Isaac’s eyes opened just in time to see the sun peak over the horizon. He rose from his bed and shuffled over to the balcony. He leaned out, glancing south. Tidus was right. Isaac was able to see the eastern edge of Hjandhorn basked in the golden morning rays. The rest of the city was hidden by flowing hill tops that stretched east from the Mane. The sunlight consumed the night sky with a slow, stunning display of oranges and pinks. The clouds parted, allowing him to feel great warmth, as if a divine hand wanted Isaac to know that he was on the right path.

  Divine. He laughed at himself. Don’t be pathetic. What have the gods given us? Pain. Death. Separation. I know I’m on the right path. I will lead my people forward.

  He thought about the past and the horrors his people endured surviving in the north. He thought about those tragic circumstances, and despite their painful endeavors, they didn’t compare to the calamity Maugeofortune invited into this world. No matter how clear of a picture the history books painted, they couldn’t capture the reality of the plague. In a matter of weeks, nearly all of mankind was wiped out. The plague was magical in origin. For the entire elven race to be saved, someone had to be sacrificed. The clan leaders held a council, arguing over the means of survival for their race. It was the chieftain of the Imamoon Clan who proposed communion with Maugeofortune. According to the minutes, they already had high priests communicating with the “god.” He promised them survival. He promised them a new way forward. Not necessarily prosperity, but certainly power.

  The other chieftains expressed apprehension, and all but one agreed that communion with Maugeofortune was necessary. They affirmed Imamoon’s position, a consensus that bore a most severe outcome. After performing a series of rituals, Maugeofortune imbued the elves with great magic. They resisted extreme colds, lived off little resources, maintained impressive strength, and some even learned to levitate and fly. The difference was night and day. Only one protested, the chieftain of the Amberglades and Isaac’s ancestor, Lord Enok.

  A month later, a second council was held. According to the minutes, Enok’s main point of objection regarded Maugeofortune’s deception about their magic. They were led to believe this magic was born from within. They were the source of the magic. This was a lie. Lord Enok made the case that the consequences of their actions were brewing travesty in the west. He presented scout reports from the mainland of a vicious plague spreading south of Ashveil to the greater continent. Dwarves were largely spared of the terrible disease. Humans were not. It started with families living off the land and quickly spread to the cities. The timing of it could not be ignored. It coincided with Imamoon’s rituals.

  Descriptions of the process were nightmarish. Once the plague latched onto their flesh, the human disintegrated to the bone. Reports specified intense, expedient melting. It was overwhelmingly superficial at first, targeting the skin, the hair, the eyes. Humans would go blind, waiting painfully for their bodies to finish liquefying. The scouts reported visiting homes of the victims. They found skeletons in gooey fluids sitting in dark corners of living rooms, laying in red stained beds, or prostrating in the yard after making desperate prayers for protection.

  The Quickbraid was ingenious. The dwarf wizard, Madgrace, had found a way to tap into the alluring power of toilstone, and effectively curse the entire elven race.

  Toilstone was an unusual mineral, primarily used as a conduit for magic - something to do with how the mysterious rock wrestled with the arcane forces of the universe. It violently attracted magic, much like a blackhole absorbed light. Toilstone had another unusual property. In the attraction of magic, it also “played” with the boundaries of reality, something that the dwarves of old had yet to fully understand. There are notable consequences to this, the most pertinent one being that Maugeofortune’s magic was tied to the elves. As far as Isaac understood, if the magic was linked to the elves in bodily form, it could not leave them in plague form. Having adopted the properties of toilstone, the spell acted as a constant attractor in their flesh. If toilstone “played” with the realty, what did that mean about their magic? Isaac had questions. For now, all he knew was that their magic wanted to release, but the Quickbraid prevented it.

  Would that last forever? Were elves just walking time bombs? The dwarves thought so, which is why elves are mostly regulated to the north.

  Regulated. Isaac chuckled at the idea. More like forced. The elves faced exodus on pain of death. Dwarves, and the few humans who remained, banded together to drive the elves out. Isaac’s people were forced to the winter lands with swords and spears in their backs. Over the decades, few exceptions have been made for elves to reintegrate with broader society. He was one such exception, and Isaac wasn’t going to waste this opportunity.

  Isaac watched the sunrise, imagining his people returning to their home in as much glory that dressed the blazing star. History books also fail to mention that for centuries, his people have shown to be peaceful, despite their pariah status. The forced exodus of elves around the world had shaped a new civilization. Scattered clans became cities and cities became small kingdoms. Their magically bonded bodies allowed them to rival the dwarven mining equipment. Despite their size, the kingdoms of Silverlance managed to form profitable trade routes via airship, transporting iron, lead, and platinum. Their wildlife produced amazing pelted coats and blankets, which often accompanied the minerals. This wasn’t even their most profitable resource! The northern wyverns were the fiercest, strongest, and most dangerous on the planet and the elves knew how to tame them. Often times, their wyverns guarded their small airships as they made port to the southern continents. They refused to sell their wyvern eggs and often found poachers attempting to hunt and steal, meeting fatal ends at the hands of the superior hunters in the land. Isaac knew that Silverlance’s air superiority frightened the wider world.

  All the more reason to strive for peace, he thought. All the more for reunion. For southern tribes to return to their home in the mainland.

  Isaac allowed the warmth of the morning sun to wash over him. I won’t let my people down, he thought.

  After he was treated with an extravagant breakfast, Isaac received a visitor. Tidus Stoneking stood in the doorway after three polite knocks. Isaac warmly greeted him, inviting him in for tea, or coffee, or orange juice. The castle had supplied him with a wide range of morning beverages. Tidus politely declined and inquired about his stay. Isaac was very pleased and wanted him to pass on his compliments. The servants have shown incredible kindness and skill. They discussed the views. From the balcony, Tidus pointed out a few shops worth visiting while Isaac remained in the capital. He recommended two or three local restaurants as well, one of which Tidus insisted they visit that evening.

  After the pleasantries, Tidus said, “King Alastor will see you this afternoon. He’s very intrigued by the prospect of extending grace to the elves. Of course, he recognizes the risk too. It’s a very sensitive situation, as you well know.”

  “Certainly. Honestly, I only plan to make introductions and simply highlight my lord’s broader intentions.”

  “Test the waters.”

  “Yes. Something like that.”

  “And if it all goes south?”

  Isaac met Tidus’s gaze. “Before Hamlet Theo passed away, he was visited by his sister. At the time, Hamlet’s aspirations largely crumbled. No one could blame him. The larger world experienced a catastrophic event and needed justice. No one was ready to forgive the elves. According to his sister, Cassy, his dying breath was one of regret. She wrote about it in her journal. Hamlet was worried that his actions meant nothing. He felt foolish. His efforts to pursue unity were in vain. His sister watched him cry, even to death.”

  Tidus looked away, “You wonder if you’re treading that same path?”

  Isaac stared into the palm of his hand. He imagined holding a globe of Dohmon, his fingers wrapping around it, clutching the oceans and lands. He spoke quietly, “No, my path is different.”

  After their meeting, Isaac visited the recommended stores. He visited a tailor, who had set up shop next to a haberdashery. Both owners had claimed to have established their business on this block before the other. Of course, said Isaac, to them both. After purchasing a fine wool scarf, he walked down the sidewalk towards a bookshop he was eager to visit. He received a few stares from watchful citizens, but most were very polite. These are the people I need to convince, he thought. Not the king. Them.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  When he reached the bookstore, he noticed an older gentleman had desired to enter. Isaac stepped aside, holding the door open for him. “After you, good sir.”

  The gentleman nodded, appearing mildly perplexed. He entered the shop, muttering something like, “Thank you,” but it was jumbled up by the shock of an elf, in the capital, holding a door open for him. It’s not much, thought Isaac, but you sir, are the first stone on the path to a brighter future.

  When he entered the shop, he caught the eye of the dwarf lady behind the counter. He smiled and waved, then meandered around the store. The familiar aroma of old books and dried plants brought a swell of joy a second home might inspire. He found all sorts of new and used titles. He passed romance novels, epic adventures, and poetry. One section grabbed his attention: history.

  He perused the shelves, noting which books he hadn’t read. Admittedly, there were very few. He selected one titled Tala: The World that Came Before.

  “Not sure you really count as history,” said Isaac. He flipped the book over. It had glowing reviews and very detailed graphic of how the continents might have been arranged thousands of years ago.

  “Of course, if all goes horribly today, I’ll have some entertainment to keep my spirits up.” Isaac pulled out the necessary coins for his purchase and approached the counter.

  The dwarf, peering at him over massive glasses, sounding as politely as she could. “Did you enjoy your time in the store?”

  “I certainly did.” Isaac set the coins on the counter. The dwarf counted them and slid them into a drawer. She opened the book and slipped a bookmark in between the pages.

  “Enjoy your read,” she said, attempting to smile. Isaac appreciated the effort.

  “I’ve read that one,” said the gentleman from earlier. He approached from the right and placed on the counter a small pile of books.

  “What are thoughts on it, sir?” asked Isaac.

  “Oh, well, I don’t want to spoil your time with it.”

  “Worry not,” smiled Isaac, “Please, share.”

  The gentleman cleared his throat, sliding his pile of books to the dwarf cashier. His demeanor shifted from cautious to thoughtful. “I think the author mixed a little too much myth into his thesis, but truthfully, it’s difficult to say. All myths are such until discovered otherwise. Usually, it’s a simple matter of time.”

  Isaac leaned against the counter, “Can’t myths just be myths?”

  The gentleman shrugged, “In my experience, that’s rarely the case.”

  Isaac made sure he had plenty of time to return to the castle and be early for his meeting with the King of Malafane, Alastor the Gentle. For some, King Alastor seemed too focused on making peace with his enemies, earning him the title “gentle,” something Isaac was hoping to bank on. Why crush your enemies when you could embrace new allies? Pens versus swords. Of course, this wouldn’t always be the case, but it was King Alastor’s foundational mindset, one fortunately shared by King Druvnor. Frankly, unlike the Elf King, he had little opportunity to test it. Isaac knew that King Alastor’s reign was largely peaceful. He had almost no experience with war.

  When Tidus opened the doors to the throne room, Isaac met the king with a formal bow. When he looked up, he took a second to consider the king’s stature. He was a large man, imposing, but kind. His rugged countenance evoked fatherliness. When the king ushered Isaac to stand tall, Isaac noted the scars on his palm, and his missing ring and pinky fingers.

  Curious, thought Isaac. I don’t recall reading about any battle he might have participated in.

  “I’m King Alastor,” he said. His voice might have boomed in the throne room if he did not restrain it so. Isaac instantly recalled another title he had claimed: The Lion Speaker. “You’re King Drunvor’s envoy. Speak.”

  “Yes, sir.” Isaac bowed his head slightly, and then met the king’s eyes. “I’m Isaac Amberglade, of the Amberglade Clan. I speak on behalf of the great Lord of the North, Elf King Drunvor. It is with great humility and honor that I invite you, King Alastor, to a Council of Elders, whether in person or by representative. My Lord wishes to address the elven people’s political status, the lifting of sanctions, and establishing a foundation promoting immigration and assimilation. He understands that these causes may take years, perhaps decades to pursue. However, as a good friend recently told me, ‘It’s just a matter of beginning.’ The Council of Elders will be held in three months. Should you choose to consider our request beyond my time here, we graciously wait for your reply via envoy.” Isaac bowed to the king again, “I am humbled and grateful for this meeting, your Highness.”

  King Alastor shifted in the throne, watching Isaac carefully. “You’re correct. Your goals may take decades.” Alastor stood, stepping away from the throne, but maintained keeping his distance from Isaac. “I admire King Drunvor’s desire to assimilate. I’ve received reports of his efforts to unite the clans. A formal peace treaty between our kingdoms is something I too desire.” The king combed his beard with his fingers, carefully considering the rest of the sentence. “I think lifting sanctions would be an easy first step towards this goal. As a gesture of good will, please share with your Lord that I will be meeting with parliament in a month. We will certainly be discussing the mutually-beneficial trade deals between the mainland and Silverlance. I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve already primed my subjects. Truth be told, King Drunvor beat me to the punch. I was hoping to reach out once parliament agreed to restart trade.”

  Isaac was surprised. King Alastor had intended to reach out to the elves. “I’m elated to hear this,” he said.

  “I don’t mean to suggest it would be easy. While there’s interest, perimeters will be strict.” King Alastor returned to the throne, taking his seat. “I may have warmed up to the idea, but that doesn’t mean the people will be pleased. The elves have much to prove.”

  “Indeed, your Highness,” said Isaac. “We will not fail.”

  “Hm.” King Alastor looked over Isaac. Was he seeing wild ambition or faithful determination? Either way, the young elf seemed sincere. “Stay in the capital for a few days. The guest house is open to you. Enjoy our beautiful city. Let’s have dinner. Stoneking, when can we feast?”

  Stoneking looked up, thinking. “We have an opening in three days time. Would you like me to schedule a dinner then?”

  “Yes, that’s perfect. I have other matters to attend to, but I’d like to get to know the man who speaks for a nation. Have dinner with me. Stoneking will give you further details.”

  Isaac grinned wide, bowing politely. “I gladly accept your invitation, your Highness. I’m incredibly honored.”

  When they finished their discussion, Isaac was led back to the guest house and Tidus dismissed himself. The king had left for the castle gardens to spend lunch with his family. His advisor had another matter to attend to.

  Tidus walked through the castle halls. He always appreciated the old walls, for in the distant past he was connected to them. The Castle of Leandra had stood for centuries, and was well maintained. Some of the tapestries hanging the hall were as old as the castle. There was one in particular he enjoyed. It was a giant tapestry featuring a short narrative in four images. In the first embroidery, there was the black mountains and a green valley filled with dwarves. The second image accounted for the carving of the mountain and the early stages of building the castle as humans and dwarves worked together. The third embroidery was of the capital city expanding throughout the valley. The final image featured the kingdom, finished and full of glory. In the center of the tapestry, connecting all four images was a hammer from which stretched stoney veins. On the side of the hammer was an etched crown.

  The Stonekings were once the predominant dwarven clan in the city. Much of their blood, sweat and time went towards constructing the magnificent capital. Tidus looked fondly on this tapestry, thinking of his ancestors and the sacrifices they made. The Stoneking Clan was still large, but no longer the most predominant in the capital. Other families have risen in the ranks.

  Hard to resist gold, he thought. Money buys everything except the crown. For that, he’d need something else.

  Tidus moved down another hall and entered a large room. It was a meeting hall. There was a massive oak table in the center, surrounded by two dozen chairs. There was a row of stained glass windows facing north. At the end of the row, standing in colorful light, was a dark-robed man. He lowered his hood, facing Tidus.

  “Hello, Stoneking.”

  Tidus closed the door behind him. He walked across the meeting room and stood next to the man. Keeping a hushed voice, he said, “I take it the arrangements have been made?”

  “The riders will stop in Brangwen Woods. Apparently, there’s a tavern there.”

  “A legendary one,” said Tidus. “I’ve heard of it. Witch something?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Witchwicks.” The man reached into his robe and revealed a small metal token. It was larger than the average coin, with a circle in the center surrounded by embossed lettering - a foreign language to both of them. It was bloodstained.

  “Got this off Calidaz Redfoot.”

  “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  The man shook his head, “Roughed him up a little. He’s an aristocrat. Can’t do much without someone asking questions. He said this token connects to a portal. It’s supposed to get you to the tavern.”

  “But?”

  “We have no idea how to use it. We figured it’d work as a Plan B - once we cracked the magic - but it’d be reckless. We have some idea regarding the layout, thanks to Redfoot. Still, it feels like we’d be going in blind. The airship will do just fine. It’s an elven vessel. Smaller than most, but fast.”

  “You have a general idea of its location?”

  The man nodded. “That and we have someone tracking the riders. An elf. He’ll give us the signal once he locates the tavern.”

  Tidus was pleased to hear this. “Good, good. You’re outfitted too?”

  “Arrangements have been made, don’t worry.”

  Tidus looked at the stained glass windows. He saw a collage of symbols and animals, from hearts to ravens. He saw flowery vines and ancient deities making love in rose covered ponds. He saw dragons falling under the sword, and heroes rising.

  All of this on top of the blood of Stonekings, he thought.

  “About the rest of the money…” started the man.

  “Don’t worry, Zaried. You’ll get the other half when you’ve finished your mission.” He turned to the man, “This is just a small step and we need the air superiority. Taking the crown won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it. For all of us.” He looked back at the stained glass. His eyes fell on small depiction of a hammer laying in the battlefield. “Our gentle king seeks peace with our most dangerous enemy. He thinks the elves are good natured, tamed by the Quickbraid. He’ll bring an end to us all unless we stop him.”