.

“What happened?” he finally said, speaking to Erundil.

“I—” Erundil didn’t seem quite capable of speaking yet.

“We were attacked,” Dilmir offered, but Alfimir held up a hand to silence him, still watching Erundil.

Erundil nodded slowly. “Flames,” he finally said. “Someone conjured flames around us. They tried to kill us,” he added, almost as if realizing it himself for the first time.

“In the forest?” Alfimir pressed.

Erundil nodded.

Alfimir turned to Dilmir. “Did you do this?” he asked.

“No,” Dilmir said immediately.  

Alfimir looked at him for a moment, as if trying to ascertain if he was telling the truth or not. Dilmir held his gaze. “Very well,” he finally said. “I will find who did this. The two of you return to your homes.”

There was little chance of that. Dilmir was sure now: someone was out there, someone with foreign magic. That was a threat, not just to him, but to all the elves. There were plenty left in the forest, including Ilrin. They had to be warned.

It didn’t take Dilmir and Ilrin long to reach the main gate after Aldir had met them. Ilrin was still silent, her anger at Aldir clearly taking time to subside. Dilmir knew she didn’t want to talk about him, so he bade her farewell once they passed through the gate. Ilrin nodded, and set off for the forest, while Dilmir turned left.

As a Lifeformer, Ilrin trained in the forest next to Eld’rin, where she was surrounded by trees and other plants. Dilmir however still trained near the gates of Eld’rin, in one of the bowl-shaped depressions in the ground, formed for the purpose of practicing spells. He found the proper one, and descended into it.

His trainer, Elmir, was waiting for him. To Dilmir’s surprise, Elmir had requested to continue teaching him magic, and had done so for three years now. Trainers usually specialized in only one year, but Elmir seemed to have developed some sort of interest with Dilmir. Not that he ever showed it. Elmir was the model elf, his face conveying nothing, his words even less. Nothing could rattle him.

“Dilmir,” he said.

“Aseleth, Manithar,” Dilmir replied. It was customary to greet one’s superiors in Elvish.

Elmir took a breath, breathing in the cold air. Then he looked at Dilmir. “Today is a special day,” he remarked. “Today we begin counterspells.”

Dilmir nodded, neither particularly excited nor displeased. While Ilrin had chosen to become a Lifeformer, he had chosen to become a mage. Mages were warriors, wielders of magic tasked with the protection of the elves. Given his magic, it had seemed the logical choice to Dilmir. He had no intention of joining the army, as most mages did, but the extra knowledge of magic could prove useful in unraveling the Curse some day.

However, Dilmir didn’t use magic the way other elves did. A Cursed elf could only control the magic within themselves, and so were forced to form spells and then cast them if they wanted to affect something at a distance. Dilmir could control the magic in a wide field around him, reworking it at will. Casting spells would just slow him down. However, he used spells during training. It was still a good idea to learn how Cursed mages operated, and Dilmir could still practice truly using his magic after dinner. Therefore, he listened as Elmir spoke.

“Counterspells are among the most difficult to cast,” he said. “The mage attempting to do so must first gauge what spell he’s been attacked with, and then form one to counter it, all before the spell he’s trying to counter reaches him.”

“How?” Dilmir asked. He of course could just sense the spell’s composition as it flew towards him, but no Cursed elf could do that.

“Guesswork,” Elmir said simply. “And practice. All spells look a little different, unless intentionally designed to mask themselves, and that’s not something most have time for during battle. You must look at the spell, guess what it is meant to do, and form a spell to unravel it.

“For example,” he stepped back, indicating Dilmir should do the same, “what would you guess this spell is?” He raised his palm, and fired a spell into the ground between them.

It had only been visible for a split second, but Dilmir had seen it was a light green-blue, shimmering with yellow around the edges. That didn’t help him. He had never needed to identify spells by how they looked. He looked up, shaking his head.

Elmir nodded. “Practice,” he said. “Over the next year, I’ll teach you how to recognize the composition of spells based on their appearance. But first,” he added, “let’s see how well you do with no practice. Try your best to counter my spell.”

Dilmir raised an eyebrow. This was the mystery of Elmir: for some reason, the old elf wanted to see Dilmir’s magic. He would never admit it, but he consistently set Dilmir challenges far above the capabilities of a Cursed elf. Whether he was trying to actually train Dilmir’s magic, or just see what he could do, Dilmir didn’t know.

He obliged, finally letting his magic flood out of him, filling the bowl they were in. He knew Elmir wanted him to use his full magic; a Cursed elf simply wouldn’t be able to counter a spell with no practice. They both knew that.

Elmir fired the same spell at Dilmir, green-blue with yellow edges. But the instant it left his hand, Dilmir could feel it with his own magic. Normally he didn’t bother to identify the composition of the spell, but he took the time to notice that it was completely harmless: a spell designed to make what it touched glow with a yellow light briefly. Just a training spell. Dilmir merged his magic with that of the spell, and easily unraveled it, absorbing the magic into his own. The spell disappeared in mid-air.

Elmir nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Now onto practice. We will start with some basic spells used in combat…”

And so it continued. Elmir would fire a spell at the ground, teaching Dilmir how to identify it. Soon he had Dilmir firing simple counterspells, trying to both guess composition and aim correctly at the same time.

As he worked, Dilmir’s magic eddied about him, idly flowing in and out, dimly aware of everything going on around him. He could sense magic and energy with it, meaning he could feel other trainers and their pupils nearby, practicing their own spells. He used to try to keep his magic within, afraid of what would happen if he let it out, but no longer. He was in complete control, his magic almost like a sixth sense, allowing him to feel his surroundings.

That was how he felt the spell before he saw it.

His magic had been unfocused, gently washing over the training field, idly feeling everything from the grass to the spells from the other training elves. But then Dilmir felt a spell, a spell so unlike anything he had ever felt, that his magic automatically stiffened, focusing on it purely by instinct.

Dilmir controlled magic. He could sense it, merge with it, and bend it to his will. But not this spell. He could feel it as it sped across the field towards him, but he couldn’t touch it. It was shielded from him, slippery somehow. His magic slipped around it, somehow denied access.

“Focus, Dilmir,” Elmir said. Dilmir had suddenly stopped trying to counter spells, focused completely on what his magic had sensed. The spell was still soaring over the training field, arcing down towards him.

Dilmir wasn’t particularly concerned yet. He plunged his magic deep into the ground around him, locating the thick roots of Eld’rin which spread out from the city, and causing them to send several shoots the width of his arm upwards. The roots burst from the ground in front of him, and quickly grew into a protective latticework, covering the entire bowl Dilmir and Elmir were in.

The spell struck a moment later. Dilmir felt it slam into his roots and dissipate instantly. Aside from a small burst of flame, the spell seemed harmless. This puzzled Dilmir. Firstly, who would fire a spell at him? And secondly, if they did, why wouldn’t they make more of an effort to actually harm him? And how had they managed to shield the spell?

Dilmir let the vines retract back into the ground slowly, thinking. Elmir watched him silently.

“Rogue spell,” Dilmir said, hoping the explanation would satisfy. He could tell Elmir knew there was more. The only reason for the shelter of roots would be because he had been unable to unravel the spell. But Elmir said nothing, and merely continued with the lesson.

Dilmir kept his magic alert the rest of the morning, but didn’t feel anything like the spell. Who had cast it? It clearly hadn’t been lethal, so was it just a test? And if so, why?

Something wasn’t right.

It didn’t usually snow in Eld’rin, but with the cold they were having, Dilmir wouldn’t be surprised if it did. The fog which constantly covered the Lower Quarter had spread out into the middle of Eld’rin, where Dilmir was waiting, and now covered everything. All he could see was a dense mist.

He got more comfortable against the root he was leaning on. Walking together with Ilrin to training in the morning had been something Dilmir had done ever since they became friends. He couldn’t say exactly why; he supposed he just enjoyed being with someone who wasn’t afraid of him or thought he was out to conquer the elves. Either way, he waited for Ilrin to join him in the middle of Eld’rin every morning.

Things had definitely improved for Dilmir. He used to dread training, where he would be forced to endure the thinly veiled dislike of the elves. He had tried his best to avoid all elves except for Ilrin, and even she had needed to work hard in the beginning to become his friend. He had always been afraid of what would happen if his magic slipped out of him, always cautious, always looking over his shoulder.

Now things were different. He had friends, and he didn’t worry about his magic anymore. Yes, the elves disliked him more than before, but as Ilrin had said, he couldn’t do anything about that. Not until Eltuthar found a way to lift the Curse, anyway. No, on the whole, things were much better. Dilmir smiled to himself in the predawn darkness.

Eventually, a shape appeared, bobbing through the mist towards him. The shape quickly resolved into Ilrin, tired and a little disheveled from sleep. She barely greeted him as they turned toward the main gate, but Dilmir knew she’d wake up soon enough.

The mist began to dissipate as they walked, the dark gray of the sky slowly turning to light gray. Even at this hour, Eld’rin was alive, other elves going to training just as Dilmir and Ilrin were. They kept a good distance from Dilmir, some giving him scowls, some hurrying by with fright, most just ignoring him. Dilmir was used to it.

Ilrin did indeed begin to wake up as they walked, the movement and fresh air serving to rid her of sleep. Dilmir smiled to himself as they walked, looking forward to the day. Another day of training, another day of practice. No secrets or plots to worry about, no enemies lurking in the shadows.

Except for one. A figure detached itself from where it had been hiding next to a root and stepped forward, into the early morning light. The elf didn’t approach them, but just stood there, directly in their path.

Dilmir recognized him: it was Aldir. Aldir was only two or three years older than Dilmir, but he was an agent of the Council, a spy tasked with making sure the laws were upheld. That was all Dilmir really knew about him. He was a ghost: an elf with no history. The Council had erased any record of who he was, allowing them to plant him into any situation without suspicion.

Ilrin saw him and stopped walking, glaring at Aldir with a hatred Dilmir rarely saw. He knew why.

Aldir had been the one who had gotten Dilmir banished two years ago, but that wasn’t why Ilrin hated him. Aldir, unseen, had watched Dilmir and Ilrin together for several days, and had deduced that if he pretended to get close to Ilrin, and let Dilmir see them together, Dilmir might react without thinking, using his magic to retaliate.

The plan had worked perfectly. Aldir had asked to see Ilrin, and she, not knowing who he was at the time, had agreed. Aldir had made sure Dilmir had seen the two of them together, and before he had known it, Dilmir had caused a branch to fall, aimed straight for Aldir’s head. He had already been struggling to keep his magic in, and that brief moment of distraction was enough for it to flood out of him.  

Aldir had gotten out of the way in time, but the damage had been done. Dilmir had been banished by the next morning. Ilrin, quickly discovering that Aldir had orchestrated the entire thing, had hated him vehemently ever since. Not just for banishing Dilmir, but for the way he had done it: using her to get to him. Dilmir couldn’t say he blamed her.

“Aldir,” he said, a little warily, unsure what his motivation was for appearing.

Aldir nodded, but his eyes were on Ilrin. “Can – Could I speak with you?” he asked.

Ilrin didn’t even bother replying. She continued to look at him as if her venomous gaze could kill.

“Please,” Aldir said. “I need to say something.”

Dilmir glanced at Ilrin. She wasn’t about to talk to him. “Say it, then,” he said.

Ilrin might hate Aldir, but Dilmir himself didn’t hold him any ill-will. He disliked him, of course, but in an odd way he understood him. Aldir served the Council, and he had just been doing his job when he got Dilmir banished. Dilmir was sure that, in his eyes, he had been serving the elves.

Aldir looked briefly at Dilmir. He clearly wanted to speak with Ilrin alone, but Dilmir returned his glance with a look which clearly said that wasn’t going to happen.

Aldir took a small step closer to Ilrin. “I – I just wanted to say that” —he seemed worried that Ilrin might lash out at him any moment— “that I – I’m sorry. For what I did.”

Ilrin glared at him silently.

“It was wrong,” Aldir said. “I should never have—”

“I don’t care what you think,” Ilrin hissed, cutting him off. Aldir took an instinctive step backwards.

Ilrin was one of the kindest people Dilmir knew, but something about Aldir seemed to have gotten to her two years ago. She had never forgiven him, and her hatred for him now was as strong as it had been then.

Aldir stepped forward again. “I just—”

“Go,” Ilrin said. “I don’t care what you have to say. Just go.”

Aldir seemed to teeter for a moment on the edge of staying, but Ilrin’s look finally seemed to convince him otherwise. He turned, and left, quickly being swallowed by the shadows.

Dilmir waited a good ten seconds before speaking. He rarely saw Ilrin so angry. “It’s been two years,” he said.

Ilrin shot him a dark look, and Dilmir promptly fell silent. She wouldn’t hear it. Based on her reaction, Aldir had committed the most heinous of crimes, and there would be no redemption for him.

Dilmir knew when to remain silent. He moved forward, heading for the main gate, and training. After a moment, Ilrin followed him.

---

Aldir was not one to let things or people get to him. He was an agent of the Council, trained since he could remember to consider only whatever mission he was on. It was not his job to get involved, not his job to care.

But he did care. He couldn’t deny it: what he had done two years ago was wrong. Using Ilrin had never sat well with him. Even before he had gotten Dilmir banished, there had been doubts. Ilrin hadn’t deserved what he had been planning.

He had told himself repeatedly that he was acting for the good of the elves, and he believed that. Even now, he still did. Dilmir was dangerous, and did need to be removed from Eld’rin, for the safety of all. But somehow, that didn’t justify what he had done.

It wasn’t as if anyone had gotten hurt. That was something else Aldir kept telling himself, but it didn’t seem true. The simple fact was that he had callously used Ilrin to get to Dilmir, and even to Aldir, that was low.

“What news?”

The words broke Aldir from his silent thoughts. He was in one of the massive trees which made the four corners of Eld’rin; he must have wandered here after trying to speak with Ilrin. Before him, Delarthen, head of the Council, stood. Of course. He wanted a report.

“Nothing new,” Aldir said.

“Nothing?” Delarthen repeated.

“Nothing,” Aldir said again. “Dilmir practices his magic at night like he always has, but it’s hardly enough to banish him over.”

“And the others?” Delarthen pressed. “What of their use of the magic?”

Aldir frowned. “They’re not involved,” he said, looking Delarthen in the eye for the first time.

Delarthen raised an eyebrow. “Not involved?” he repeated. “They’ve learned magic from Dilmir, and practice it almost daily. They are nearly as much a threat as he is.”

“No,” Aldir said. “They’re no threat.” He pressed on before Delarthen could interrupt him. “You set me to watch them. That’s my job. Well, I’ve watched them for months now, and I tell you they are not a threat.”

“Deciding that is not up to you,” Delarthen said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “You are merely there to observe, and tell me if they do anything dangerous.”

“Anything you can possibly banish them for,” Aldir corrected.

Delarthen watched him silently, but Aldir wasn’t afraid of him. He just didn’t care anymore.

He waited until Delarthen opened his mouth to speak, and then interrupted him. “They’re elves,” he said. “Citizens of Eld’rin. We’re sworn to protect the citizens of Eld’rin, not hunt for excuses which don’t exist.”

“We are sworn,” Delarthen hissed, “to remove threats, wherever and whoever they may be. You would do well to remember that.” He glared at Aldir.

Aldir held his gaze coolly. Was that a threat? Had the head of the Council actually just threatened him?

Delarthen seemed to calm down slightly. “You do your job well,” he said, putting his hand on Aldir’s shoulder in what he clearly hoped was a fatherly fashion. “Try not to lose focus. Sometimes keeping threats from the elves requires doing things we would rather not. Just remember that everything you do is for their good.”

“Everything?” Aldir repeated. He shrugged Delarthen’s hand away. “Even betrayal of those who have no part to play?”

Delarthen nodded. “Sometimes, yes. Remain focused, Aldir. Consider what really matters.”

“I’ve done that,” Aldir said. He paused a fraction of a second. “And I’ve decided. Find someone else to watch Dilmir and the others. I won’t do it any longer.” And then he turned and walked away.

He had considered what really mattered. He had joined the Council to protect the elves, not spy on them or betray them. But that was all he had done: spy and betray. He couldn’t leave the service of the Council; he had nowhere else to go. They were his life. But that didn’t mean he had to like what he did.

He wouldn’t be a part of it anymore. Dilmir was a threat, yes, but not Ilrin, and not the others they met with almost every night, Endir and Inilidin. They were just normal elves, people Aldir had joined the Council to protect.

He was done playing the Council’s games.