an orchard of red fruit trees sheltered the melon vines, and streams ran through the heart of the flats all the way to the sea.
Undalyn was impatient for Laromendis to continue, but remained composed. He knew the Conjurer was trying to make a point. Finally the magic user spoke. ‘They have nothing like this.’
The Regent Lord inclined his head and said, ‘No cities?’
‘Only for the darkest among our kind, the lore speaks of them as the Forgotten.’
The Regent Lord glanced around. Only one servant waited near the door and he was out of earshot; what the Conjurer spoke of was approaching heresy. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘The …’
‘They are called moredhel on the homeworld.’
‘The dark people,’ nodded the Regent Lord. ‘They have a city?’
‘It is rumoured.’ He moved away from the window as he gathered his thoughts. ‘In the north, in slavish imitation of the Masters, they built a twin of the city of lore. It was called Armengar by the humans, and was destroyed according to the tales. Our people’s name for it I did not discover, but I’ve heard the story enough times to judge it has some truth to it.
‘I spent most of my time with the humans, for it is easier to guile them. The humans thrive. In some ways they are like us, but ultimately they are inferior, like the other short-lived races. And like the others, they breed like mice. They are everywhere. What they know of our People borders on myth and legend.
‘I travelled across one of their larger nations, learning the language as I travelled; fortunately, there are many nations and languages on this world, so someone who spoke oddly barely brought notice.
‘We know so little of these creatures, these humans … I found them fascinating.’
The Regent Lord looked at the magic user, his gaze narrowing. While the ancient Spell Weavers were venerated and honoured for their work transforming this harsh world, those like Laromendis and his brother Gulamendis were viewed with caution approaching fear. Anything connected with the dark arts, or indeed anything that those Conjurers and Demon Masters found ‘fascinating’ was likely to be viewed with suspicion. ‘Why?’ He asked.
‘There are many reasons, m’lord. But foremost is their magic. It is varied beyond calculation; they seize the power of the world and bend it to their will in so many ways, it staggers the mind.
‘There are those who use arts much like our own; I wondered at first if elves had been their first teachers, but there are others … called Greater Path magicians, who have no subtlety, no … grace in their craft, yet possess vast power. It is difficult to explain to one not given to magic.’
The Regent Lord nodded. By nature elves were at one with the natural magic of their race, but circumstances had forced the People to adapt, to change their ways. Now among the taredhel there were those, like the two brothers, who hungered for power. And there were those, like the Regent Lord, who had sacrificed any understanding of the arts so that they might bend their will instead to serving the People in other ways.
‘Tell me of the humans later,’ said the Leader of the Clans of the Seven Stars. ‘Tell me more of our people now. You said the … the Forgotten exist there?’
‘So it would seem,’ said the magic user. ‘Humans know so little about our kind, but I could piece together some understanding of how our brethren fare.
‘Humans call the Forgotten “The Brotherhood of the Dark Path”.’
The Regent Lord nodded. ‘An apt name if the secret lore is true …’ He hesitated, realizing he had inadvertently uttered a blasphemy.
‘There have been many debates among the Farseeing over whether the secret lore is literal or metaphor.’ With that simple remark, he let the Regent Lord know he understood the comment and would make no issue of it. Given the current situation among the People, any hint of disorder brought swift and harsh punishment; it was why his brother currently languished in a dark cell. Then again, Laromendis’s younger brother always had a tendency to speak first and think later; a bad trait in one who immersed himself in demon lore at a time when demons threatened to obliterate the People.
‘What did you learn of the Forgotten?’
‘Little, to the humans the Brotherhood is almost a myth, though I did encounter a traveller from Yabon, a city far to the north of a realm known as ‘the Kingdom,’ and he swore that he had once seen those … unspeakable beings.
‘The Forgotten war against our brethren,’ said the Conjurer, his tone betraying a hint of his anger and disgust. ‘I walked the land listening to gossip in taverns, buying drinks for sailors, speaking with priests and anyone else who might know ancient lore. In one place I found an abbey dedicated to a god, but their wards were too strong for my guise to endure, so I could not enter. But I encountered one of their members on the road and questioned him. He was a monk and his mind was disciplined, but eventually it yielded most of what I learned of their ancient lore, which I now share with you.’
‘Did you kill him?’
‘Of course,’ said the Conjurer. ‘He was merely a human, after all.’
‘No dishonour,’ agreed the Regent Lord. Killing a prisoner would only be dishonourable if they were of the People or of a race considered equal.
‘The Forgotten war against the ones most like us, who abide in a forest grove they call Elvandar.’
At the utterance of that word, the Regent Lord’s eyes shone with emotion. He said the name softly, ‘Elvandar.’ It meant ‘Home of the People,’ but echoed with deeper meaning.
In ages past, the People had served another race, the dreadful Valheru, and had endured slavery and degradation. Then came a great upheaval, a war in which the very fabric of time and space was rent and chaos reigned.
The ancestors of the taredhel, called edhel in their own tongue, were among the mightiest of the servants of the Valheru. They were the spellweavers, the masters of the groves, the keepers of the land, and the librarians of their masters’ power. Many of those who had served with their masters had perished on other worlds, though it was thought that a few had escaped and found refuge. It was the faint hope that there were others like them, out among the stars, that had driven a band of edhel to escape the Valheru through one of the tears in space and time.
To Andcardia they had come, a band of no more than two thousand magic users, hunters, and their families. It was a harsh land, but eventually they made it their own. As centuries passed, they prospered and eventually numbered in millions.
In the past few centuries, they had learned the secrets of translocation magic, tearing the fabric of the universe. No fewer than a dozen magic users had died mastering the art, but they could now stabilize the rifts and explore new worlds; some were inhospitable, others barely able to support life. A few had showed promise and upon them the Clans of the Seven Stars had established colonies. Some of those colonies had grown and were even flourishing.
The People had thrived, and when they encountered other races, they tolerated them as long as they did not oppose their will. If they did not comply, the other races were crushed. All had been glorious, until they found the world of demons.
‘Those in Elvandar serve a Queen…’ continued the Conjurer.
The
