Please read spoiler before reading (First part of previous chap is new!) Spoiler : 1-CHANGE OF TERMS.

Er, so I decided Templars was the wrong term to use for #reasons. Instead, they're collectively called the Divine Hand and individually called the Halberds and Shields.

Also, I edited a few terms in early chaps. So cylcops-->Titans. Vampires and Fiends added. Doesn't affect much since I haven't shown you the races.

2- CHAPTER EDITING-

The first part of this chapter you have probably already read! A general problems with my chapters is that they get too long to read in one. So I want to reduce length and increase content. I am experimenting with that.

19-2. City of Glass I - Elves and exiles

As Jorrel expected, Diana was sitting and brooding instead of lying down. As she expected, he had brought more than just food.

“I am in no mood for work right now,” Diana rebuffed him.

“Are you ever?” Jorrel snorted. He pushed the mahogany desk towards her bed, placing the food and the sack with a soft thump. He snatched a jug, a wide brimmed glass vessel with a twisted belly, and conjured water into it. Then he laid the sack bare, pulling out a corded stack of parchment and letters for Diana. “This ties in with what you want to know,” Jorrel explained while Diana ignored him and dug into the food. He frowned but they ate the meal in peace.

“So?” Diana asked while she wiped her mouth clean.

“This is your backlog,” Jorrel shifted the stack towards Diana and started cleaning up the table. “We will talk after you've read and stamped and responded to these.” He waved his hands wide apart. “All of these.”

Diana hunched her shoulders. With begrudging effort, she loosened the cord and picked up the first letter. The silver-green envelope held the seal of Kwasther, one of the highest seats of Arkadia, woven into an intricate glyph. She pinched the seal and it drifted apart, the parchment rolling out in a two feet long block of dense Cylian scribble that made Diana cringe.

Diana held the letter as far as she could from her face and shook it, hoping for some of that stiff writing to fall off. It didn't. With a swift sleight of hand, Diana folded the letter back and turned to a disgruntled Jorrel in query.

“No use pushing it back, Jorrel,” she said, “I know you're trying to hide the issue by making me work but that's not gonna work. Out with it.”

Jorrel’s glance ran up the thickness of documents and back to Diana’s face, weighing her poor excuse. “You're not going to like what I speak once I start speaking,” he protested.

“Out with it.”

‘Heavens spit on it, have it your way woman!’ Jorrel poured himself a glass of water and wet his lips. “The Inazi dug up a den of pixars in western Arkadia.”

“That's bad,” Diana concurred, “how many did we lose?”

“Fifty good elves for about twice the pixars,” Jorrel stated.

“Seems reasonable.” Diana had experienced worse. Her gaze dulled and regained itself. Indeed, the blood of elves was precious. And every drop spilled had its cost. But a hundred pixars had paid dearly for it.

“It was a blind labyrinth,” Jorrel continued, rubbing his knuckles, “they crushed it with their own men still inside just to contain the outbreak.”

“…” Diana blinked. Her eyes prickled. She hated that. Killing your own kind. And from the twitch of Jorrel’s ears, he knew, but continued nonetheless.

“Nearly eight centuries old, and abandoned. The Elders had a hard time remembering it.”

“...” Something clicked in Diana’s mind. Old. Abandoned. Blind, only one entrance, inside Cylia. Someone knew of the labyrinths the Elders ignored. Knew of the labyrinths Cumaria had forgotten. Knew of legends long since buried. How? Who? Why? Spies? Exiles? Insiders? Where?

“And it lay within three hundred miles of Ilmaar,” Jorrel finished.

“!” Diana started out of her thoughts. She swallowed, fumbling with pieces of a puzzle that shattered. Ilmaar was their greatest bastion of defense. Ilmaar was their heart.

“They're getting closer each year,” Jorrel lamented, “Ilmaar isn't as safe anymore.”

“This is really bad.”

“And that's not the whole of it,” Jorrel sighed, giving her time to ponder.

“….Carry on,” Diana insisted, her fingers steepled and eyes unblinking.

Jorrel sighed again. “Absolutely,” he said, scratching his thin stubble. “Therawurd is quaking upon the ocean.”

“You don't mean—

“It may sink soon. In fact, if the Scourge hit it, it definitely will.”

“What are the Yorthal doing?” Diana frowned, scanning the stack of letters for an azure envelop with green fringes. There was none. She flicked her fingers through the stack next, intent on finding it. Jorrel put her hand to rest with a shake of his head.

“Asking for lands and relief,” he revealed. “They want to migrate north. Across Arkadia.”

Diana’s eyes widened. “But if Therawurd falls—

“The southern currents will cut across the coast into Arkadia and freeze it over. All the plains and forests and hills will go down into ice and snow. Now you see?” Jorrel’s face swung up to hers, he rubbed the scarlet ring on his left until it hissed and his ears swiveled. His eyes were hard now, piercing.

“Dragons have mercy.”

“Or worse yet, the Therawurd Rocklands might just pull a part of Arkadia along with them, and we will see our lands vanish before we see the Scourge gone.”

Diana poured herself another glass and gulped. “Tell me you have a thought about this,” she probed Jorrel. He shifted, scratching his nose.

“I don't. Nor do the Yorthal.”

Her head hunched and Diana concentrated. Jorrel was right. Landfalls had no solution. One could not fight an earthquake or a storm. The most they could do was, just— “...we still have the bells of Mook.”

“That's the only thing we have at all,” Jorrel argued. “We have to face it, Diana. Whether the Scourge come or not, sooner or later, for bad or worse, Therawurd will fall. And if the Eldership handles this poorly, well, the Infernal War will be the least of our troubles.”

“Beggar's dreams...”

“Thorns to your thoughts, my lady. Do you think they will grow roses?”

“Yes,” Diana retorted, “I hope they will bloom like the Ka’taar’s ambitions.”

Jorrel chuckled dourly. “Speaking of which, the Ka'taar are growing restless again. They're pressing for greater representation in the Eldership.”

Diana brushed it away with a wave of hand. “That's nothing new.”

Jorrel clasped his hands. “Not if it comes with an implicit threat...” He swallowed. “They're considering Kingship again.”

“Nobody will recognize them.”

“Sumaria might.”

“We fought Sumaria not even a century ago, Jorrel,” Diana turned her head away and looked out her window, hoping to rid herself of this conversation, despite the fact that she started it. She disliked loose ends. They itched, made her want to dig deep. She had other concerns for the time being. What the Ka'taar did was none of her headache.

“Humans don't live that long,” Jorrel said.

“Well neither does their forgiveness,” she spurned him.

“True,” Jorrel shrugged, “But I do think they'll choose to forgive the lesser of two enemies if it comes to war.”

“You think that...” Diana left the rest of her words hang in silence.

“I am not sure,” Jorrel replied with a pensive shake of his head, “but we must be prepared for the worst, like always.” His ears swiveled and he rubbed his ring again. It hissed and he took a chug of water to calm.

“Well....”

“Well?” Jorrel raised his eyes.

“Is that all or you have something more to clobber my head with?”

“...that is all I'd say.” Jorrel stretched and pushed his chair back, raising himself.

“Fine.” Diana ordered him seated with her hand. “Now while I cram my mind with all of this you need to think up a reason so I can enter Cylia.”

“Didn't you already decide on that?”

“I did,” Diana grumbled. “But my orders were to stay, observe and report back. They don't want me back. Not yet.”

“So what, we're fabricating an excuse?” Jorrel narrowed his eyes.

“No other way,” Diana answered.

“Are you pulling my ears?” Jorrel grimaced.

“I'm dead serious.” Diana shifted back on her bed but Jorrel grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. His grimace turned into a scowl. His will rumbled.

“Diana,” he said, “do you remember what happened last time? When I faked that you caught the weeping fever?”

A cringe ran up her lips as Diana remembered. “Okay, stop going th—

But Jorrel had been lit up like firecracker. “Your mother came to visit, Diana, your mother.”

“Jorrel stop.”

“Oh God,” he moaned, “that woman is like you ten times over and demonized.”

“We promised we would not talk about—

“She's so, so excruciating. Stiff like a frozen winter log and dry like a summer-cracked bone in the desert. Almost makes me pity your father.”

“Are you done?” she hissed.

“You think?” he snarled. “I had trouble sleeping for weeks after your mother visited. I lost my appetite. My hairs started to fall. My ears cracked up. I'd rather face the thrice damned Scourge than face your mother again.”

“Alright, alright,” Diana sighed. “I'll think up something myself. You and your weak-willed mind.” She waved him away with her hand but he stayed.

“Think of an excuse that does not—in any way—invite your mother or your father over.”

“Yeah, I'll keep that in my mind…” Diana decided. Jorrel was beginning to leave when she noticed a hint of gaudy gold stuck among the stack, buried between black and brown. She pulled it out to find an envelope laced with gold filigree and painted in rosy designs. “Wait,” she called Jorrel, “what's this?”

“Your usual Ka'taar sycophancy,” Jorrel said, glaring arrows into the letter, “laced with an adequate amount of poison and deceit.”

Diana shook her head. “Too extravagant for that.” She pinched the seal open and a fragrant smell wafted out. Jorrel squeezed his nostrils shut while Diana ran a cursory glance.

The letter wore the same gold filigree and held rose-red letters inscribed with great delicacy. It was an invitation. “What is this now,” Diana smiled, “they've sent me an invitation...” she looked at Jorrel with surprise, “to the Festival of Ahrune.”

“Those slimy slimes…” Jorrel cursed, taking a whiff of rose with a sneer of his lips. “They want the Elders' seats so bad they'll take it through their own arse.”

Diana paused, studying him and the letter. Her smile widened. Jorrel froze, noticing Diana's puerile smile. His scowl hardened. Diana nodded. Jorrel shook his head frantically.

“Oh no, no, no,” Jorrel babbled, “Don't give me that, don't, just don't.”

“Why not?” Diana shrugged. “This seems like a good excuse to return.”

“They're asking your hand in marriage for some... little pipsqueak?”

Diana looked at the letter again. “Rordain of Hemlays, Elderling to Elder of Kynara. The boy I met that one time, isn't it?”

“Yeah, the pipsqueak that bawled his eyes out,” Jorrel recounted.

“That's an uncouth way to put it,” Diana remarked.

“Wait till they come after you like half-starved raptors after a roasted belger,” Jorrel said, ears lowered and nose flaring. “The Ka'taar never once give what they take Diana,” he pointed a finger, “you know that well.”

“And they can't take what isn't theirs,” Diana replied.

Jorrel paused, tongue struggling and face dour. “You never learn,” he complained.

“I do. But sometimes, I want to teach instead.”

“Suit yourself, my lady.” He gave her one of his feigned bows and marched out, the empty dishes in his hand, then banged the door shut after him. Diana ignored his temper and settled back, turning to the work instead. Jorrel would calm down by the evening. He always did. For now, she needed to send a letter to Ilmaar and warn the Eldership. And hope. Hope for the best.

Reluctantly, Diana pulled open a cabinet to find parchment, penbrushes and ink. She searched her desk for her stamp, the salt of Alun and the lacquer candles, all essentials to carve her seal. She loosened her hair, organized her desk, pressed the parchment down under a weight then went to take a bath with Jorrel frowning at her.

Refreshed, Diana put her mind to the grind. She was stressing over how to word her concerns when the doorbell rang, a soft, musical chime that ran through the establishment. Visitors? She could spare some time for that.

Down the marbled stairs, Diana expected Jorrel to be welcoming a guest. Instead, he forced the door against the visitor, trying to ram it shut. And failed. A cane jammed itself between the door and the frame, refusing to budge.

“I told you,” Jorrel snarled, “now is not a good time.”

“I've been visiting for more than a month, Jorrel,” the visitor opposed. His voice was old but rigid. And annoying. “She's here, I know. A few moments of her time can't hurt, can they?”

“Who's there?” Diana enquired, her voice strict and unforgiving. Jorrel twirled in surprise and an old man walked in, shoving the door open. A spindly face rested on his broad shoulders. His hair had grayed but his eyes were firm. He limped towards the black runewood cane in his right while pulling a doubly knotted shawl back up his shoulders and noticed Diana.

“Pleasant winds upon your fate, Diana,” the old elf greeted with a weak twitch of his lips.

Diana pursed her lips and glared at Jorrel before turning to the old man. “Get out Urga’thil.”

Urga’thil paused, tapping his cane at the marbled floor. “I have a waited a long time, daughter of Silverdeens,” he said, his coal-black eyes simmering up, “do me the favor of listening at least.”

“Your kind has no right to step into this hall, Urga’thil,” Diana refused. “This embassy is for Elves. Do me the favor of leaving before you force my will.”

Urga’thil kept his weak smile but softened his eyes. “A cry of the weak knocks the heavens, my little one. No harm if it brushes past your ears, no matter the face it spills out of.”

Diana crossed her arms. “Don’t try that on me, old man. I am long past your coercions and pretenses. If you have the slightest smidgen of self-respect left, you will leave. Where was your weakness when you abandoned Cylia? When you slapped your people in their faces?”

Urga’thil listened and heaved, then raised his head. His height was the same as Diana’s but age weighed heavily upon him. He scratched his cane, unhurried, and spoke. “Child of Silverdeens… I am not a man who could forsake his family for his nation.”

“No,” Diana stressed. Her eyes narrowed and a scowl deepened on her face. “You’re just a man who forsook his family and his nation.”

Urga’thil frowned, lips quivering and eyes flickering, but his runewood cane never sparked with magic. His face went taut as he turned to Jorrel. “I see what you meant,” the old man conceded. He turned and hobbled back towards the door. Once there, he cocked his head, shivering a little in the winter wind.

Sunlight spun a halo around his hair and Urga'thil smiled sullenly. “Perhaps,” he gestured at Diana while he pulled his blue shawl tight. “Perhaps, you should think upon it. I hope there comes a time when we can see eye to eye, little one. And I hope it comes before my people perish. Farewell and fair winds upon your fate.”

Jorrel watched him leave and shut the door. He walked past Diana and took a seat, never inviting her. “Did I tell you I had a good mentor?”

“The exiles have no place here,” Diana replied in a rigid voice, slouching on the couch. The exiles, she needed to know what they had been up to. But not here. They did not belong here.

“The exiles have no place anywhere. They never did.”

“That is their just due,” Diana countered.

Jorrel shook his head. “His problems are real. This kingdom cannot help.”

“They chose this kingdom for themselves.”

Jorrel thumped the table. “What would you choose between love and death?” he asked, incensed.

“Sacrifice,” Diana suggested.

Wide brown eyes faced off the sharp green of Diana's. “You never learn.”

“I do. But sometimes—

“Spare me that.” Jorrel chuckled wryly, rubbing his ring. “Farthin has lost the bell of Mook.”

“Is that what you were hiding?” Diana enquired, glancing at his ring. It glowered like a ball of fire. Angry. Disturbed. He had rubbed it thrice already.

“Elsana gave it away,” Jorrel huffed.

“She had no right to.”

Jorrel’s will expanded, whickered in annoyance and subsided. He held it in against his strained face. “I don’t care about her,” Jorrel said, “It was her gift. Three of theirs have gone missing by now. She sought protection with the High Commander and the Legion. She lent her bell. The disappeared have not returned. Neither has their bell.”

The scene of a dead elf resurfaced in Diana's mind and she almost grit her teeth. Wavering between her choices, Diana rubbed her forehead. “…Do I need to pay them a visit?”

“Do you?” Jorrel raised his ears. An exaggerated shrug of his shoulders followed. “Oh, I don’t know. Surely we can skirt around Farthin on our way to Cylia? Maybe you can cut across the wastelands of Ley and add a month to our journey just for self-gratification.”

“I got it, Jorrel.” Diana put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go. Just give me some time.”

Jorrel nodded. A bit perturbed, he slipped his ring off and on again. “All the time you need, my lady. We’re on the schedule whenever you are.”

Diana chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder why I took you in.”

Despite his face, Jorrel smiled. “I am the best you could afford, my lady.”

“No,” Diana replied, her eyes sharp and unfailing. “You are the best I could trust.”

As Diana climbed back, the smile on Jorrel’s lips faded but his eyes stalked her, mired by a breadth of emotions he suppressed. His chest tightened and his fingers rubbed the small, red gem on his ring once more. Softly, patiently. The ring cooled and faded to silence.

------------------------

Boris trundled behind Elaine with growing tiredness. Bizeon was large, and ridiculously complicated. They walked far from the main boulevard. Here, pathways rose and fell in spirals around buildings. Brick and wood houses huddled together in curious outlines of twisted alleys overlooking garbage-riddled vacant corners. Cold shadows delineated warm chimneys across drab walls. Somehow, Elaine seemed to be taking the more desolate route towards the Legion.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” he asked a third time since they left the boulevard.

“Yes,” Elaine answered. “This is the shortest, least crowded route.”

Boris grimaced. His feet were cold and heavy. His breath was steady, but not for much longer. “That would also make this the most dangerous route,” he stated, hand rubbing the bow beneath his knapsack. Here in the cramped spaces, it would be all but useless. He could feel stares growing at his back. Like he was prey to be hunted. Swallowing, he forced himself to a pace matching Elaine's.

“Don’t worry,” Elaine swept a glance around. “They know enough not to bother me.”

“Ah, that would be true,” Boris agreed with a grim smile. The stares seemed to dart off and on Elaine. It was curious, the way all stares did it so often. Elaine turned and something flitted by the red rooftop above. Boris paused, eyes following the blur to the alley beside.

A clatter rattled the dank passage and his hand clutched the bow instinctively. Behind, he felt a deeper stare and whirled, one hand on the bulk of arrows, the other snatching his bow. The wind slowed, the noise dulled, his eyes honed in and an arrow was in his hand before he knew.

Then he staggered, his bow catching the knapsack along a strap while he pulled it, and felt something brush his shoulder. His legs pumped and he leapt away, arrow pointed at the culprit like a spear.

Elaine shook her head at the arrowhead, raising her hands then pointing them at a balcony hanging with clothes. A cat nestled itself against a billowing skirt, pawing its neck. Boris clucked his tongue. The furry creature yawned, then meowed at him.

“We are there almost, keep your head about you,” Elaine advised. Boris dulled his will and let it flow out. The place felt wrong, dangerous.

“Why do you take all these backways?” he asked.

“Like I said, it’s short. And it keeps me from the worse.” Elaine peered into the distance, somewhere between here and that glassy spire Elaine called the Spear of Gods.

“I sure don’t want to know what the worse is,” Boris spat.

“Let’s hope you don’t.”

Elaine led him up a small set of steps and the city grew alive again. A wide carpet of grass spread around a shaded well, the pulley squeaking in the wind against its axle. Buildings loomed in wide, ordered symmetry around it. Smithies for weapons and armor, establishments with woodworkers and glass-shapers, and sundry stores in narrow corners.

Trying to evade the traffic of labourers, carts and wagons all carrying supplies, Boris bumped into a few warriors. They paid him no heed, seemingly intent on a shop or another, and spared a soft gesture at Elaine. The stink of their sweat mixed with a worse stench. Boris could not quite point its origin and the amalgamation of smells it contained was beyond reasoning. Scrunching his nose, Boris slapped his hood across it.

“The Worker’s Square,” Elaine explained, “it leads to the Legion Keep, the Irilean Guilds, the smithies and eastern labyrinths.” Some workers greeted her with wide smiles and she returned curtsies. “Part of it is mined from the labyrinth itself but the rest comes on Thiraine or across the Needlewoods, or the Ley lands. The waste,” she added, studying his sour expression, “gets drained into sewers. The Orders won't let them dirty Thiraine, even if they do tolerate the boats.”

“How much farther?” Boris asked.

“Almost there,” Elaine shrugged. They climbed another set of stairs and the stench deepened. Boris frowned, his breath stinging, and peered over the low railing at the faint gurgle of water behind the Worker's square below. Thick, squalid masses oozed through crude trenches, snaking across a slope east.

He grimaced, pinching his nose shut. “Where do you drain all that?”

“To the labyrinth eastward, into the endless depths.” Unconcerned, Elaine took them across another mesh of stench-ridden streets before they finally turned north, through mouth-watering smells of cooked food, and up the incline to where the Legion's Keep lay.

It was a shallow mound, far too wide for its height, with thick walls around an uneven circumference. Scattered around it, in between the sparse green of pointed trees, were half-buried chunks of stony ramparts that forced the boundary crooked.

A man or two appeared on walls, watching the surroundings at leisure. The faded green beside the walls gave way to a cobblestoned street, dotted with sparse trees on either side and ending in a wide gated entrance.

Crisp leaves crunched under his boots as Boris accompanied Elaine to the guards beside the entrance. At first sight they froze, and Boris realized they were standing attention. Then they bowed, a fist at their chest and an arm on their hilts.

“The light hail your return, sister,” first among the guards greeted. He wore a steel cap with the visor raised and his left shoulder displayed the number thirteen in red on a spotless white device.

Elaine nodded back and the guards snapped back into attention. “The light defend your peace, brothers and sisters.” She pulled Boris forward. “He will come with me.” Her voice was nonchalant. Sharp gazes flitted across Boris for the first time, then ignored him. As if he were of no concern.

“A trainee?” another guard asked.

“A visitor,” Elaine replied, “seeking refuge before he moves on.”

“Indeed,” the guard answered and turned to Boris. “Welcome to the Legion of Light, young one. I pray your stay is pleasant and your journey peaceful.”

“Yours too,” Boris responded with half a mind. The puzzled looks the guards gave him did not register. A rumble rose from his stomach in reply. Someone chuckled and Boris hid his abdomen in hurry. It rumbled again.

“Before I forget,” one of the guards addressed Elaine with a wry smile. “Brother Fraust instructed us to send you to him, sister Sithe.”

“I see,” Elaine replied, studied an embarrassed Boris, then turned back, “Did he say it was urgent?” she asked.

“He requested the first building you step in to be his office.”

Elaine sighed. “As he wishes. I think you better come with me,” she told Boris, “but if you want,” she left her words unfinished.

“I'll come with you,” Boris whispered back.

“Good.” Elaine rummaged through her bundles to retrieve the Scepter of Light and one of the guards offered to help with her load. She refused and pulled Boris along, leaving as the guards resumed their watch.

The cobblestones turned to dirt tracks overlooking a wide field where sweating men and women practiced combat drills. Strident shouts rang in the air and cane-bearing instructors warned heaving trainees to stand on their feet or starve the rest of the day. Wooden weapons thwacked against each other and though bruised, none of the trainees appeared terrified to death. Or hungry.

“They sure have it easy,” Boris spat and Elaine gave him the look of disbelief. “Oh no, I’m not accusing you, or them. It’s just… not compelling enough.” Inside he sneered, ‘Give them a day with Diana and I bet they’d run like hounds and fight like bulls.’

Elaine smiled. “The trainees do most of the menial work here. Dishes, laundry, dusting, sweeping. It would not do if we broke them before the night came.”

Boris changed the look in his eyes from envy to pity, then apprehension. “I don’t have to do that, do I?”

“Not unless you want to.”

Shouts faded into noise as they launched into the main Keep. A network of low towers and square buildings stood connected by shaded pavements. Skywalks arched between the larger establishments at angles. The widest pavement cut straight and jerked a sharp left into a corridor towards a pearl white tower. A few times they passed other “brothers and sisters” with silent greetings, until finally a wide stony porch with benches and pruned trees opened into the pearl white tower.

Instead of stepping right in, Elaine took a spiral corridor around the tower to the first landing and into a hall with imposing doors on all sides. “You'll stay outside,” she warned Boris. “And keep quiet, even in greeting. And if called and asked about it, I picked you up and brought you here from Velur. You won't mention the heroes or the capital and especially not the demons. The less you speak the better. Do you understand?”

Tired, Boris gestured his understanding.

“Yes, good, that way,” Elaine replied. She eyed a polished door to the left and knocked thrice.

“Come in,” a voice answered and Elaine entered, holding the Scepter.

Sygen Fraust's office was a simple affair, with one side packed full with cabinets and shelves. The distant end held a granite mantelpiece, displaying a white banner with Legion’s emblem upon it. It sported a red sun resting on the hilt of a sword, both wrapped in black leaves. The fireplace crackled in a low hum below the mantelpiece.

Elaine turned left to face Fraust, stuck between two large stacks of documents and scribbling furiously. Finished, Fraust took a moment to crack his knuckles and look up at Elaine. His ink-smudged knuckles whitened from squeezing and his eyes twitched. He stood up, bowed a greeting and requested her seated. Elaine acquiesced.

Rubbing his hands for warmth, Fraust considered Elaine's face for a moment. There was no hint of tiredness there. “You seem fit as ever,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth and shifting the stack to clear his table. “Would you like tea?” His voice carried a mix of stern discipline and soft respect, but the twitch of strained eyes betrayed tension. Tension did not suit a man his age and position.

“I would like some rest,” Elaine replied, “after you explain the urgent matter you needed me for.”

“Sure,” Fraust nodded, brushing the grey flecks of his hair with rough hands. “I would have liked to deal with this slowly but since...” he scratched his hard jaw, “The Circle will be meeting soon, sister. You're in trouble.”

“Explain,” Elaine ordered. Fraust scratched the finished as he studied her unruffled face.

“There have been some objections raised against you.”

Elaine gave a dry chuckle. “Gwyna's admirers no doubt. What wouldn't they give to swaddle their doll in scarlet and give her the Scepter of Light. That doesn't give them the right to call the Circle though.”

“It's more than that this time. The Keepers sent word of disapproval.”

“The Keepers put me here, brother. They wanted me to hold the Scepter of Light, I merely agreed. If something did not go the way they wanted, it is their fault, I did what I must.” Elaine’s voice had a challenging edge, one that expected agreement. Fraust gave a grim smile.

“...They say you failed. We put you up to the king, Elaine,” he clasped his fingers, “but for the obvious fact that he respects you. You lived in the capital, talked with the royalty. You attended the summoning ceremony. For what purpose?” his eyes hardened. “What did you do?”

It occurred to Elaine that he was probing her, but that was what his station required and his habit assumed. Sygen Fraust was the Mediator among the Solarchs, the first ranked Legionnaires. His office managed the relations of the Legion with the kingdom, and when necessary, internal disputes among other Solarchs. Elaine would as soon budge to his stern voice as she would to a lamb bleating.

Adjusting her hair above her ears, Elaine said, “I did my duty. I taught the heroes what they needed. I accompanied them as far as I must, even though the king never asked it of me. I took my decisions. Every Solarch has the freedom to do so.”

“Do you not understand your position?” Fraust’s voice turned harsher. “The Maiden of Light represents the Legion.”

Elaine gave him an incisive glare. “I am not an idol to parade around, brother.”

“No,” Fraust receded, “well, you say you did your duty? So be it,” he scratched his jaw. “Better be prepared to justify that, sister. The Circle meets in three days. There's not much I can do this time, I am afraid. And please, keep your temper in control. Half of us are against this,” his eyes ran across the floor, “think of us.”

“You want me removed,” Elaine realized. Her eyes fluttered for a moment but she reined herself in and pulled her face flat, emotionless. Fraust scratched the letter sitting in one corner again, trying to delay the inevitable. She waited, letting him grow uneasy.

“...Some do,” he finally let out. “I'll do what I can, but it'll be difficult this time. With Branwere gone, there's a hole in our side.”

“I did not hear of this,” Elaine informed him, lips pursed.

“You would have, had you stayed with the heroes. I hear the heroes are back at the castle while you pop up here and there with demons and cultists. I honestly have no idea what you're trying to do. Even the reports I receive are so vague.” Elaine shoved Fraust’s excuse out of her mind. The man was growing lax, she decided, despite his stern exterior.

“What happened to Branwere?” she asked.

“Dead.”

“You fools,” Elaine hissed, squeezing the Scepter. Branwere was a good man, honest and worthy. “How many times did I order you not to take it too far? The Legion simply needs to survive. These wars will never end Sygen, not until a worse war begins and a worse still takes its place. You could bring half the armies of the world and they’d butcher each other and start over. Until the world ends,” her voice dipped into a whisper, “We are not here to win each war. We’re here to... you of all people should learn that.”

“I try, sister,” Sygen grated. “Being passive has only earned us insults and allegations, from our own side even. The Keepers sent word too.”

Elaine struggled against clenching her jaw. It was always the Keepers. In their effort to keep the Legion united and do whatever it was they considered first priority, they sacrificed too much. Sitting there in their Tower of The Seal, unaware of the real turmoil, trading casualties for results, calculating losses and distributing opinions, not knowing that the war never ended at the frontier. The war never ended. Never would, if the world continued its way. And by the time the Keepers understood this, they would be dust in the pages of history.

“Being passive earned us tactical advantage, fewer casualties and more recruits. We're standing here alive thousands of us because I stilled the tide of war. As for the Keepers, they say what they want. A Solarch makes independent decisions on the field. The Keepers adjust to us.”

“It had been that way indeed,” Sygen nodded. “After you took Gallanghar, very few dared to oppose you. It's been a long time since. Things change... our losses have increased. We can't always disobey the Keepers' word, it tightens like a noose around our neck. Sometimes I think that is why they wanted you—

“Don't say that, brother. I would not have taken this,” Elaine held the Scepter to light, “if I had a choice.”

“Be that as it may, your place is no longer at the frontier. Even here, the Solarchs grow impatient. The Infernal War comes, the Keepers expect results, the kingdom expects help and our brothers expect returns. Yet we stand here doing nothing.”

Elaine narrowed her eyes and Sygen continued, “I expected you'd bring the heroes. There's only so much I can manage alone. If you'd just done what I expected, we'd be ready, we'd have a place without appeasing the kingdom and their Orders and their guilds,” Sygen bent over, supporting his chin on clasped hands, “why did you not?”

Elaine shrugged. “Do not hold me to your expectations so stiffly. When the Infernal war does come, if it comes, we will have our place in it. The Legion does not need heroes to survive. It never did.”

“Then why did we send you to Orin?” Fraust responded. “I vouched for you Elaine, yet here you are, back, with allegations to remove you and nothing to show in return.”

“Nothing?” Elaine arched her brow. “You have reports on Cultists and their nefarious plans, you have reports on heroes, you have reports on demons that none expected. Be clear on what the Circle expected in return.”

“There is going to be a gathering at the Orin castle soon,” Sygen said, “in the honor of heroes. Surely you know of that?”

“I have not been informed.”

“Half the nobles have been invited,” Sygen explained. “The High Lords, the High Commanders, the Guild Meisters and even the Archpriests. No mention of the Legion, it's as if we do not belong. We are their people fighting their war for them. But for one person who was invited to the summoning and refused to play her part well, we could have been holding that gathering here. Even Gwyna could have gotten us invited.” There was accusation in his voice that stung Elaine. She always knew why some of the Circle agreed to her attending the summoning but she did not think Sygen to be the same.

“Are you going to pander to the nobles and their politics now?” Elaine diverted the issue.

“Are you going to deny the failure on your part sister?” Sygen impressed. “People follow you, admire you and stand for you. Three young heroes, ready to join the Infernal War, yet they do not join the one side that pursues their same ideal since time immemorial.” The accusation burned Elaine and she scowled for the first time, causing Sygen to flinch.

“I said we do not need heroes, brother,” she glowered, “and no matter how you cut it,” her voice rasped like a sword on its sheath, “I will not seduce them.”

Sygen exhaled exasperatedly and slumped back, drumming his fingers on the table. “The way you put it,” he raised a hand, “it’s the way you put it. Forming a rapport with the heroes is not the same as- that. I would never think those words were yours.”

“You should,” Elaine crossed her arms. “I'll bet no one expected two of the heroes to be females, much less to be in love with the third. Some would have wanted a gallant Defender of Light, else. There are things we're better off not meddling in, brother, trust me. It never brings anything good, meddling with heroes.”

“Then I won't say anymore. Just be prepared to explain it all to the Circle.” Sygen folded the letter in the corner, placing a pebble upon it.

“I will.” Elaine rose to leave, then remembered the reason she decided to visit him. “What happened to the Bell of Mook? The one I requested of the Keepers,” she enquired.

“To replace the one at Farthin?” Sygen rubbed his chin in thought. “They dispatched it but it hasn’t arrived. Maybe you should send a messenger to Farthin?”

“Where is the merchant?” Elaine frowned. “He’s supposed to pass by Bizeon about now.”

Sygen shook his head in denial. “He should be coming soon.”

“Let me know when he comes.”

With a sour mind, Elaine left the room, never bothering to look at the letter Sygen kept in the corner. The letter was a response to serious allegations against the Maiden of Light—allegations that framed her for indiscriminate murder and possible conspiracy. Sygen sighed and ripped the letter to shreds as Elaine shut the door before him. “I really hope you’re prepared, sister,” he told the air. “The Circle is merciless.”

Outside, Boris still waited his place with face low and knapsack beside. Beneath his childish demeanor, Elaine saw a boy stubborn beyond reason, following one thing and yearning after another. She squeezed her fists and let the anger recede. She lost. Things were slipping from her grasp. Like a handful of sand, a voice taunted. She stubbed it and formed a smile on her face, billowing anger through her will.

Boris shuddered and made a hasty grab for his knapsack. “I did not speak a word,” he said. “No one asked me anything.”

“Good,” Elaine answered. “Let's get you to your quarters, if you want to stay.” In rapid strides, she took a path towards the trainee quarters, Boris hurrying behind.

_____________________

Notes-

1- Aldaan, Ka'taar, Yorthal and Inazi are subraces of elves. No, humans don't have any subrace. Yes, there's a reason. No, I won't tell.

2- Elkeen is a very misunderstood term. Humans confuse Elkeen with Aldaan and residents of Ilmaar. Elkeen is the structure/system of governance formed under the philosophy of one Faar'la-Kin. Eldership stands at it's centre. You can think of them as Elven bureaucrats for now.

3-Ilmaar is the capital province of Cylia. Most Aldaans are residents of Ilmaar. Arkadia is the largest province of Cylia.

4- Quote:“Child of Silverdeens… I am not a man who could forsake his family for his nation.”

“No. You’re just a man who forsook his family and his nation.”

Refer to ch3 verses.

Elves are proud of their blood. Any elf that marries outside of his race is exiled, without a choice. If they want to go back, they must leave the family they married behind (spouse/children/etc) If they bring their family back, they and their family are punished (and sometimes, executed- "What choice is there between love and death?" "Sacrifice")

In Urga'thil's mind his family is the one he married in

In Diana's mind, his family comprises the parents he abandoned

Elves refer to themselves and others often as belonging to their families- 'Diana of Silverdeens' 'Child of Yeralds'

5- Almost forgot, the intrinsic part of will depends mainly on two things -inheritance (parents) and upbringing (the early/formative years of your life)

Diana was raised very strictly. Her will is an expression of courage and a keen desire for freedom.

Jorrel's will is a result of bitter childhood. It represents his desire to vent.

What does Elaine's will represent?

6- Elves do not drink alchohol. They avoid it like a plague (with some exceptions).

The thing is, anyone with a strong will is more prone to affect of depressants/sedative-hypnotics/anticonvulsants/psychotropic/psychedelic/etc. basically, substances affecting the mind work very strongly upon them. The effect is less pronounced with scythians.

Usually, a glass of wine is enough to send an elf unconscious (or rarely comatose or even dead). Even otherwise, a drunk elf is as dangerous as a moonstruck elf and often turns into one. This is ironical because most distillation techniques for alchohol were probably created by elves. They use it for three purposes- alchemy, poison and export (to dwarves/humans/etc)

7- Landfalls- a disaster where a piece of land splits off and often falls into the ocean. The cliffs of Marbess (c10-11) were formed this way. The "otherside" of Shadows of Sik (map, c14) used to be larger and sunk. The Spines of Sik (c1) were once peaks that connected the Shadows of Sik with the Widow's Peaks, they sunk into the Anatheim Sea and are a big reason for how dangerous it has become.

8- Solarch. Legionnaires are ranked by numbers and posts. Solarch is the highest rank a Legionnaire can possess. Elaine is a Solarch and the Maiden of Light. Because the Legion of Light functions as partially decentralized, all Solarchs can be considered leaders.

9- Keepers (of The Seal of Light). The advisory body of the Legion that serves to maintain communication between Legion factions in different places and nations. It also allows the trade of the Bell of Mook (a very rare product as you will see.) from special dwarven forges to other nations.

10-Minor fact. Diana can be written as Dyana or Daena, it sounds more as a mix of all three than any one. Similarly, Jorrel can be written as Shorrel or Zorrel, it sounds somewhere in between all of these. Urga'thil and Elsana are pretty much correct as it is.

I mostly want to shorten the chapters and make them very fast to read. I am still struggling with that. I want individual chaps to be under 5.5k. Don't worry about content, another chapter (or more, hopefully) should come soon. They're in works. Leave feedback about the current chapter length and flow. Thanks.

RL strikes again! There have been a lot of black crows flying around my house these days. I have a premonition that some blackish is about to happen and thus I have locked myself in an underground shelter to save my self from the upcoming nuclear apocalypse that these crows have whispered to me. Since I don't command the power of will like my mc i will use these mortal instruments to save my life. IN SHORT "NO UPDATES FOR NEXT SEVERAL MONTHS.. hahahaha(evil smirk). [Real reason: New job, moving out and 18-20hr work, no weekends, happens in my profession, is actually enjoyable though, Really sorry for raising your hopes, still writing but barely enough time to give finishing touch to next three chaps, won't release unedited, wish me luck. I really, really, really want to write but life isn't permitting. I will keep coming back to post any chapters I can but again, I have to focus more on my RL. Maybe when it is stabler...]

A bit of spoiler: The story is not unplanned. Proof is in prologue. The six verses describe the premise. Part 1 (The Demise) describes the dark undertone and introduces the letter that ties the whole story together. Part 2 (Repeating cliche) introduces the snarky overtone and the summoning glyph that ties whole volume 1 together. Almost everything I have shown you till now (and will show you) relates to the summoning glyph.

SORRY!!