The holy tree, Helurid, lent its name to the forest, the village that had been built in its enormous branches, and the elves that called it home. It was an enormous tree of mammoth proportions that were more akin to a mountain’s. A great hall seemed to grow within the tree’s crown, hundreds of feet above the ground. The hall’s floor and walls were made from living branches, and its roof was a thick canopy of leaves that turned from shimmering silver to a brilliant green under the light of the sun.

  On this occasion, it was packed to capacity, and a crowd had gathered outside. Visitors were rare in these times, and it seemed as though all of Helurid had come to see the messengers and to hear what news they brought. All eyes were on the raised platform that stood at one end of the Great Hall. Sitting in a chair of pure white wood in the centre of the platform was Yildea the Ancient, the first and only chieftain Helurid had ever known.

  Though the ancient elf possessed the ageless features of his kind, his eyes looked like they had the weight of the ages in them as they gazed upon two of the messengers, who were knelt before the platform, with their heads bowed deferentially. All except the boy, who did not kneel. He was not among his companions, though, and stood towards the rear of the room amongst the onlookers, watching the proceedings with wide eyed wonder.

  “I grieve for the brave men you lost on your journey here,” Yildea began. “Your message must be an important one.”

  When the two messengers raised their heads, the chieftain let his eyes linger on the boy before looking Ondra in the eye. The unspoken question was obvious to everyone in the room. The woman smiled broadly.

  “We thank you for your concern, O wise Lord of the Helurid,” her voice was loud and cheerful. “I come bearing a message of hope for all the people of Elbarad!”

  Galfin, who was standing close to the boy, sucked in his breath at the audacity of this woman to ignore the chief’s unspoken question. His eyes were fixed on the Chieftain, and he held his breath, waiting to see how he would respond.

  The ancient elf’s let out a pointed sigh before waving his hand. “Let us hear it, then.”

  Ondra’s smile broadened. “We have received news that a great fleet is on its way towards the Edelsburg.”

  Murmurs broke out amongst the audience, and Yildea held a hand up for silence before gesturing for Ondra to continue.

  “It carries a host from across the Great Sea, one numbering over fifteen thousand in number,” she continued. “As you know, the Imperial City is deep in the heart of Enemy territory, hundreds of miles from the closest Sanctuary. It could prove disastrous for them if this host were to make landfall, unaware of the Enemy’s existence, or their nature. To that end, I seek to gather a band of mighty warriors to travel to the port and meet this host at the docks.”

  Ondra bowed her head, indicating she had finished. The audience whispered amongst themselves while Yildea studied her impassively. At length, the ancient elf spoke. “This host, to sail all the way from the Eastern Continent and appear now…”

  “Alstin the Third summoned aid from his cousins across the ocean well before the Night of Fire,” Ondra replied without hesitation. “It was just after the Empire lost the Battle of Urvine.”

  “If I recall correctly, that is where the Emperor’s son and heir died,” Yildea remarked.

  “Indeed,” Ondra nodded. “In his grief, and with the Northern Campaign in tatters, he sent a plea across the Great Sea for aid. And now, it is almost here. They will find a different fight waiting for them, of course.”

  Yildea smirked. “So, is this mighty host of yours coming as conquerors, or liberators?”

  “The latter, I hope,” Ondra replied with a broad smile on her face. “But in the worst case, if they are here as the former, at least they would not want us slaughtered to the last like the Enemy.”

  The audience began speaking loudly amongst themselves. There were a few raised voices, and Galfin attempted to blend into the crowd. The relationship between the elves and the Bargusian Empire had been fraught at best before the Apocalypse. A faint smile crossed Yildea’s face, but it was fleeting. “I recognize you, young woman. Ondra Kethlin… That was the name of the Archmage of Bargusi, was it not?”

  Ondra stood only to bow low, and removed her hat in a dramatic sweeping motion, as though she were a courtier. “Guilty as charged.”

  The elf chieftain grunted. “Whatever their intentions, I cannot deny that the Eastern Empire would be an improvement over our current foe, but what can fifteen thousand men do against the might of the Enemy?”

  Ondra shrugged. “The Sanctuaries are holding on by their fingertips, spires like the one at your doorstep have sprung up near all of them. Your people saw a hint of its power last night. None of the Sanctuaries have an army capable of challenging the spires after two years of living under siege. Perhaps this host could turn the tide. If nothing else, they could buy us precious time. At best, they could turn the tide.”

  “And if they decide to simply sail away upon seeing the situation in our lands?”

  The Archmage smiled mischievously. “Well, an armada, however big simply cannot carry enough supplies to cross the Great Sea twice…”

  Yildea nodded thoughtfully. “By my reckoning, your quest is a dangerous one without much hope of changing our situation even if it succeeds.”

  There were murmurs of agreement from the audience, but the confident smile never left Ondra’s face. She looked Yildea in the eye and waited for the chieftain to finish.

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  “However, I believe it is a quest worth undertaking,” the ancient elf continued. “The only thing that confuses me is what you need from the Elves of Helurid.”

  “Your rangers, we need as many as you can spare,” she replied at once. “Though few in number, the Heluridi Rangers have kept the enemy at bay admirably over the past two years and warranted their building a spire at your door.”

  “Do not think I am a fool,” Yildea said softly. “The kingdom of Riluvea is but a stone’s throw from Karlhad. Why did you not turn to them?”

  “Because the next recruit I have in mind for this hopeless quest comes from Saraloch,” she replied.

  “Those wretched traitors!” a member of the audience cried, triggering a cacophony of furious screaming and shouting.

  The angry cries rang in Galfin’s ears. He looked over at the boy and saw his lips tremble as he attempted to remain stoic. He was a slight lad, standing scarcely up to Galfin’s chest, and he looked terrified of the rancour on display by those around him. Galfin couldn’t blame the elves for being angry, though. Saraloch was a small elvish settlement located in a copse of trees in the heart of human lands. They had taken in all the survivors they could, but soon, the humans badly outnumbered the elves, pushing them out of their own homes.

  When the noise in the hall reached a crescendo, Yildea spoke. Though soft, his voice was clear and cut through the dining whether it was through magic, skill, the architecture of the chamber or some combination thereof, Galfin could not be sure, but the audience fell silent upon hearing their leader's voice.

  “I am well aware that holding onto the grudges can cause us to act against our best interests,” he began.

  Ondra knew better than to interject and nodded in silent agreement, smiling serenely.

  “However, as you touched upon earlier, our numbers are few, and our foe is mighty,” he continued. “I take it you will not continue on your journey before tomorrow's dawn, regardless of my answer?”

  Ondra nodded and though she maintained her smile, but though the temperature was cool in the chamber, Galfin noticed a bead of sweat roll down the side of her face.

  “I will have to discuss with the Captain of my Rangers about the numbers we can spare. Until then, you are welcome to rest here, and we will resupply you to the best of our ability,” the elf said. A flash of disappointment crossed the woman's face. “Also, know this. Though I said it is poisonous to hold onto past grudges, I will not permit a single human from Saraloch to enter my borders.”

  Ondra bowed her head. “I understand, My Lord. I cannot thank you enough.”

  Yildea nodded, and the woman continued. “And as payment for your generosity, I shall give you a warning.”

  “What you saw last night was but a fraction of the spire's power,” she said. “When it is complete, its foul light will be able to carve a path of desolation to your city's doorstep in one fell swoop which will leave it vulnerable to the Enemy’s hordes. I have seen it with my own eyes and urge you to disperse your people into the forest before that happens.”

  Yildea nodded, and his eyes softened. “That is valuable information indeed. I appreciate you sharing this with us before we committed forces to your cause. The Captain and I shall take this into consideration.”

  Ondra bowed again. “Only by working together without reservation will we survive these difficult times.”

  “Indeed. Now I know you are weary but before I allow you to rest, I must insist that you answer my next question,” Yildea levelled his gaze pointedly on the boy. “Who is the boy?”

  A faint smile crossed Ondras lips. “Please understand, I was not trying to hide his identity from you, My Lord, I was merely waiting for the right time to introduce him.”

  "And that time is now," Yildea stated without humour.

  Ondra grinned and turned to the boy. “Step forward and introduce yourself.”

  A hush descended on the room and all eyes were focused on the boy, who lowered his head self consciously and began muttering to himself. The audience began to mutter amongst themselves again, but Galfin noticed that Yildea’s eyes had not left the boy’s. The boy took a deep breath and, Galfin, who was standing close to him noticed the air around him take a dramatic change. There was something in his eye, a determination that burned ferociously, and Galfin couldn’t help but wonder if it was born from the boy’s strength of will or his childish naivete.

  “My name is Chelhem Turner,” his voice was like a clap of thunder and when he paused, the Great Hall of Helurid was so silent that one could hear a pin drop.

  The boy took a deep breath before continuing. “And I am the illegitimate son of Alstid the Third, the last Emperor of Bargusi.”

  A few in the audience gasped, and before he realized it, Galfin sank to his knees. He blinked in disbelief and then realized that tears were flowing freely from his eyes. He would follow this child to the ends of the earth, but he didn’t understand why.

  “The blood of your father runs thick in you,” Yildea didn’t sound the slightest bit pleased by his observation. “Tell me, do you wish to resurrect your father’s Empire?”

  The boy shook his head emphatically. “Oh no, sir… My Lord. I harbour no such ambitions…”

  “Besides, by Bargusian custom, an illegitimate child such as he holds no claim to the throne, such as it is,” Ondra added.

  “Will this host that is to arrive by sea see it that way?” Yildea asked sharply.

  “By my word, yes,” Ondra declared.

  She stared back unflinchingly when the ancient elf looked deep into her eyes. He then shifted his gaze to the boy, who did not back down.

  “I have only spoken the truth, My Lord,” Chelhem said deferentially. “I may not have been raised in the Imperial Court, but my mother taught me to be truthful and honourable.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Yildea said at length before turning back to Ondra. “I must admit, I find the appearance of this child troubling. Very troubling indeed. What are your plans for him?”

  Ondra looked around before offering the chieftain an abashed look. “My Lord, I am afraid the Enemy’s ears are everywhere and are listening, even under the full light of day. I fear that revealing his identity may have placed him in grave danger already.”

  “All of us have lived under the spectre of grave danger ever since the sky burned, Archmage,” Yildea snorted. “Do you swear that you do not intend to resurrect a human Empire?”

  “I swear it upon the Five Lords of Light,” she said solemnly.

  “And I swear that not only do I have no intention of resurrecting my father’s Empire, but I will fight anyone to my last breath who does,” Chelhem added.

  “You have a honeyed tongue, child.” Yildea burst into laughter, and Galfin felt a surge of fury directed at the elf lord for daring to laugh at him.

  He blinked and looked down to see that his fists were bunched into tight balls. Why? Because he laughed at the child? He felt nothing but gratitude towards the Chief of the Helurid for saving his life, and he didn’t even know the boy. His mouth suddenly went dry. Something was strange about this boy. He looked at the others in the audience to see if they felt the same way, but there was nothing but hostility in their eyes. Hostility that was directed at Chelhem.

  “You and your party are dismissed,” the chieftain continued. “Take the time to rest and recuperate, and I will send word to you.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Chelhem said before bowing low. Ondra walked over to his side and did the same while their dwarf companion watched on, wearing a bemused look on his face.

  “If you wish to spend time amongst your people, Galfin here will lead the way,” Yildea continued.

  “It will be my honour,” the lumberjack blurted, surprised at his eagerness to serve the boy. His face reddened when he noticed the shocked look Aeldra was giving him.

  Ondra’s eyes danced mischievously as she looked at him. “Then we are in your care, Master Axe Wielder.”