Lord of the Everdark

By Christopher Hazell-Marshall

A razors edge upon which balances the fate of Everything. For Che-Avana, home seems further away than ever, drawn ever more into maintaining the delicate peace between Men and Elves. For Castanaea enemies are stalking her every footstep, eroding her power, stealing away her Empire and talking of war. But caught in the squabbles and politics of elves and men, none notice the growing shadow of the majik and the corruption it spreads. None see the dark minds manipulating events to their own ends, and none foresee the destruction that the return of the majik will bring. Will Castanaea and Che-Avana unlock the secrets of the majik and overcome their own daemons, or are they fated to be witnesses to the death of their world and all whom they love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781326921996

Book preview

Lord of the Everdark

Lord of the Everdark: From Bones and Ashes, The Dead Shall Rise

Book 2 of the Resurrection Chronicles

By Christopher Hazell-Marshall

Copyright © 2017 by Christopher Hazell-Marshall

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN 978-1-326-92199-6

Part 1: Of Majik Born

The immortals looked down upon the world, an orb hanging in the non-emptiness of space and time, dancing on a cosmic carousel to forces as immortal as themselves.

This is it.

The others watched. And waited.

A point, a crux, a nexus, a pivot. A nudge. As much as an Immortal could do to influence this, the world of the Real. Somewhere something happened, differently. The immortals watched on wondering if was enough. Wondering at the outcome, knowing that only, eventually, time would tell.

In time, they drifted. Knowing that they could influence no more, knowing that the pressure exerted may eventually lead to the consequence they desired. Or may not. As the last of them melted away into the abyss, the Other came carefully from hiding. A nudge of its own, an influence, and disturbance in the new pattern. Necessary? Perhaps not, but an insurance.

Branna paused as his trek neared its end and looked up towards the temple which had been home for all his life. The valley, hidden away in this arid and sparsely populated corner of the country was a haven of wildlife, fed, as it always had been, by the springs which never ran dry. And for that very same reason, in centuries long past, his wandering order had finally put their roots down in this place. Despite his weariness from his long journey north from Villus Imperius, Branna grinned and marched strongly up the winding pathway. Around him water splashed in graceful and well-kept hanging gardens and birds and insects flittered across his path. All around him he saw the unending cycles of life, death, rebirth and recreation which his order had carefully observed since mankind first walked upon the soil and wondered at the world.

His feet took him to the threshold of the monastery, as such it was called these days, a comfort and sanctuary for any who chose to come or happened upon this tranquil place. The entrance to the monastery itself was set back into the cliffs at the head of the valley, carved from the living rock. Over the long years of its existence various additions had been made to the original temple, so that now the monastery occupied the cliffs to either side of the main entrance and far back into the coolness of the rock beneath the desert.

As he passed through the plain doorway a largish but simply decorated chamber opened up, at once familiar and welcoming. After the heat and brightness of the day the chamber was cool and, whilst dimly lit, was pleasant rather than oppressive. Mats, created by the apprentices, adorned the floor taking the chill off the rock and murals painted in subdued colours decorated the walls, some abstract, others showing the gardens or birds and insects in great detail. Despite his familiarity with this place, Branna paused a while, drinking in the pleasure of his homecoming until he was disturbed by the slight swish and flap of an approaching apprentice.

May I be of assistance, sir? questioned the young man, simply dressed in floor length dark red robe and sandals. Branna’s grin widened and he inclined his head.

I rather think you may. I seek Master Romero.

The apprentice bowed his head.

I would imagine that the Master is most likely in the water garden at this time. Please, follow me.

The apprentice made to pick up Branna’s pack, but the older man, smiling, hefted the bag onto his own shoulder and indicated that he should lead on. The ways of the monastery had never left him, this path as familiar to him now as it had ever been, but he was content to follow the apprentice. The corridor down which they walked had the soft brown hue of the rock from which it was hewn and as they walked they passed chambers to either side. Here, near the entrance the rooms were mainly associated with the care of the travellers who came here and the day to day running of the monastery, so they passed offices, the refectory, a chapel. Interspersed between them were numerous gardens, each set down into the rock, but open to the sky and each a secluded paradise in itself, lovingly tended, with a different theme, some hot and dry with numerous cacti, others with pools and broad trees or flowers. Branna drank it all in, relishing the familiarity.

They eventually turned from the corridor and into a garden hung with lush greenery and dotted with pools connected by clear streams. With thanks, Branna dismissed the apprentice and wandered at his leisure through the garden. Fascinated as always with the variety and majesty of life that some of the monks chose to gather to this place, he paused often to admire colourful fish, jewelled crayfish or beautiful underwater foliage. At last his wanderings took him to a large irregular pool, in which tiny fish darted and chased. In the middle stood a man with his back turned to him, submerged to his waist. As he watched, the man, with obvious delight, fed the fish that surrounded him from a small pouch. Branna watched for several minutes until eventually the man finished the pouch, shaking the remnants into the pond and without turning spoke in a rich voice.

Branna, my friend. Eventually you decide to honour us with your presence once again.

The man waded from the pond carefully to avoid catching any fish. Dripping wet and smiling he embraced Branna warmly, drenching him in the process. Seemingly oblivious he turned and waved an arm at the pond.

Simple pleasures, yet fulfilling.

The man picked up a walking stick from where it rested against a bench and ignorant of his wet footsteps made his way slowly around the pool and towards a doorway on the far side.

Well, you coming? he said to Branna not looking back nor pausing. Grinning at him, Branna followed.

A coal fire smouldered in the hearth, taking the chill off the room and oil lamps burnt giving the room a comfortable, homely feel and a familiar, safe smell. Whilst the monastery was a front for travellers and the locals, the ancient temple, hidden here below the desert above was the real home of his order. He looked up towards where Master Romero was pouring out healthy measures of sloe gin and adding blackberry juice. Romero, he recalled, had been old in his first memories, when as a boy, orphaned by the drought, he was brought to the monastery and left in the care of the monks. As time went by and the monks encouraged his gifts for languages, art and the mystic arts, it seemed only natural to him to be brought into the inner temple and begin his learning of the real reason for the existence of his order. Now sat here, he wondered how much his old master knew of their place in the world, and the secrets both ancient and great that they kept. Romero, now changed out of his wet clothes and dressed in the same simple robes as the apprentice, handed him a glass and toasted him before taking a large sip.

So, he began decisively, you have much news from the capital.

Branna nodded and grimacing a little at the bitter drink helped himself to a seat and eased his wearied body into it.

Much change is afoot in the world. The war ends and a much harder process begins. Elves and the humans begin the process of reconciliation and building bridges.

Romero nodded and furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Branna knew that the druids of his order, including Romero, would be aware of almost everything that had transpired in the year and a half since the elves came with Che-Avana across the mountains to the capital. He and others had sent regular and detailed reports northwards detailing the more recent discussions between the Elves, represented by their ambassador, Cordyline, and the council. But still Romero was interested to hear of events first hand, as it were, allowing him to tease out more details both great and minor. Branna went on.

Two great embassies, mirror images of one another are being constructed, in the capital and down in the elves imperial citadel. The work goes well. I understand that the elves are seeking a permanent residence here and similarly for the humans down south. Having seen the work on the embassy in Villus Imperius before I left, much progress has already been made.

Romero nodded.

Tell me more of your travels to the south, I am intrigued.

Branna grinned and recounted his travels through the elven empire. He was still a little bemused by the wonder of it all and could see Romero interested and intrigued as he described the marvels of the citadel, to the wonder of the southern ports and the marshes and mangrove forests along the coast, where roadways were built in the trees and entire cities existed above the ebb and flow of the tide. Romero nodded interested, as Branna continued.

Alas, in any peace process there are those who seek to derail. It truly shocks me that there are elves and humans alike who would prefer war again to building a peace.

Romero nodded, his face sad.

Unfortunately such is the nature of man, and it would appear, elf.

Branna nodded.

I know that south of the border, he referred to the elven empire, the Emperor Castanaea struggles with factions within her council. Here, there are some determined to cause as much trouble as possible. Atuculus Cavibria, is determined not to allow elves to remain here and he is using all the leverage that he can to stop the process. He is a bully, but he is in a small minority and that plays to the hands of those who oppose him.

Romero snorted.

The King is well known to us. He is politically powerful and has no shame in throwing his weight around, but I doubt that he has enough allies to cause real problems. The issue there is that having taken a stance he cannot back off without losing dignity. His pride is that of a lion and he cannot allow that to be dented.

Branna nodded in agreement and Romero changed the subject, rising to refill their glasses.

But what of you? You are much changed my boy, Branna grinned at the friendly jibe.

I see it in your eyes and manner that you have seen wonders that you cannot comprehend and learned things that astound you.

Branna nodded, but hedged. None of his order, not even High Druid Iyellia-San, knew the details of his new found gift for communicating with the elves and he had decided to tell none save the high druid first.

The wonders I have seen, I do not know where to begin. Romero held aloft his hand.

At the beginning! laughed Romero,

But such tales should not be told on an empty stomach, let us dine and let stories be told.

Branna shook his head, always follow your stomach, the unwritten motto of Romero.

Yes, but I must request that I see Iyellia as soon as possible, he needs to hear what I have to say.

Romero nodded.

Indeed, I anticipated that. He is indisposed tonight, but you have him all day tomorrow. Now, to your tales!

The evening passed pleasantly, the food was exquisite after so long on the road, simple yet delicious. The two men, former master and pupil now equals laughed and joked and shared an adventure, but always Branna kept his wits about him and never once mentioned his most closely guarded secret.

Iyellia sat cross-legged on the mat delighting in playing with three tiny kittens, tolerantly watched by their mother. Despite his seniority, Iyellia remained humble, dressed simply and enjoying only sparse and basic accommodation. He had never forgotten the simplest of pleasures in life and maintained that an active mind and body away from distractions was the best way to live. Branna watched him and was amazed at his longevity, as the head of their order did not seem to have aged a day since he himself was a boy.

There is much you say, Branna, Iyellia looked up at the younger man through heavy brows, and still more that you do not.

He carefully placed each of the kittens with their mother to suckle and inviting Branna to join him, stepped out onto a small secluded veranda which looked out over the narrow valley that led up to the monastery.

Too much time below ground is unnatural.

Iyellia poured out two tankards from a large jug and settling down on a bench sat straight backed and waited for Branna to fill the silence. Branna stepped to the railing around the veranda and looked out across the valley taking in the view. He smiled, the veranda was obscured by overhanging greenery, but from here Iyellia could see the entire valley and out to the desert beyond and could also see the road to the valley and the path to the main entrance. Branna sipped at his tankard and was surprised to taste delicious unflavoured water. Just like Iyellia he thought, simple, direct, but somehow always right.

My travels. They have been filled with wonders. Their cities… living cities filled with light and joy, their buildings are the trees themselves.

Branna turned and rested against the railing.

They have technology, but organic, not like ours of metals and fire. They have an understanding of life and living things, all that breathes and grows is sacred to them.

He shook his head.

It is truly wondrous.

He paused, wanting to broach the subject but unsure how, and turned back to look out over the valley.

There is something I’ve not told anyone. Not even Romero.

Branna paused significantly and was about to continue when Iyellia interrupted.

You can talk to them. In your head.

Branna turned and stared at the High Druid, shocked. Iyellia smiled back and rising joined him at the railing.

Untold years of research, a few lucky guesses here and there, anticipating a future that might not be, careful positioning of key players. And, of course, you.

Tell me, continued Iyellia, what is it like?

Branna looked across at the older man his eyes filled with respect and wonder.

The voices, the voices, well it’s more like their minds, of the elves I can hear in my mind even now.

He shook his head in wonder at the revelation that was the language taught to him by Castanaea and Che-Avana that meant he could now speak directly with the elves.

It is quite incredible. We are hundreds of miles from the nearest elf, yet still I can feel their presence in the world.

Iyellia nodded.

Can you speak with them?

Branna shook his head and leant forward,

Not here, apparently distance and familiarity are important limiting factors. If, for example, an elf were in this room then communication is easy. But the further away they get the harder it is make that connection. Also, if that elf was Castanaea, for example, because she is fairly well known to me, making contact would be easier than if it were an elf that I did not know at all.

Iyellia nodded.

This ties in well with what I understand.

Iyellia put a fatherly arm around Branna’s shoulders.

You, my son and my druid, you are more special than you realise.

He looked at him significantly,

This latest episode has made clear some things and had us second guessing at many more. Maybe it is time for some explanations.

The great library was a place that Branna recalled fondly. The smell of it, distinctive and pungent reminded him of times when, as a young man, he would spend hours amongst the shelves, delving deeper and deeper back into history, to the very limits of human knowledge. The library itself was far beneath the monastery away from the ravages of the weather and, back through history, the occasional marauder. Carved lovingly from the rock, the library ever grew as his orders store of knowledge increased and row upon row of shelves and archives were filled within the manmade caverns. Around him the quiet sounds of the library filled his ears and he smiled. This place was never truly silent and here far beneath the days and nights of the world, time would take on a new shape and sometimes druids would emerge into daylight to learn that weeks had passed in the real world.

Branna shook his head slowly as he thought of the histories of the elves, the collections of which he had been allowed the smallest glimpses, stretching back far beyond the records kept here or anywhere else in the human world. Iyellia turned and disturbed his thoughts, his voice carrying in the still air.

It feels appropriate that this place should be where you learn the final, most sacred secrets of our order.

Iyellia lead him into a small office, deep in the bowels of the library and lit with oil lamps. Branna was startled to see Romero in the room, smiling at him warmly.

My pupil, finally, today, you learn the very most treasured of our secrets. At last today, you are upon the cusp of your destiny. The destiny that you are to surpass any of us.

Iyellia sat delicately and nodded to two other empty seats arranged around a small table upon which where various documents.

You are not unique, began Iyellia, but you are very, very unusual. The truth has not been hidden from you, it has merely not been revealed in its fullness. But still, ‘answers are there to find if only one knows where to seek’.

Branna smiled, all druids, no matter how old or experienced were often reminded of this phrase, possibly the most important lesson any of them learned.

You did indeed come to us as an orphan, many, many years ago. You have been told that your parents died in the drought and that your care was given over to us.

Iyellia looked Branna in the eyes.

Whilst this is the truth, it is not the entire truth.

Branna nodded, silent.

Your parents died because they were cast out of their village. Only later did we learn why. Your parents lived in a small village someway south of here, life was sometimes hard, but by no means impossible. Your mother had a bit of a gift for healing, she was familiar with herb craft and was an adept midwife, many a person walking this earth owes their life to your mother. But, when the rains failed and the river ran dry, the new missionary and priest recently come to the village said your mother was practicing witchcraft against the village. Retribution for some wrong or other. The village was divided, some supporting your parents, some siding with the priest and his ideals. The priest threatened to kill your mother, absolution for the evil witchcraft she was practicing, believing the threat serious, villagers helped your parents to escape. But in the end, they had no where to go and nor the skills to survive in a desert they did not know and in that harsh summer they fell. When you were brought to us, you were near death, a few more hours and it would have been too late.

Iyellia stopped and took Branna’s hand.

The tale came to us from an old, old woman who once lived in that village and came to us to find some kind of guidance and peace. The drought that year took half of the village and the rest wandered away from that place to find lives elsewhere, no remains of that place exist now. She herself lived here with us for a while and even as her mind faded, she never forgot the child she delivered to our door, nor your mother whom she once called friend.

Iyellia looked at Romero and caught his eye.

It seems, continued Iyellia, that you rather inherited your mothers gifts for care, but you also inherited something more. You inherited the gift of the inner light. Romero was charged with your care and upbringing, because he too has that gift.

Branna looked up at his former master and with a gasp noticed for the first time in all these years that the man did indeed glow, very slightly, with an inner light, as too did Iyellia. He wondered why he’d never noticed before and then smiled to himself. He looked between the two men, his expression startled. Romero laughed and clapped Branna’s shoulder.

None so blind as they who do not want to see’.

Branna smiled at the quote despite himself and Iyellia continued.

Our very oldest texts, tell of a time when a unique group of people grew out of the first civilisations. It would appear that the Druids, us, are as old as humankind itself and that we, or some of us, have always borne this gift inside us.

Branna nodded, and leant forward.

The elves, they believed us to be darkness incarnate, the soulless. At least until Emperor Castanaea unlocked the inner light within Che-Avana and until they saw me. This explains much, but asks many, many more questions.

Romero smiled.

‘A truly useful answer will ask ten times more questions than it answers’. Romero kept up his habit of quoting from one of their more famous philosophers. Branna grinned as Iyellia went on.

Simply, we cannot begin to explain so much. We do not know why so few have this inner light, we cannot explain Che-Avana, we cannot explain the communication with the elves but there are some things that now we are sure of.

Romero took up the thread.

The elves, they are ancient, truly ancient. They were old when humans first walked on the earth and possibly they have knowledge of our own beginnings denied to us.

Romero, leaned forward.

This is what your entire life has been about, Branna. Known only to a very few of us is that somewhere, once aeons ago existed other races of peoples, their skills and intelligence far outstripping our own, which at that time were still primitive. As we have watched the human world grow, we have watched for signs and waited, waited. Every story of ghosts and goblins, faeries and mysterious creatures, every bedtime story or campfire tale. All of them have hints and suggestions and all of them touch on a deeper truth. Now, with the elves coming, we begin to understand the meaning of those tales. We begin to piece together the evidence we have of creatures of utterly different nature to ourselves. Romero gripped Branna’s hand tightly.

Every generation we have someone waiting, someone who has the gift. As I once was, now it is your turn. Except for you the wait is over.

Iyellia stood and Branna followed suit.

In the world of the elves, the high druid began, we believe that there are the answers to the questions of our origins. The answers that will help us in understanding who we are. Maybe even help the elves understand what they truly are. Your life has been about this moment. Go into their world, find their loremasters and their libraries and discover the origins of humanity and Elvenkind alike. Discover the true nature of our being.

Branna stood for a long time digesting the information he had been told, he looked between Romero and Iyellia, the weight of their demands on his shoulders. Then he stood upright and closed his eyes, savouring the smell of the library, the touch of the dry air, seeing for the first time the faint glow surrounding the two men stood with him. Then finally he nodded.

I will take on this task, and I will devote my life to finding the truth. As you are my witnesses, I set my path until I succeed or I die.

The two older druids bowed their heads aware of the magnitude of the vow that Branna had made and solemnly accepted his pledge.

The morning dawned bright and clear and Romero strolled through the gardens with Branna, who was in no hurry to depart. But eventually they made their way to the end of the valley, Romero accompanying him to see him off. At the bottom of the valley they collected a horse from the smithy in the village and stood on the dusty road that wound away south. Romero held the reins whilst Branna sorted out the saddle and then when he had finished handed them to his one-time apprentice. The two men met one another’s eyes and genuine affection passed between them. Romero took Branna into a strong embrace.

Stay safe, and stay in touch.

Branna grinned at him.

As always, my master.

Romero laughed and shook his head.

I am proud of you, Branna, you know that?

Branna hoisted himself into the saddle and pulled the girth tight before sitting upright, ignoring the comment.

I’ll send the usual reports, but don’t worry if I have some difficulty getting messages to you. I’ll see you soon.

Romero knew in his heart that Branna would be safe out on the road even if it were years between communications from him. He nodded and waved as Branna turned the horse onto the road and at a slow amble that could be kept up all day, the two of them headed off into the pleasant morning. As Romero watched his eyes were intense. He knew that the journey that Branna embarked upon could answer some of the oldest questions in the human world. Branna made a single glance back at his home, the lone figure of Romero still stood watching him, and as the village disappeared over the horizon he set his head southwards he was full of hope and unanswered questions.

**********

They hung in the darkness, watching. As they had returned to watch for so long. Even to them, the Immortals, they could not know the final form of their plans, nor its chance of success. But as they watched the saw the confluence of forces, coincidence and chance. One reached down into the world of the real. And influenced. A mind, a weak point, an opening, a twist in the majik. An opportunity. Strands intermingled, coalesced. Working, slowly, through unimaginable time toward the nexus. One by one they faded, until finally one last one hung in the darkness, watching.

I know you are here.

Silence answered. There was no presence, no hint of the Void, no suggestion. But a feeling remained to it, that its absent kin knew of their plans. Slowly it faded, uncertain.

Night shrouded the capital of the Elven Empire and the great citadel at its heart, the first of the winters mists wound silently between the massive trunks muffling all. The mist played over the newly erected buildings of the Academy de Liaison, the new embassy and home of the few hundred humans now permanently living in the elven capital, politicians, academics, a few artists and the odd adventurer come south to seek out the wonders of this new world. Its design was organic and mineral, grown from living timber and built from tens of thousands of bricks transported here along the new and arduous trade routes through the mountains or along the treacherous coast. It was built the exact twin of the Elven embassy in Villus Imperius and rather than practicality, political co-operation was the theme that ran through it.

It was down at the hazy lights of this building that Che-Avana looked from his lofty position at the window of his chamber in the Olordolith. He turned back into the room and, sighing, sat himself down at his writing desk and put his thoughts once more to his letter to Ran-Amden. What to say? How to say it? Since his return to the Jade Vale some year and a half earlier they had only rarely seen one another. At first he was patient with the demands of both Castanaea and the human nobility and their need for his time, but even finally he grew bored and longed to be able to return more permanently to his home and his sweetheart. He wondered at the last year, circumstance and the momentum of political change sweeping him along a road he had no desire to take, a road away from home and ever further out into the political reaches of the human and elven worlds.

He wrote to Ran-Amden as often as his time would allow, but never particularly a man of the written word, he struggled to express himself as eloquently as she. He looked back at his letter, written with his own blocky hand and crossed out ‘I hope to see you soon’, and replaced it with ‘I am desperate to be with you again’. Hesitating, he finally added, ‘I so hope that soon events will become so much greater than I, that I might be able to slip away and come home’.

He hung his head and drank heady wine from a goblet, and shaking his head to himself, if he were honest, he doubted he would ever be free of the world into which he had become enmeshed. Gently he folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, sealed it with a small blob of wax and embossed it with his ring of office. He stared at the ring for a moment, that his life should have come to this, he shook his head at the wonder of it. Rising, he carefully stowed his precious pen, ink and paper and made his way wearily through to his bedchamber, where he stripped, donned a long nightshirt and slipped into bed. As he always did, he closed his eyes and imagined where, many, many leagues to the north his family and Ran-Amden slept also. Never again, he vowed to himself, would he forget what their faces, or forget the sights and sounds of home.

The day dawned dreary in the grey mist and Che-Avana read his letters over a breakfast of dried fruit, cereal and juice. Mostly he ignored them, requests for meetings from various humans and elves, requests for his time or his advice on some matter or other. A few caught his attention, one clearly from home he tucked away to read in his own time later, and another from Cordyline, his opposite number in Villus Imperius. As he began to open the letter there was a light tap at the door which he acknowledged. The door opened.

Begging your pardon, there is a human here to see you.

Che-Avana stifled a smile, to the elves all humans looked the same and requesting that they learned the difference was too tiresome.

Please, show them in, asked Che-Avana wondering at the nature of a visitor at such an early hour. Before he saw the person he sensed them thanking the elf for her assistance and a grin spread across Che-Avana’s face, as a tall man strode into the room.

Branna! exclaimed Che-Avana in delight, this is a wonderful surprise!

The older man shook him warmly by the hand, but Che-Avana gripped him in a strong embrace.

It is good to see you my friend, Branna looked over Che-Avana’s shoulder.

Am I interrupting? Che-Avana replied with a grin.

Not at all, please join me.

A few minutes later the two sat at the low breakfast table and between mouthfuls of food, caught up.

So, do fill me in on the last, what, year, I suppose? asked Branna. Che-Avana nodded and settled back with a goblet of juice.

Well, since we came south of the border last winter, Che-Avana slipped into the colloquial slang for the elven Empire, things have been moving on apace. It is a rare day we now have any trouble on the border, there are still tensions and hostilities but peace it seems is finally ours. The trade routes are open eight months of the year now. It’s surprising how much there is to trade, legitimate and otherwise, but that’s a whole new nightmare. Politically things are still a bit strained, there are dissenting voices still on both sides. Cordyline keeps me informed of what’s happening up north, the wounds of the war are still very much open but it seems that my presence here, as a former soldier who saw much of the slaughter, has done much to alleviate the pain of loss of sons and brothers. We still have a few troublemakers down here, some of the councillors are little short of openly hostile and I suspect that there are factions within the council who would rather see me dead!

Che-Avana grinned with this last comment, but silently wished it were as much a joke as he tried to pretend. He sighed.

"But Castanaea keeps a close eye on them on my behalf for which I am grateful. I find myself in a unique position, I am well respected by the elves but I also have the ear of the Domus, the council of the embassy, and ambassador Parthel. I keep the Union in Villus Imperius well informed of what’s going on down here and my opinions are sought after at the highest levels. It is quite a responsibility, being stuck in the middle of that lot."

Branna nodded and chewed for a moment before giving Che-Avana a penetrating stare.

But what of you, how do you fare my friend?

Che-Avana tried to smile, but failed, his expression darkening. He stood and walked to the window and leaning against the frame stared out into the gloom.

Anyone else I could probably hide it, but not from you I suspect.

Branna sat in silence waiting for him to continue.

I would gladly go back to my life, back to the Jade Vale and never leave again. I sorely miss my family, I miss…. His words petered out, catching in his throat. He sighed and stood upright.

I’m OK. I am busy dawn ‘til dusk and more besides, there are still only a few who are able to communicate with the elves and certainly none as accomplished as myself. I am a vital cog in the political machine, needed by the elves and respected by the humans both here and in the north. My insights are invaluable and my position and influence has been forced upon me whether I wanted it or not.

He looked at Branna.

There are many in the world who would make great sacrifices to have the power and influence you wield. There are envious eyes upon you, said Branna. Che-Avana’s expression and tone became ironic.

And I would gladly hand it all over to them. I am out of my depth, I feel like an old man already, I am no politician but a former soldier and farm boy from a country backwater.

Branna raised his eyebrows.

Surely having Ran-Hallen along helps? Che-Avana nodded glumly.

I suppose.

He considered the position of his boyhood friend and comrade. Their Baron had gladly let Ran-Hallen take service with Che-Avana, thinking that a link to influence such as his should never be turned down. Ran-Hallen now worked within the Embassy, dealing with people and issues which Che-Avana had no time to handle himself. Che-Avana sighed.

Whilst it is good to have him around and he is an adept administrator in his way, he reminds me of those who we have lost and the life we should have had. Two farm boys, far, far from home.

Che-Avana changed the mood and clapped his hands once.

I survive my friend, I survive, he said too brightly, but tell me, what of you?

Branna considered for a long moment, worry about his friend filling his face, but he let it drop.

I’ve been travelling. There are many and dissipated sources of wisdom both new and ancient spread wide across the empire. You have met my assistant, Cercis? Che-Avana nodded aware of her and Branna continued.

Cercis and I, we have made some surprising discoveries, their lore is far more widespread and ancient that human lore and much of it is intriguing.

Branna paused for a moment, recollecting.

The Emperor gave us dispensation to travel as widely as we wished in the Empire. All the cities have libraries and in most places they were more than happy for us to peruse at leisure. Cercis took the time to teach me several of the elven scripts, she is quite a wonder when it comes to written language. As well as the libraries much of our travels have been to see some of the more wondrous places in the empire, simply beautiful, beautiful. Cercis is quite a fount of knowledge when it comes to the Empire. A personal tour was most pleasing.

Che-Avana grinned.

So what brings you back here? he asked.

Much of the information we gathered needs to be sorted out, and comparisons made to the lore kept here in the citadel but also cross-referenced to the records of the human world of which I have extensive knowledge. Cercis suggested that we return here to avoid the winter weather and ensconce ourselves in study and then travel north when the better weather returns.

Che-Avana’s grin widened.

You seem to have very high regard for Cercis, said Che-Avana raising his eyebrows knowingly. Branna, looked at him for a long moment and then, despite himself, blushed deeply and Che-Avana was forced to laugh out loud.

Ahh, that explains much!

Branna shook his head.

It’s not like that at all!

Then looking away, he added.

She’s just… he leapt up and waved his arms around as he paced.

I have never met an intellect like it! We can communicate so much more effectively, we know what one another is thinking, almost instinctively. She is delightful, excellent company, diligent in her work, full of laughter.

He sighed.

Sounds like more than just a working relationship to me, observed Che-Avana grinning. Branna’s tone changed suddenly.

Speak not of it to anyone, I beg of you. He considered his friend and carefully chose his words.

There is nothing… you know. But such a relationship might be seen as wrong in some circles.

Che-Avana returned to his seat and sat heavily.

Branna, if you have found love then enjoy it while you can and celebrate in its beauty. I of all people should know that sometimes these things are simply taken out of our hands.

Branna grimaced, and sighed.

Love is a strange word and I am not ‘in love’, yet she amuses and amazes me in equal measure. I had not really thought in those terms. But thank you.

Che-Avana’s expression became questioning.

I don’t suppose it would go down too well with the order would it?

Branna considered for a long moment.

It is not strictly forbidden for druids to take partners, but it is frowned upon. There are potentially too many complications and distractions.

Che-Avana rearranged his meetings for that day and the two old friends spent much of the day in the high garden talking and discussing the current situation in both the human and elven world. Meanwhile in a chamber far below them the Emperor Castanaea sat with Libani, she too discussing the state of their affairs.

Libani’s chamber was sparse, more so than Castanaea had ever seen it before. The slender young elf had shaved all his hair and now dressed only in a simple shift robe, an instant presence everywhere he went. She recalled Betula voicing her doubts as to the suitability of Libani in undertaking the political aspects of the matriarchy, but now sitting here across from him she could not help but be impressed. The elven court was divided by the legacy of the war in a way that she had anticipated but been ill prepared for. She herself held the balance of power with the majority of the council leaning toward her campaign for peace and greater co-operation with the humans, but Caprea had put himself forward as a spokesperson of those distrustful of the humans and at every opportunity made his extreme views very clear. Then there was the surprising presence of a small but significant faction within the council aligning itself with Libani, as quiet and unassuming he had gathered like minds to his cause.

Thus the three factions held the balance: Castanaea in favour of greater co-operation, Caprea in favour of nothing short of total subjugation of the humans, and Libani, the moderate, favouring the middle path, reduction of co-operation and a return, largely to the situation before the war. Castanaea and Caprea rarely spoke, only ever doing so to exchange hostilities within the council chamber, and her distrust of him grew ever greater as she bore witness to a ruthless and sometimes brutal streak within him. She had considered on many occasions how she might remove him from his position, but always came down to the answer that she would rather have him close by, where she could keep an eye on him. She and Libani met frequently to discuss the politics of the day and the growing relationship with the humans, he happy to support his emperor whilst undermining her position for his own gain. Indeed all those he had convinced to lend their voices to his cause had formerly been aligned with Castanaea. Whilst Castanaea knew what he was doing, she desperately needed someone close to her that understood all the nuances of the council and whom she trusted.

I need a statement Libani. I need something that says I am serious about making the relationship with the humans work.

Libani nodded slowly and sat back.

Time, your eminence, time.

I may not have that time, Libani. I am worried, no, that understates things. I am scared of what Caprea may attempt in order to gather support to his cause. He will not wait forever and if he gains enough and some incident gives him cause, I can see him forcing us back into conflict. There are factions on the humans side who would gladly seize the opportunity to bring destruction down upon us once again.

Libani nodded.

The situation, I agree, is fragile. Our peace is new and is a delicate thing, time will make it stronger. We live alongside humans here, he nodded towards the embassy, but many still have never set eyes upon them and except for those few with the gift of the light they are truly horrifying to those who see them for the first time.

Castanaea grimaced to herself.

I do not believe that Caprea will wait long. I have no evidence, but I no longer trust him and I cannot wait simply for him to make his move. By then it will be far too late. I fear for the safety of those humans in our midst, particularly Che-Avana.

Libani rose and smoothed down his shift.

I will see what I can find out. I have said it before and will again, maybe it would be the wisest move to remove the source of temptation.

Castanaea knew that Libani referred to the removal of the embassy and sending the humans home, but she shook her head.

And you know my position. The humans are real and the only way forward for a lasting peace is greater co-operation and integration. Understanding brings tolerance.

Libani made no reply to that, but raised an eyebrow.

I will, as always, act as I see fit for the best interests of the Empire.

I’m sure you will, Libani, I am sure that you will, replied Castanaea not without an edge of bitterness.

I bid thee good morning your eminence.

Castanaea didn’t reply but looked long and hard into Libani’s eyes before she turned away and left him alone. As she wandered back down to the council chamber, she considered her options.

Castanaea, her warrior attire long since retired in favour of stately gowns instead, sat with Che-Avana, the winter snow swirling around beyond the window. Che-Avana couldn’t help but feel a pang for home, when on nights like this, they would be snuggled in the front room with the log fire blazing, sitting around chatting idly or listening to tales recounted by his parents. The elves magic did the job of warming a room, but somehow he felt their globes of light soulless compared to the living, noisy thing that a fire was. Castanaea reflected on more innocent times when as a child she would have relished the opportunity to play in the snow after a night like tonight. However, more important things were at hand and she pulled herself back from her contemplations and considered instead the politics they discussed.

You are certain that the factions grow in strength?

Che-Avana nodded.

I am. From what Cordyline says and what I’ve had from Ambassador Parthel, the voice of those who would see the elves, at minimum, evicted from the north grows in strength. They distrust the silent elves in their midst, they grow distrustful of your motives and plans. There is only so much influence that we have from here.

Castanaea sighed and rubbed her eyes.

A similar issue, I fear, that we have brewing here. Caprea and his cronies are plotting something, I feel it, yet I cannot prove a cursed thing.

Che-Avana nodded grimly.

I am grateful for the additional guards at the embassy, once explained, their presence was been accepted.

Castanaea’s mind was elsewhere.

There is a key here, somewhere there is something that will stop this nonsense once and for all.

Che-Avana shrugged.

There may be, but it is hidden from me. We have friends in the north, Herec, Vernic and Selene all campaign on our behalf and the elves are bringing many skills and inspiration that were missing before, technology surges forward and the new arts and music are supposed to be something quite extraordinary. Maybe some of the resistance is plain old jealousy. Trade, too, is flourishing. It is my opinion that we face more difficulties here than up north, somehow the resistance there just seems less and the humans more accepting of change, but still nothing is certain.

Castanaea stared at the table for a long time, her mind working, then finally she replied.

Something will present itself, I just don’t know what it will be yet.

As the short, dark days of winter ground on into spring, Castanaea and Che-Avana found that the situation in the council worsened on a daily basis. Caprea used the isolation of the winter to stir up conflict and attacked Castanaea on every possible opportunity. She felt herself becoming mired down in his debates, always one step behind him. It has uncomfortable echoes of the past and she knew that she had to stop him. She felt her control over the council begin to waver as she lost more and more support to him and Libani. As the spring came and the last of the winter snows melted she felt lost in a way that she never had before, all winter she had struggled to find the solution to her problems with the council and the situation with the north. Che-Avana had departed north soon after the last of the winters snows melted, eager to see what had been going on in his world and equally eager to return home once more even if his visit was only brief, for his longing to see Ran-Amden was heavy on his heart. Castanaea had asked him to delay his departure, aware that she could sorely lose the support of any allies, but Che-Avana had been adamant that he would return in good time and that Ran-Hallen could assist her if necessary. As the winter moved into spring, Castanaea found herself ever more embattled by Caprea. Unable to do anything to remove him and seemingly powerless to stop the growth of his influence over the council she found herself foundering. Desperately she sought a way to fight back against him, but for every move she made, he would have a better countermove and used it to undermine her further.

Finally, at a council session, she watched as Caprea had moved in for the checkmate. Calmly he suggested that she step down from the head of the council to a more executive role, a phrase that made her blood boil, and that he take over the day to day running of the council. Dumbfounded she found herself utterly foundered by his suggestion and could think of no suitable rebuke. Caprea capitalised and with calm and sincere tones utterly humiliated her and her supporters. Castanaea could say and do nothing, her willpower gone and her mind so addled with his constant attacks and machinations that she could think of no way out. Instead she sat and waited for the inevitable, waited for her Empire to be taken away. She wondered just how she had managed to find herself back in this situation, echoes of Caprea’s treachery during the war filled her mind. The bitterness of it all consumed her, she had fought alongside her fellows and protected her empire from the human threat, she had put her life and reputation on the line in the war and now she was losing it all, taken away from within. Castanaea tried not to become withdrawn, trying to put her failing energies into fostering the difficult relationships with the humans but she found it too much of a struggle. There must be some way out save the route that Caprea was forcing her down.

It was late one evening that inspiration finally did come to her and she found it deeply ironic and pleasing that it was Caprea himself who made her see the answer, and in the days that followed she found new energy as her plans crystallised into clarity. One evening Caprea had come to her chamber seeking an audience, and with no legitimate excuse to avoid him she had been forced to grant it.

I wish to discuss with you the future of the Empire.

Caprea did not bother to use her title, a fact not missed by Castanaea.

What do you want Caprea? she asked him icily.

The same as you do. The best for our Empire and our people.

She glared at him waiting for him to go on. Caprea strolled across her chamber and helped himself to a goblet of wine before turning back to his emperor and, unknowingly, making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

The position of Emperor is still fragile. You remain the only person directly in line to the throne, and during the war and subsequently it has played on my mind that should something, Olordolith forbid it, happen to you… well, you can imagine, particularly at a time when our relationship with the north is so…strained.

Castanaea stared at him in disbelief.

I merely suggest that having a few heirs to the throne might be a prudent move.

Castanaea foundered for a suitable response but failed.

Out! Get out now.

Caprea inclined his head in acknowledgement but took his time to finish his wine. He sighed contentedly and smacked his lips as he finished the goblet.

Well, I’ll be bidding you good day, his tone suggested it were he who was choosing to leave, think on it.

His bow was cursory and grinning to himself he turned and strolled from the room. Castanaea felt tears prick her eyes and she sat heavily on the couch and tried to force the tears not to come. How dare he address her in such a manner. She cut off the line of thought and only just resisted the urge the hurl the wine flagon at the door through which he had just exited. Instead she quietened herself and rising started to stride around the chamber, considering his words angrily. She could not believe that he wanted to marry her off and set her up as some kind of brood mare, producing heirs for the Empire. She had a horrible feeling that Caprea would have already got someone in mind for her husband and she was fairly sure she wouldn’t approve. Involuntary she bit back tears again and leant heavily on the cabinet in front of which she had stopped. Looking down she saw that she was leaning on the chest which now contained, hidden away from her everyday life, her soldiers garb and her sword.

She stared at it for a long time, unmoving, remembering the freedom and power that had once been hers. With care she lifted the lid of the chest and drew out the contents which she laid carefully on the bed. First her mail shirt, still gleaming dully despite being packed away, her britches and shirt and finally, in the bottom of the chest, wrapped in cloth and laid alongside its scabbard, her dwarven sword. Gently she lifted it and holding it, felt it balance, perfect as always. She wondered to herself how was it so quickly she had faded from being a warrior and become instead a caged mouse, hiding from the world. She swung the blade and stood, finding her balance point, the old skills were still there, the warrior waiting to be unleashed. She swung again and the blade snagged on the hem of her gown, ripping it. Castanaea found herself staring down at the damage, why was she, a warrior, a soldier, wearing such clothing? Was not this, now, as much a battle as she had fought in those snow bound wastes and was not Caprea as dangerous an enemy as the Daemon hoard she had once faced? Did they not seek the same thing? To take her empire and to destroy her life? She felt anger build inside her, hot and bitter it surged into her throat and heart. Closing her eyes she relished the feeling, so long absent, the rush of blood and the tingling in her mind. Her fist clenched the pommel of her sword and her teeth gritted. Snarling, she felt a new resolution swell inside her and she felt her will, so long absent, rising and steeling.

She stared down at her sword where she gripped it and in the deepening twilight she considered the plan which now began to crystallise in her mind. Yes, she told herself, it would work and would cement her power and peace with the humans once and for all. She thought of Caprea’s reaction and she grinned unpleasantly to herself, he would have no way out save if he tried to kill her himself. She wondered why that thought had occurred to her and suspicions tickled at her mind. She had the dark though that she should begin to keep a very careful eye out from now on. She considered again their conversation, so he wanted her married to ensure the future stability of the empire, who, she asked herself grimly, was she to disappoint?

Che-Avana swayed with the slow wallow of the Werry as they headed up the River Greyhold, his stomach still queasy from the violence of the trip up from the south. He had decided to take a ship north from the Empire and only hours into the voyage was wishing he had not been so lazy and had taken passage with one of the caravans across the mountains instead. For the entire two week voyage the ship had been battered by wintry storms, had to dodge icebergs and at no time had they seen anything resembling a calm sea. The river was better, but swollen and rushing with winter rains and snowmelt, the Werry made slow progress, barely more than walking pace despite the best efforts of the rowers and horses. He recalled his own time at the oars of a Werry and guiltily was glad that it was they, not he, who were rowing.

He had decided that his visit to Villus Imperius could wait, the calling to home the more urgent. It had been far too long since he had been with his parents and sister and as he approached more familiar lands he felt acutely his absence from Ran-Amden. The journey on the Werry could not be hurried, but took too long and it was a few weeks later that he rode once again towards Ton-Alan and home. As he approached the town memories crowded him, the boys with whom he’d once left this place, the bitter taste of the merriment of the last Beltane festival, attending classes in the Oak Halle. He passed quietly through the town, dropping the guard off at the Birch Halle, and then out onto the road to his parents’ home. He wondered if Ran-Amden was waiting for him. Their communications by letter were always stilted and at the back of his mind he wondered if she had found another or if she would barely recognise him upon his return.

As he followed familiar road out towards his parents’ home, he knew in his heart that he had been away a long time. Not only in time but he had changed so much too, and it worried him. But despite, he smiled to himself and urged his horse into a trot eager now to finish his journey. As he came close to home, his stomach knotted his nerves were rising again as he thought of Ran-Amden.

But his worries were ill-founded and as the sound of his horses hooves rattled in the lane to his parents cottage, a familiar and welcome figure came running down the road toward him. He slid, aching, from his horse as Ran-Amden ran up and hurled herself into his embrace. He pulled her tightly to himself taking deep breaths of her scent and burying himself in her hair. After a long moment the couple separated slightly and appraised one another. She looked up into his scarred face and saw his twinkling eyes and smile. Che-Avana appraised her, her eyes bright and happy, shining with tears, her hair worn long, held back by a brightly coloured scarf. He remembered what she looked like with her widows bun and was glad to his heart that it was gone. He saw that she was now fully a woman, any remnant of girlishness gone, replaced by something altogether more beautiful, somehow more wholesome. She cocked her head on one side.

What? She asked him grinning. He pulled her close once more and tenderly kissed her, enjoying the feelings of peace and joy that flooded through him,

I love you, Ran-Amden, he declared and she hugged him tightly once again, burying herself into his chest.

And I you, she replied with feeling.

The two separated as Che-Avana went to retrieve his horse which had wandered off to crop the new grass at the roadside, and soon they walked hand in hand back towards his parents cottage. As they rounded the corner into the yard, his family stood before him, waiting his homecoming. For a moment they stopped and appraised one another, Che-Avana grinning broadly, his father, more the man he used to be, upright, sturdy. His mother beside him looking fresh faced once more and his sister clinging onto her mother’s skirts. His father laughed a little and gave his son a brief hug, shared a quick smile with Ran-Amden and took the horse from him. Che-Syrianda held