The Fall, Chapters 1-3

Hello everyone.  It is with pride that I’m able to show you in its entirety The Fall, the last novella from The Tales of Tellest, volume 1.  Though its been long in the making, we’re finally at the point where the edits are in, and the story is nearly ready for release.  At this time, we’re suspecting that time will be August 31st.

Because certain things have changed, I’d like to invite you to catch up to where we’re at in the story by looking at the first half again.  Each Tuesday from now until the release, we will post a section of the story.  Without any further adieu, here are the first three chapters.

 

 

Chapter One: A Tale of Tellest

The sword cleaved through the air with a resounding whoosh, just missing its mark.  The elf moved deftly, sliding from side to side as his opponent brutally swung his weapon to and fro.  That heavier blade had come close to skewering him several times, but he always seemed to be just ahead of the weapon.

Loud grunts and growls prefaced every attack from his young foe.  Sweat poured down the human’s brow, and his skin burned pink underneath the afternoon sun.  There was determination etched on his face, but it was lost beneath a veil of anger.

Every move was beginning to pronounce within the man’s muscles.  His shoulders flexed and bulged in telling motions, leaving him open to humiliating counterattacks.  More than once, the tip of the rapier had snuck past his broadsword and left a gash in his tunic.

Dancing away from a series of wild swings, the elf’s banded hair swept across in a mesmerizing display.  He always returned to a dominant stance, letting his foe return to his ill-fated hunt.

The broadsword cut across again, just passing the elf’s belt.

The lithe warrior lunged forward, driving the heel of his hand into his opponent’s chest.

A gasp was forced out of the man’s lungs.  He flew back, his sword dropping where he had stood.  He clutched his chest and rolled on the ground, his skin flushing even darker.

“That’s enough for today, Helios,” the elf insisted.  Icarus Callatuil swept away a single strand of grey hair that escaped his headband.  He sheathed his rapier and stepped beside his fallen opponent.

As his breath returned, Helios Dactyls became more concerned with the bright sunlight.  He brought his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the radiance.  In that brief respite, he saw the old elf offer his hand.  Casting aside his irritation, the young man accepted the gesture.

He was pulled to his feet by the deceptive strength of his master.  Icarus stood several inches taller than his ward once he had solid ground beneath his boots.

“You did well,” the teacher declared.  “Too well.  I’d prefer to be that unthinkable legend – an elf that dies of old age.”

Helios didn’t care for the good-natured banter.  He unbuckled the leather strap that hung against his chest and tugged it over his shoulder.  His sword’s scabbard came with it, nearly flinging to the ground.  Once it was in his hand, though, the pupil swung about, stamping away from his tutor.

“I’ll be taking this as your formal concession,” Icarus called out.  “If you walk away from here, I’ll assume you don’t require my help anymore.  Your training will be complete, and I will bid you farewell.”

The young man let a growl press past his gnashed teeth, but he ceased, his boots kicking a cloud of dirt into the air.  He pivoted on his heel, facing his teacher once more.  “And that would be different from the way anyone else treats me how?” he demanded, his eyes red.

“Is this about your father?” the elf asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Helios said, turning around again and resuming his tense flight.

Icarus was there in a moment, placing his hand upon the lad’s shoulder.  He passed his pupil and turned to him, sympathy etched upon his face.  “Your father didn’t cast you out,” the elf insisted.  “He didn’t send you here so he could forget you.  He did it because he wants you to be the best that you can be.”

Helios hung his head.  “He used to stop here every fortnight.  It’s been three months, Icarus,” he cried.  “Every time a bird arrives, it’s with more bad news.”

“Trust me, child.  It is just as disappointing for him that he cannot come.  But he is king.  He has an obligation to other people as well, and these are dire times.  Perhaps we may go to him.  I’m sure –”

“You don’t understand, Icarus,” the young man interrupted.  “You never could!”

Helios resumed his retreat, though he changed direction.  Beside the beaten path where he and his master often sparred, a steep, tree-covered hill overlooked a small stream.  Heavy winds during the prior rainy season had thrown one of those trees to the ground.  The dejected prince often found himself upon that log.  And so it was that day, with Icarus approaching behind him.

“You know, you say I couldn’t understand, but I do,” the elf spoke.  Icarus lifted his leg, stepping upon the log while bracing against his knee.  “My brother and I had a very tenuous relationship.  I know it wasn’t my father I struggled with, but family is family.  It was difficult, all the same.”

He looked up, through the tree canopy, to the cloud-filled sky.  “Sometimes I envy you humans.  Your mortality forces so many things upon you: growth, understanding, forgiveness.”

“All this time, I haven’t seen your father,” Helios challenged.  “I haven’t seen any elves.  Tell me, if family is so important, why have we seen none of yours?”

Icarus bowed his head and lowered his leg, heading back to the path.  His pupil, still upon the log, stared at the stream until a scowl contorted his face and his brow lowered.

“I’m sorry,” he insisted, springing from the fallen tree.  “Icarus, please forgive me.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

The human caught up with his mentor on the path a few moments later.  Icarus did not seem poised to stop.

“Perhaps we’ve spent too much time lately in combat,” the elf said.  “Do you remember your first few weeks here, when you would beg me to stop talking?”

“Sometimes, in my head, I still do.”

The elf passed his pupil an annoyed glance but couldn’t hide a smile when he saw Helios’ mischievous grin.  “You knew what you were here for then,” Icarus went on.  “You were anxious to have a sword in your hand, even when you were too small to hold one.  Over the years, I’ve seen you grow strong and intelligent.  You far exceeded my expectations,” he teased.

“Still, this constant fighting – however safe it may be – has worn on you,” he continued.  “I’ve noticed how poorly rested you’ve been.  I’ve heard the turmoil of every sleepless night.  I know that you’re stronger than you need to be.”

Icarus stopped and placed his hand on his ward’s shoulder.  “I need you to know that even when we falter, we can still climb to our feet once more.”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, Icarus began back down toward the stream.  His pupil followed on his heel, until the elf planted his feet beneath him, just on the sandy bank of the water.

“Very long ago,” Icarus explained, “I had a family much like yours.  I had a brother, like you.  My father was a reputable member of our society, though not nearly as powerful.  He crafted the finest armor, for even all those centuries ago, ambitious men, elves, and dwarves sought power over others.  My father meant to avoid war by making sure his people were protected.

“There were others, though,” he went on.  “Besides my siblings, I had cousins, uncles, aunts… The elves have always been very close-knit, though perhaps in those days we remained just shy of each other.”

He bent low and scooped up one of the small stones that had washed upon the sand.  “These days, my people rely on their familiarity more than ever.  When it was just the three prime races, there was arrogance about us – an unshakable notion we could never slip from where we stood.  Now, with lagano and kaja and goblins scattered all across Tellest, the elves come together.

“Except me,” he whispered.

“What happened?” Helios asked.

Icarus stood and stepped forward.  He held out his hand and let the stone drop from his hand, splashing into the stream below.  The elf turned on his heel, looking upon his ward with narrowed eyes.  “I’ve never told anyone who didn’t already know,” he said.  “Certainly no human alive knows of the story.”

Swallowing hard, Helios nodded his understanding.

“You must swear to me you will never share these secrets,” Icarus said, placing his hand upon the young man’s shoulder.  “Truth is dangerous, and this one could risk the lives of you or your family.”

“Then why tell me?”

A weak grin crept to the elf’s face.  “Because you need to understand how to use what is intrinsic to you.  You’re already strong, but we can guide that strength.  If you knew of my hardships, of the choices I’ve had to make, perhaps we could prepare you for your own inevitable journey.”

Helios’ eyes narrowed.  “What happened to you, Icarus?”

Subtly, the elf nodded.  “I lived through the fall of mankind.”

 

 

Chapter Two: Pride

The sound of his leather boots tapping against the marble viaduct was lost beneath a powerful wave.  Ocean foam was tossed over the railing, splashing the walkway.  That thin coating made all the bridges of Ippius sparkle in the light of day.  As the sun peaked in the sky, that glimmer was blinding indeed.

Icarus brought his hand to his brow to stifle the radiance, though he quickly realized the futility of the endeavor.  Instead, he focused on the constructed island before him, where marble steps led to a verdant retreat.

Upon that floating grove, a pack of deer leisurely circled the many trees.  One large oak stood sentinel over the landscape, shading the fauna there.  That respite from the afternoon sun was also offered to the elf and the human beneath its boughs.  The woman sat upon her knees, a book grasped in her hands.  The bearded elf sat with his legs crossed, a gnarled staff in his lap.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Icarus shouted.

His statement sent a thrush scrambling from one of the nearby trees.  The deer on the far side of the island lifted their heads while they grazed on the grass they tugged free.

“One of your many talents,” the other elf replied, never lifting his gaze to see Icarus’ approach.

The human couldn’t suppress a grin.  She rose to her feet, eagerly anticipating the arrival of her friend.  She swept her dark, shoulder-length hair from her face, revealing a pair of violet eyes.

As Icarus approached, he noted the sneer upon the other elf’s face.  He laughed that away, opening his arms as he neared the young woman.  “Hello, Iolanthe,” he said.

“Icarus,” she returned, welcoming his embrace.

As they separated, the elf turned instead to his bearded kin, who remained seated on the ground.  “And how are you this fine day, Yvensar?” he asked.  “It is simply too beautiful to hide beneath this old tree.”

“You are interrupting our lesson, brother,” he protested.

“Ah, but there will be time for books tomorrow,” Icarus pressed.  “Come, we’ve better things to do than lose our noses between some dusty old pages.”

“It’s actually more than that today,” Iolanthe offered.  “Watch.”

She dropped to her knees and held her hand out above the ground.  The visitor noticed the withered flower just beneath her fingers, its once bright red petals faded into a dusky crimson.  His vision rose to his brother, who shot back a wide-eyed glance and pointed with his chin toward his pupil.  Icarus merely shrugged.

He was drawn back to Iolanthe, who moved her hand in small circles above the dying flower.  Before his eyes, a faint green glow enveloped her hand.  Warmth seemed to resonate from the woman, and both elves leaned forward to observe her actions.

Beneath her hand, small green sparks seemed to fall from her palm, fading before they reached the ground.  As if waking from a deep sleep, the flower began to rise.  Those dark petals filled once more with color and opened up into a beautiful bloom.  A sweet aroma invaded their nostrils, prompting a smile from Iolanthe.

“What kind of trick is this?” Icarus asked.

“It’s no trick,” Iolanthe protested.

“She’s right,” Yvensar attested.  “The flower’s rebirth is by her hand alone.”

“But the masters always said a human could never learn of druidic magic.  Do any other elves know about this?”

“None but you and I,” his brother answered.  “And only Iolanthe’s father knows the depths of her powers.”

“This is fantastic news,” Icarus exclaimed.  “How have you not shouted it from the pinnacle of the White City?”

“Some of the old ones are averse to change, little brother.”

“Nonsense.  If humans can heal Tellest’s scars, we could be looking at the start of a golden age.  If our world is delivering gifts of this magnitude to the other races, we could –”

“That’s enough, Icarus,” Yvensar said, finally rising to his feet.  “We must tread lightly regarding Iolanthe’s powers.  You are too young to remember when humans first summoned soulfire and called on the rains.  In those days, men were studied like animals.”

“Those were the dark ages,” the younger elf insisted.  “That was in the days before elves and humans lived as one.”

“I beg you, Icarus, please don’t mention anything to anyone.”

“I know I am but a lowly human,” Iolanthe began, “but shouldn’t I have some say in this?  It is my right to determine what is best for me.”

“Of course,” Icarus said, bowing his head.  “And what would you do with your newfound power?  Would you spread news of it like wildfire upon the Azure Isle?  Or would you hide it away in the shadows like some dreadful secret?”

The woman smiled, lifting her shoulders just slightly.  “I don’t rightly know.  For now, I’d like to see what else I can do.  If bringing a withering flower to bloom is the extent of my ability, I don’t see the issue with letting Rezarius know.  He might think it’s a talent worth exploring.”

“If he truly does, imagine the possibilities,” Icarus exclaimed.  “He could tell the Far Council, and you could travel the world!”

“I can do that already,” she protested.

“Ah, yes, at great detriment to my back,” he replied.

Yvensar sighed.  “I suppose our lesson has ended for today,” the older elf said.  “Iolanthe, will you be leaving with me?”

“That’s actually what I came here for,” his brother said.  “That gift that I promised you?  Father finally finished it.”

Her eyes grew wide, and though she reflexively clapped her hands together, she attempted to steady herself.  Her lips were tightly closed, but she nodded subtly.

“Excellent,” Icarus said.  He turned away from the young woman and looked to the sky.

High above, he saw the suspended land masses of the Azure Isle.  The nearer islands were small and unimposing, but far in the distance, the floating continent, Shandranar, was inspiring to behold.  Tall mountains pierced the sky, and various rivers let their crystal waters flow from the edges of the island.  Silhouettes were cast against the bright blue canvas, ethereal wings carrying them toward the distant island.

Icarus smiled and looked over his shoulder.  “Ready?” he asked.

At once, those faded, otherworldly wings manifested upon his back.  Iolanthe shared a grin of her own and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his torso.

“You coming?” the younger elf asked his brother.

Yvensar nodded.  “Go.  I will be just behind you.”

Icarus bent his knees, and those ethereal wings began to beat slightly, flowing like the soft waves of an aurora.  At once, he lifted into the air.  Despite the fragile sight of those ghostly wings, he and his companion rose with ease.  Soon after, he glided forward, quicker than Iolanthe expected.  She gripped ever tighter, a cheer escaping her lips.

With narrowed eyes, Yvensar watched on as his brother and his pupil flew into the horizon.  He clenched his fingers into a tight fist and lowered his gaze.

His foot stamped upon the newly risen flower.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Ash stained his skin, and his eyes watered in protest of the heat and thick smoke.  A single tear dropped from his eye, and he brought his thumb up to wipe it away.  A smudge of black took its place upon his cheek, dragged sideways just above his beard.

Samael heard her screams.

He looked at what he had wrought: the ravaged remnants of the home he had toiled eleven years to maintain.  Dilapidated furniture lay in tatters, and the walls of the bedroom still burned.  The middle-aged man sat upon the mattress of the bed, the last refuge that had not been damaged.

He closed his eyes, but Samael could not escape the screams.

 

The sun would not relent, beating down upon his back like a flurry of whips.  Long before, that red had matured into a deep bronze.  Covered in sweat, those occasional cool breezes were a well-earned reward.

He wiped his brow, dragging a sculpted forearm across his forehead.  A weathered axe hung from his opposite hand, the metal beginning to wear and chip in several spots.

Sighing heavily, he gripped the tool in both hands once more.  Several loud thuds echoed out from the tall elm, which still persevered despite the sizable gap in its trunk.  The young man pressed upon it to no avail.  Even against his tremendous strength, the tree would not budge.

He stared ahead for several moments, his eyes locked upon that beaten trunk.  The scent of summer wafted up from the fields behind him, mingling with the aroma of the elm’s sticky sap.  Another bead of sweat dripped from his eyebrow, landing upon his cheek.  Reflexively, he brought up his thumb to remove it.

With that single drop of perspiration gone, the man felt as though he could finally see clearly.  The axe left his hand, falling to the ground at his side.  Bending at his knees, he drew closer to that battered trunk.

The scent of brimstone invaded his nostrils then, just slightly catching on the breeze.  He lifted his hand out before him and watched the flame take shape just above his skin.  It crackled and danced like it rested on a plentiful collection of tinder, but that flame was exposed to nothing but the air.  The man brought his hand in line with where he focused, and he blew a breath from his lips.  The fire floated away like a dandelion caught on the wind, landing in the recess of the tree, where his axe had left its mark.

He drew up that tool again, but his eyes never left the tree.  Raising the axe, he choked back on the handle and prepared to swing.

“I think that’s cheating, Samael.”

The man ceased his actions, turning abruptly to see who had spoken.  Before him, the caramel-colored skin of the young woman glistened beneath the hot sun.  Her dark hair, lifted by a beaded headdress, shaded her face just enough for him to see her bright smile.  “Hello, Jadora,” he said, unable to shield a forming grin.

“You’re getting good at that,” she insisted.

He shrugged.  “I’ve been chopping down trees all my life.”

Jadora shook her head.  “Your magic, I mean.  I remember the days when you would struggle to summon a spark between your fingers.  Now you produce vibrant flames with nary a thought.”

“The masters have been kind in their instructions,” Samael admitted.  He passed a glance behind him and noticed the flame had dissipated without his focus.  “What brings you all the way out here today?”

Lifting her arm from behind her back, the beautiful woman proudly displayed a woven basket.  An assortment of fruits crowded one side of the container while a knitted cobalt-tinted blanket filled out the rest.

“I’ve just returned from the market,” she informed.  “I thought you could take a brief respite from your work to enjoy a meal with me.”

Samael’s grin separated into an eager smile.  He tossed the axe toward the tree he had worked on and stepped forward.  Bending low, he retrieved his discarded shirt, shaking it off against his leg.

“You don’t have to put that back on just because I’m here,” she coyly remarked.

The man smirked while he bundled the garment into a ball once more.  He threw it at the fallen axe and approached his admirer.  Her eyes fluttered as he drew close, and she felt a stray breath escape her as he reached forward.

He pulled away with the blanket in his hands.  With a gentle snap of his wrists, those edges flew out.  Samael brought the blanket flat against the ground.

Jadora wasted no time placing the basket upon one of those corners.

As she lowered herself, the woodsman focused on the curves of her body.  When her knees landed upon the ground, her dress slipped up, revealing the bottom of her thighs.  Samael swallowed hard, averting his gaze only when she brought the basket between them.  He looked up at her, understanding that she was aware of his curious stare.

She chortled to herself as she leaned forward and removed items from the basket, setting them down upon the blanket between them.  Oranges, strawberries, grapes, and more exotic fruits were laid upon the flattened blue fabric.

“Are those pomegranates?” Samael asked.

“That they are,” she cooed.  “I got them specifically for you.”

Though her gesture was kind, he could not keep his brow from furling.  “Pomegranates are out of season in Shandranar.  These must have cost you a small fortune.”

“A small fortune I have not yet paid,” Jadora confessed.

Samael’s eyes widened.  “You stole them?”

“That is such an unpleasant word,” she giggled.  “I would say I liberated them.  Don’t worry.  I fully intend on repaying the merchant.”

“I don’t think he’ll be pleased to hear you made off with his produce while he saw nothing of the profit.”

She shrugged.  “As I said, I will repay him in time.  I wanted dearly to treat you to a fine picnic, but I see my toils have been for nothing.”

Looking to the sky, Samael breathed out a long, quiet sigh.  High above, a pair of birds circled, their silhouettes cast against the brightened blue canvas.

“I appreciate the gesture,” he said.

“I know they are your favorites,” Jadora replied.

When he looked down, she brought one of those juicy fruits to her mouth.  Her hand was slightly turned, and a mischievous smile stretched those lips.  “Don’t eat that,” he pleaded.  As her teeth punctured the flesh of that pomegranate, a breeze shifted through the trees.  Samael’s gaze lifted to the sky again, and he knew he was too late.

Those birds in the sky dove toward the ground, spiraling as they went.  As they drew closer, they became clearer, and the man below saw them for what they really were.

Jadora focused on her admirer’s sudden interest in the sky.  When she recognized the Shandranaran sentinels, she sprung to her feet.

The winged elves were upon her in an instant.  They landed beside her, but their firm grasp kept her firmly rooted in place.  She yelped at that sudden intrusion and winced at the power of their grips.

Samael stood immediately, reaching for the woman he loved.

“No,” she cried.  “No, Sam.”

Before he could answer her protest, a third elf landed in the clearing just behind them.  He wore much sturdier armor, his wings drawn back farther than his brethren.  The late arrival strode forward, his silvered armor catching a glint of the radiant sunlight.  As he approached, he lifted the helmet from his head, revealing his fierce eyes.

“I am Inquisitor Norentus, and you stand accused of thievery,” he tersely spoke.  Though he stopped beside his fellow sentinels, he focused entirely on Samael.  The human’s features were beginning to tremble, his apprehensive gaze shifting into a violent scowl.

Jadora, silently weeping, saw her admirer’s kindling rage and watched him squeeze his fingers into a tightly clenched fist.  When he began opening it again, she saw the flames within.  “Please, Sam,” she sobbed.  “Don’t do anything foolish.”

Her words managed to placate him, for in the instant her request passed her lips, his fire diminished.  A lone tear fell from his eye, and he lowered his hands to his sides.

The elf known as Norentus squared his jaw as those in attendance steadied.  He pivoted on his heel and looked upon the woman.  “We followed you for some time, dear lady,” the inquisitor confessed.  “Far too long to allow you a change of heart.  Our generosity stretches far, but we will not be taken advantage of.

“You will be taken back to Baridryn, the White City, where you will stand as the accused.  You are aware of the punishment for your actions?”

Her eyes grew wide as she considered his words.  “No, sir, I beg you!” she cried.  “I was going to give him the money when I had it!”

Norentus waved his hands, gesturing toward the scattered food on the picnic blanket.  “You were able to pay for all this food without incident.  Starvation did not compel you to rob the elf of his wares.

“But Levitha is not without mercy,” he continued.  “If you return to the city with me and confess of your crimes, you may yet keep your hands.”

“Let me go in her place,” Samael pleaded.

“Sam, no,” Jadora protested.  “You have so much that you are aspiring to be.  I cannot be what holds you back.  Whatever punishment I am meant to endure is mine alone.”

The inquisitor scoffed at that statement.  “It is a choice that neither of you can make.  It is only possible for you to confess and repent,” he said.  He turned to the sentinels that still held on fiercely to their quarry.  “Take her back to the city.  I will meet you there shortly.”

Nodding, the sentinels raised Jadora’s arms, and their ethereal wings began to beat.  A protest squeaked from her lips but was silenced as a gasp halted her.  They were in the air moments later, the human held firmly between them.

“Jadora!” Samael shouted.  “I will come for you!”

She offered no response as she was carried away.  The summer breeze tossed her hair wildly, and her body looked weak in the hands of her captors.

Norentus harrumphed as he brought his helmet up once more.  “You’d do well to learn from this, boy.  Levitha may be merciful, but it is not absent in its judgment.  All of us must pay for our crimes.”

“What is going to happen to her?” Samael asked.  “If she confessed, what punishment will she suffer?”

After situating the helmet snugly on his head once more, Norentus simply shrugged.  “It is not my duty to see what terms a violator must come to.  I am the means for retribution.  I am the shepherd who guides the lost toward divinity once more.”  He sighed then, noticing the great anxiety expressed in the human’s countenance.  “If I were to surmise her punishment, it would be several days in Levitha.  See to it that when she gets out, she never makes such a foolish mistake again.”

At that, the elf spread his arms and let his wings lift him into the air.  He looked down upon the human, bowing his head just slightly.

Samael was left to watch the inquisitor take to the sky.  Norentus soared into the distance, fading into the horizon.

Left alone, the man could no longer steady his trembling breaths.

 

He opened his eyes, but he still felt those screams ripping his tender flesh.  Samael looked down, noticing the ashes that covered his arms.  He wiped those dirty smudges away, revealing the bronzed skin beneath.

The mage lifted his head, looking at all that he had wrought.  Flames licked the walls of Jadora’s home, crackling and roaring as they reached the ceiling.

Samael could still hear her voice, her last words to him resounding in his mind.

Whatever punishment I am meant to endure is mine alone.

“But you didn’t endure your fate alone, did you?” he spoke.

He rose, placing his hands upon the carefully made bed.  As he pulled away, black handprints were left upon the blue, knitted blanket that lay upon the mattress.  Without pause, he proceeded forward, passing through the doorway consumed by flames.

In the bedroom, a loud pop echoed out as the blaze chewed through a sturdy wooden knot.  A beam crashed down from the ceiling, crushing the bed.

The house continued to burn.

 

 

Chapter Three: Revelations

Shadowy tendrils reached across his field of vision, creeping about the plains.  Like some ferocious beast, the darkness consumed all it touched, feeding on the world and leaving it bare.  Those blackened, charred arms made their way up the adjacent hill, toward the elf that stood vigil there.

Gyanamar had not seen the fellow before and was not familiar with any of his markings.  The elves of the savage cities were oft covered in strange symbols and colors, but that elf seemed so… distant.

It was no matter, he thought.  Those shadowy tendrils revealed much to Gyanamar.  He was held firmly in his dream, and no manner of struggle would free him from its grasp.  The dreamer would be left to wait, as he always was, for the message to be made clear.

That night, something dug its claws into him far more fiercely than he was accustomed to.  He could feel the oppressive heat that rose just over the hill.  A faint glow cast its light upon the hill, and as he drew closer to the strange elf, it illuminated his glowering visage.

In Gyanamar’s periphery, he could see the crimson robe draping toward the ground.  Try as he might, he could not steer his vision in that direction.  He was left to suffer the vantage the dream provided, just as he always was.  Slowly, he was pulled away from the elf, drawn toward the new arrival.

Watching from over that one’s shoulder, he saw the furious approach of the elf.  He raised his sword high, grasping it in both hands.

The robed figure lifted his arm, pointing toward his foe.  A bright flame leapt from his extended digit, persisting endlessly when it landed on the elf’s chest.  A soundless scream emerged from that fellow, and if ever he would hear sound in his dreams, Gyanamar thought it would be that night.

Ash floated from the elf’s tunic, evaporating into the air.  The flames chewed through that garment, devouring his flesh.  The marked one fell to his knees, howling all the while.

As the elf writhed in pain, reaching for his aggressor, those flowing red robes proceeded forward.  Gyanamar’s vision shifted, spinning around the fellow as he moved.

The elven seer was aghast at what he saw.  In the distance behind the hill, a city was burning.  Flames licked the stone statue of an elven hero.  He kept rising, able to see that there was no limit to the destruction.

When the vision rose, Gyanamar watched the caster lower his cowl.  A sinister smirk caught him, and maddened fierce eyes stared ahead, as if bridging the gap between reality and reverie.  It was no elf that had produced such wanton destruction, but a man.

“Your world will burn,” the human said.

To Gyanamar’s surprise, he heard the words.

 

The elf sprung awake, gasping so hard that he awkwardly caught the breath in the back of his throat.  His eyes scanned the room, affronted only by darkness, save for the candle that burned in the corner of the cottage.  That single flame danced about, quivering in the cool breeze.

Gyanamar felt the zephyr upon his brow, the perspiration rolling down toward the bridge of his nose.  He dragged his fist across his eyes, discarding that unwanted moisture.

Still wheezing, he placed his hand upon his chest.  His heart raced, prompting him to steady those abrasive breaths.  He leaned back, falling upon the headboard of his comfortable bed.

Sweeping his arm to his side, he tapped his hand against the mattress.  When he felt no other presence there, he ascended once more.

The chill air was still upon his skin.  As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he saw the door subtly swinging to and fro.

“Vione?” he whispered.

Gyanamar swung his feet from beneath the blankets, letting them tap upon the floor.  Those wooden beams might as well have been sheets of ice.  The elf winced as he stood upon them.

He crept from the room, spotting the entryway to his humble abode.  The door was left ajar, allowing the meager moonlight to spill upon the hewn stone that separated the wooden floor from the dirt outside.

His furred sandals were upon that stone, just beside the doorway.  Gyanamar tiptoed in that direction, his teeth chattering as he moved.

When he reached the door, he noticed the maiden outside the cottage.  She was plump, the years of seclusion and isolation doing little to remind her of the body she had once been proud of.  Vione stood with her back to her husband, peering off the edge of the mountain.

“It’s much too cold tonight for you to be out here,” Gyanamar said.

She turned, letting her weary eyes fall upon him.  The elf hadn’t donned his sandals, and no hood or hat covered his silvery hair.  “Then perhaps you should be wearing something on your feet,” she said, a smirk forming at the corners of her lips.  “It was stifling in there tonight.  I needed a breath of air.”

As Gyanamar reached her, she turned back to the view.  Scattered rays of moonlight left the valley below barely discernable.  She stared at the dim lights of a settlement several miles away, sighing as she watched.

Her husband’s hand squeezed her shoulder, a reassuring gesture she noticed he was distributing more often in recent times.  Vione placed her fingers upon his, warming his cold digits.

“We need to contact the Far Council,” he said.  “I’ve had a vision.”

The maiden nodded.  “I heard your words of strife while you slept.  This one was far worse than the others, wasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.  Our world is changing, and Rezarius would hear of it.”

Vione swallowed hard.  She turned, still clutching her husband’s hand.  “We should go to the pools now, before it’s too late.”

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Shandranar was just a spit away from the small floating island.  If Icarus chose to, he could take one of his father’s discarded scraps and heave it past the edge.  Barring a strong wind, it would reach the flying continent.

He was almost ignorant of the gentle squeeze on his abdomen.  A slight nod was all the warning that Iolanthe received before he lowered down to the ground.  The woman lifted her legs as he gained his bearings.

Icarus felt her arms drop from his chest and turned toward his friend.  A smile was wide on her face, as it ever was when she flew upon his back.

“One of these days you’re going to forget I’m with you,” she said.

“Doubtful,” he teased.  “You take great pleasure in steering me like a horse with wings.”

Her eyebrows rose at that comment.  “If there were horses with wings, I wouldn’t need you.”

Shaking his head to stifle a chortle, Icarus turned away.  Besides a trio of sturdy cordus trees and some stray wildflowers, the island was nearly bare.  But at its center, the Empyrean Forge sat proudly.  The building was small, but smoke churned continuously from the chimney.

The pair approached the forge, the sound of a mallet flattening steel echoing from within.  They could feel the heat, oppressive as it was, and considered remaining outside.

Human and elf alike were surprised when a lithe figure emerged from the shade of the building.  He, too, was caught off guard and hesitated for but a moment.  He continued into the sunlight then, a wide smile upon his face.

“Alera’fael,” Icarus exclaimed.  “I would not have expected to see you here.”

The slim elf grinned at that sentiment, shrugging as he lifted his eyebrows.  “No one on this side of the world makes a sword as well as Fennic,” he insisted.  As he spoke, he pulled his new weapon halfway from its scabbard.

“Don’t let Phaethon hear you say such things,” Iolanthe said.

Icarus waved that notion away.  “Everyone knows Phaethon holds back his skills so that he will always have the best gear of the city.”

“A good way of telling me to seek a dwarf’s expertise,” Alera’fael insisted.  “And it only works in my favor that a master armorer would be in such close proximity.”

His lips curling upward, Icarus shook his head.  “My father will be very pleased with your words, my friend.”

“I should have met you here earlier.  Perhaps those words would have earned me a discount.”  He clapped the other elf on the shoulder, stepping past him.  “Be well, my friend.”

Icarus and Iolanthe turned to watch the slim elf proceed toward the edge of the floating island.  He broke into a sprint and leapt off toward the vast blue below.  Moments later he soared back into the sky, his ethereal wings catching the glimmer of the summer sun.

They didn’t wait to watch him fade into the distance, the heat from the forge growing oppressive yet again in Alera’fael’s absence.  Together, human and elf ducked their heads beneath the door frame and entered the building.

Once daylight was no longer on their backs, their vision adjusted.  From the outside, the Empyrean Forge was deceptively small.  Inside, there was enough room to accommodate both artisans.  A mithril bubble hung from the ceiling like a chandelier, the flames inside rolling and churning over each other.  A flue above caught the excess smoke and vapors and invited oxygen in turn.  That bubble fed into the two pipes that traveled across the ceiling before it dropped on opposite sides of the single room.

The smiths stood with their backs to each other, focused on their respective workstations.  Each had access to a hearth and anvil, as well as a slack tub that sat against the wall.  Sparks flew off the ends of hammers, and the pair of laborers developed their own cadence.

Of the pair, one was short and stocky.  His dirtied skin was only covered by a small vest and narrow apron, as well as a wild bronze beard that hung past his chest.  The dwarf had accepted several sparks there over the years but never considered braiding those expansive whiskers.

He turned to his hearth, the coals within burning brightly.  While his face was illuminated, the unannounced visitors could see he wore no safety equipment.  Instead, he furled his brow as he placed a blade upon the heated stones and lifted his stubby arm, displaying an absence of gloves as well.  Several scars were upon that upturned hand, yet he never hesitated beside the forge.

Fennic’s eyes grew wider for a moment as he spotted the elf and human.  He stepped back and gave a slight nod before returning to his anvil with the sword in his hand.  “Oi, Eddarvas,” he said.  “Your runt be here.”

Icarus shook his head.  “I’ve told him at least a dozen times, it takes hard work to maintain this physique.”

Stifling a giggle, Iolanthe took a step forward, flashing a smile at the weaponsmith when he looked her way.

On the other side of the Empyrean Forge, the tall, broad fellow let a shaped breastplate fall into the slack tub, a satisfying hiss erupting into the building as a pillar of steam rose off the water.  That vapor raced toward the ceiling, escaping through the vent above the stove.

He turned, a dark pair of goggles on his face, and stared at the guests for a few moments.  He threw up his hands in surprise then, pulling his spectacles away.

“Icarus, my boy,” he exclaimed.  Eddarvas moved toward the center of the building, meeting his son there.  The two shared a warm embrace before the elder elf turned to regard the woman.  “Good day to you, Iolanthe.  My, you’re looking lovely as ever.”

A smile shone brightly on the young lady’s face.  She bowed to the craftsman.  “Thank you, Master Eddarvas,” she said.

“Polite as always, I see,” he said.  “What brings you two up this way?”

“Father,” Icarus began.  “The bracer.”

The elder elf snorted and worked at stifling a grin.  “You have to learn how to slowly work toward a reveal of this nature, son.  One day you will understand the journey is just as important as the destination.”  He turned toward a chest against the wall behind him.  “Since you’ve lost the element of surprise, though…”

As he pulled his hands out of the container, his fingers gently cradled a beautiful piece of armor.  He returned to the visitors, proudly displaying his work.

The bracer was crafted with gold, several overlapping plates designed to look like leaves.  They wrapped around completely, until the entire piece was tightly closed.  Upon its top, Eddarvas had designed a tree, its branches meandering upon the path the leaves had between them.  At the center of the trunk, a radiant violet opal was placed.

Iolanthe looked to the ornate armor and passed curious glances between father and son.  The smith wore a proud smile when he saw the jubilance on the woman’s face.

He held it out before him.

Surprising him, the young lady leaned forward, kissing the elf on his cheek.  Exuberantly, she took the bracer, wasting little time in donning it.  She sprinted out into the daylight then as well, lifting her wrist to better see her treasure.

A grin upon his face, Icarus turned to his father once more.  “You just made her year.”

Eddarvas placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.  “She’s been around so long, she’s like an honorary daughter.  And the smile on your face makes it worth it as well.”

“So what were you working on when we came in here?  You seemed pretty eager to hide it.”

His father shook his head at the notion.  “If I’m successful, it will be one of my most talked about projects ever.  Truth be told, I didn’t recognize either of you at first.  My eyes aren’t meant to see people as much as metal.”

“Well, you’ve got people here now,” Icarus said.  “Iolanthe is going to be busy admiring her bracer for the next hour, and you know I’d never let slip your secrets.  Let’s hear about it!”

A chortle escaped the older elf’s lips.  “What’s the one thing that stops the elves and humans of Shandranar from wearing the same armor?”

“Elvish armor is narrower along our backs because of our wings.  The humans can be more protected because more of their surface is covered.”

“That’s right,” Eddarvas said, lifting his finger.  “Our wings pass through cloth and even light leather well enough, but metal needs to be narrow so we aren’t restricted.  But if the right armor could be made so that both our people could wear the same suits…”  He stepped aside, reaching the slack tub.  Without hesitation, he reached inside and retrieved the breastplate.

“The front still needs some work, but the back is my crowning glory.”  He spun it around, proudly displaying the rear of the armor.  Two wide circles were opened in the plate, revealing the inside of the mail.  “For our wings,” he said.

“But the humans would be more vulnerable to an attack from the rear,” Icarus protested.

Again, Eddarvas raised his finger, a smile spreading his lips wide.  He held the platemail before him and lifted his hand beneath it.  A few moments later, a click reverberated from within.  Almost immediately, two interlocking metal discs rotated from beneath the armor, locking into place within each circle.

“That’s amazing!” Icarus said.  “How did you do that?”

“Trade secrets, my son.”

Stifling a laugh, the younger elf patted his father on the shoulder.  “However you did it, these are sure to become your most popular item.  Now if there were only some way to make them shrink down for dwarves.”

“Careful, lad,” Fennic called out.  “I like ye, but I’d just as soon clip yer wings and throw you from the forge afore I let ye flap yer lips.”  He glared at the pair of elves, his brow furled intensely.  “If’n I could reach ye,” he said.

Icarus breathed out a sigh of relief and wore a wide grin.  The dwarf laughed and twitched the whiskers of his thick mustache before he turned to his work once more.

“We’ll start from here and work our way toward that,” Eddarvas jested.  “This is a fantastic effort that can only bolster a sense of unity.  The elves and humans can continue to work with one another in high regard.  One thing is for certain:  Our two peoples are moving toward an age of harmony.”

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

High upon the mountain, the cool breeze carried frost upon its breath.  The blades of grass were crisp, yet they fought valiantly against the cold presence.  Dreary dew seemed to coat the ground in those early morning hours.

Vione and her husband persevered.  Soon, they would arrive at the Pools of Jembala.

“We’re getting close, my love,” the elder maiden assured.  “We can stay there until the light of midday when these mountains are not so cool.”

“I fear I may need the respite,” Gyanamar replied.  “Rezarius will not take the news lightly.  He always acts harshly, but I would not keep such revelations from him.  Who the worse evil is, I do not know.”

She squeezed her husband’s hand and led on.  Even from afar, Vione could see the steam lifting from the pools.  A sneer crossed her face, but she proceeded on.  “You couldn’t have picked a warmer night to have the dream?” she wondered.

Gyanamar snorted. “You know I can’t control them.”

“The steam is going to make things difficult.  You may only be able to speak to him.”

He nodded his consent.

The mountain continued to rise, and the air grew thin, but they had reached their destination.  Before them, the Pools of Jembala let their heat rise into the copse of trees.  Gyanamar sprinted to the side of the nearest pool, falling to his knees there.  He extended his arms over the calm water, sighing with pleasure.

“I’ve never seen you so anxious to be here,” his wife said.

He stared ahead, past the steam to the long-stretching horizon.  “I dread these conversations, but I’d rather have them than freeze to the mountain.”  He chortled.  “I will not be called Gyanamar the Solid.”

“If you spend as much time in here as you usually do, we’ll be calling you Gyanamar the Prune.”  Vione reached the pools then as well and wafted the steam away as best she could.  A gentle sigh cleared some more of the mist away, and she braced herself upon the ground.  “Are you ready?”

“Even if I say no, I’d be compelled by duty to deny myself,” the elf said.  “The Far Council must know what is at stake.”

Nodding, the maiden leaned forward.  She placed her finger upon the still surface of the water, spinning it around in slow, deliberate circles.  Subtle ripples formed in that perfect shape, and she sped her movements.  Before long, a faint emerald glow shone from within the circle.  Vione sat up again, watching as her magic fell into place.

In the disc, the water seemed to slow.  The steam still limited visibility, but stone walls became manifest there.  Pursing her lips, the maiden whistled a high pitched, steady tone.

“I’m coming,” they both heard.  “Be patient.”

Vione ceased her simple song, her lips curling into a smile.  Gyanamar took her place beside the pool, watching as another elf appeared in the image his wife had created.

“Good evening, Tassamar, my friend,” he said.

“It is midday here, Gyanamar,” the other elf corrected.

A chortle escaped Gyanamar’s lips.  “A concept I will always manage to miss.”

“I cannot see you,” Tassamar insisted.  “There is only a dark haze.”

“The cold of early morning is upon us here,” Vione said.  “My magic can only open the window.  It can do nothing for the environment.”

“So this isn’t just a friendly chat we’re about to have.”

“Afraid not, my friend,” Gyanamar admitted.  “The Far Council will likely want to meet about this.”

“Well, out with it then.  Those meetings last for hours.  I’d tell them of it now, that I might be home at an agreeable hour.”

A quiet pall crept into both locations, until a fretful sigh broke the silence and the seer leaned forward.  “I have seen a man who would burn the world to ash.”