quickly. ‘He … may have been of the line.’
The remark hit the Regent Lord like a physical blow. His eyes filled with even more emotion. Among the most ancient, sacred lore of the taredhel was the story of the first king and queen of the People, a couple who had shepherded them safely through the early chaos of the war that had driven the eldar from Home.
Little was known about them, save their deeds and names, which would never be mentioned aloud, lest their spirits be disturbed; but they had been recorded in the annals, and read by every lorekeeper and regent lord. ‘Her name?’
‘They say it is Aglaranna.’
‘The Gift,’ said the Regent Lord.
The Conjurer said, ‘It also means “Bright Moon,” for the largest of the three moons on that world is known by that name, the Gift.’
The Regent Lord shouted, ‘Send for the Loremaster!’ To the Conjurer, he said, ‘Continue, but do not speak of this or the Forgotten until I summon the Meeting.
‘What of these humans who thrive like mice? Have they a ruler?’
‘The humans live in many nations, with many rulers. They war amongst themselves on a regular basis, it seems.’
‘That is good,’ said the Regent Lord calmly. ‘What else?’
‘The dwarves live at peace with their neighbours and are content to do so as long as they remain untroubled. There are also goblins and other such creatures.’
‘Goblins?’
‘Lea Orcha,’ said Laromendis.
Shaking his head in near disbelief, he said, ‘My father raised me to be a pious man, like all of our line, yet I will confess to have been guilty of doubt.’ Lea Orcha, or goblins, were nightmare creatures, conjured as bedtime stories to frighten children into being obedient.
‘They worship dark, ancient gods and spill blood in sacrifice. They consort with trolls and other inferior races.’
‘Goblins … how have they never been exterminated?’
The magic user shrugged, a human gesture he had picked up and which caused the Regent Lord to frown. ‘I don’t know,’ he said softly. ‘There is so much discord and warfare among the human tribes, they hardly seem to have time to deal with goblins.’
The Regent Lord indicated he should continue.
‘This world is known by several names in different tongues, but most commonly it is called Midkemia: a human word.’
‘The land I showed you in my vision is a valley in the mountains called the Grey Towers. This valley was once home to the Forgotten. A human tribe called the Tsurani drove them northward, and they have never returned. To the south live dwarves, but there are natural barriers between the valley and the dwarves’ territory. Some ancient mines still link them, but they have been abandoned and are easily defended. To the north there are paths and trails leading where our evil kin abide.
‘Once established in this valley we may range far and wide. To the east live humans in a federation called the Free Cities. They are poorly organized and ripe for conquest.
‘The danger lies to the west, for there lies the outpost region of perhaps the mightiest human nation—’ He stopped speaking as the Regent Lord raised his hand.
An elderly male dressed in flowing robes entered the room carrying an ancient tome, inside which the history of the People had been recorded since the Time Before. His eyes were dim with age and behind him strode a younger male, his heir, who when not assisting the Loremaster studied, preparing himself for the day he would assume the responsibility of that office.
Both bowed before the Regent Lord, who said, ‘Midkemia. Do we know that world?’
The Loremaster paused for a moment as his assistant leaned over to whisper something. ‘Speak aloud!’ demanded the Regent Lord. ‘No one hides a word from me in my court.’
The younger elf looked abashed, and said, ‘I beg my lord’s forgiveness. I meant no slight. It is just that I have studied some of the earlier passages more recently and recall seeing that name.’
The Loremaster waved away his apprentice’s apology. ‘His name is Tandarae, Regent Lord; he is young, and perhaps a little rash, but his memory is as keen as mine was in my prime.’ The older historian’s face was wan and his eyes watered. ‘Soon this office shall be his, and I recommend him to you.’
The younger historian bowed low before his master and the Regent Lord.
‘Very well,’ he said to Tandarae. ‘What do you know of this world?’
‘In the time before time,’ began the younger historian reciting the ritualized words of the most ancient of myths, ‘before fleeing the Wrath, the People abided.
‘Slaves were we in our Home, ruled by cruel masters, the Lords of Power, the Dragonriders.
‘Then came the Wrath and the skies were torn, and the Dragonriders rose to contest a great war. Many of the People perished and many were lost among the stars, left behind when our masters returned to the Home to struggle with the Wrath. As the war continued,’ said the young Loremaster closing his eyes as if he read from the ancient text in his mind, ‘many lesser beings, Dakan Shoketa, Dena Orcha, and Dostan Shuli, came to Home across a golden bridge, feeling the Wrath as it descended on the world.’
He stopped and said, ‘Midkemia is a word used by the Dakan Soketa, my lord, the ancient word of our People for humans. The humans called our home world, “Midkemia”.’
The Regent Lord closed his eyes, as if praying silently. Then he said, ‘It is Home!’ To Laromendis he said, ‘Tell us more of this valley, the one you showed me.’
The magic user nodded. ‘To the west lie the westernmost garrisons of that nation I spoke of, the Kingdom. The humans there mostly reside in three small cities, barely larger than our towns, Tulan, Carse, and Crydee. They are well fortified. We can isolate them by land, but they have a vast navy and can be sustained by sea. We shall need to strike all three fortresses quickly to seize them.
‘At the right time. But first we need a secure bridgehead on the Home world and devise a plan to give us more time.’ He thought about how the great Barrier Spell, the sphere that stalled the advancing Demon Legion, was weakening to the north. It had been breached three times in the last ten years, and in the last report had failed to the far west for a short time. The fighting had been brutal and many of the People had paid a terrible price while the magicians repaired the breach. It would fail everywhere eventually, so time was not an abundant commodity. Guile and wit would have to serve until other forces could be brought to bear. Looking at Laromendis, he said, ‘The plan for conquest will be considered, and perhaps an accommodation with those already in residence upon Home is in order. But that is for others to consider. Upon you I must place different burdens.’
‘I will serve, my lord,’ answered the magic user.
‘We are hard pressed. Our enemies have driven us out of Thandar Keep, so Modaria has fallen.’
The Conjurer said nothing, but the slight tension around his eyes asked the question. ‘No one survived,’
