Mor’iel was riding on a horse he had taken in Lamina. The weather had grown cold and windy, but he had a warm woollen cape on, which he was thankful for.

He had left the city at dawn, as soon as the gates opened, as small as the chance were, there was always a risk of him being seen and recognized during the series of murders he had committed during the night.

He was now travelling to Agnellia, an immense and ancient fortress dating to the days before the landing of the elves in Maëgor, so long ago that none remembered the ones having once built it and ruled from its high towers. The castle was big, built more to be a impregnable fortress barring the way to its enemies than a city palace, like the White Citadel of Andrath.

The rock it was built with was strong and heavy, and had dull dark grey colour, which made it black in the night, giving it a threatening and menacing image. The place had been barred by the peasants and small villages in the surrounding lands as a cursed land, and few had the courage to venture there other than young boys seeking to prove something.

Now only ruins remained; the roof of the great halls had collapsed and the towers had fallen. Yet it was still a stronghold, there was still many thick and strong walls standing on top of the hill, as well as hundreds of rooms and many square donjons with slit openings, like eyes watching you in the dark.

Mor’iel’s eyes were scanning the fortress, looking for signs of life from a far. He stood on a small hilltop a few miles from it, next to a square watch tower. The lands were barren and flat in between him and the fortress, as he knew it was all around it for quite a few miles.

Guards on top of the walls of Agnellia would see the enemy come from very far away; there was no hiding place whatsoever around it.

He had been on his way for a week, and had finally reached his destination. He didn’t hurry though, the last miles still quickly flooded by under his horse, and he arrives before the tall gate house which was still standing. As he entered the ruins, he could feel eyes on him.

He dismounted, and took warm woollen cape’s hood off. “Wal’en, I know you’re there. It’s me.”

He heard a bump behind him. He turned around and saw a figure coming towards him with a broad grin. Mor’iel smiled back and gave him a hug.

“Old friend, it has been a few years.” Wal’en said. He was tall, though not as much as Mor’iel. He had black long hair, in contrast with his deep blue eyes, and a broad mouth with a charming grin.

“It has. How have you been?” Mor’iel said, clapping lightly on his shoulder.

“I have never been better.” He said, smiling. “The plan is developing even better than we had hoped.”

“You have done a good job masking you presence. The time for hiding is over now.” Mor’iel got said. “The wizards are coming for me.”

Wal’en suddenly got alarmed. “They’re following you?”

“No, I left before I had a chance to fight them. I plan to meet them somewhere in the plains surrounding the fortress, out in the open.” He said calmly. He saw the objection coming of Wal’en’s face. “Don’t worry, I have a surprise for them.”

“How do you know they are going to find you?” Wal’en asked, to change his mind of his worries. He didn’t like to make his friend and lord fight his battles alone.

“Well they must have some kind of method. How else would they have hunted all sorcerer families to extinction amongst humans?” He pointed out.

Wal’en nodded. “You got a point.” Other elves were beginning to gather around them, and they all placed a hand on the heart and bowed before Mor’iel.

“How many came with you?” Mor’iel asked while nodding to his followers.

“I came with six-hundred and forty-seven.” He then smiled. “My sister will soon be her with the rest.”

“That’s more than I dared hope for.” Mor’iel hesitated. “And my mother?”

Wal’en made a grimace. “She’s furious. But she won’t take up arms against her own people, and she can’t make us stay otherwise.”

Mor’iel sighed. “We couldn’t hope for better.”

During the next few days, Mor’iel inspected the new fortress. Wal’en had made a supply depot deep inside the fortress, where the temperature was always cold enough. They had meat from the herds of deer sometimes through the plains of Agnellia, and they had an overflow of Leïbe. Leïbe was a vegetable oval shaped that grew in the soil. It came from Silvanwood, and was very nourishing, and when you planted one in the soil, many would grow from it.

They also had stables with horses, which they had bought and taught themselves to ride in the last few years. In the forest, horses were not something they had possessed.

The elves wore mithril chainmail, and light but warm clothes. They had curbed swords, spears, glaives and shields in different forms, all made of mithril at the time of Gala’ad, as well as bows and arrows which were more recently made.

The elves were all without exception masters of the employ of their weapons, after many centuries of practise. Their armoury was full, more or less stolen from his mother in Silvanwood. But he regretted nothing; what he did was for the sake of the entire elven race.

He had sent half a dozen warriors to occupy the watchtower, so he would see the magicians coming, and he had specifically ordered them not to engage them. Otherwise, they would be decimated by the wizards

Almost three weeks had passed when the scouts came riding back at full gallop. Mor’iel, who was sitting eating lunch at the moment immediately stood up, and walked at a first pace over to them.

“Sire! There is at least a hundred coming!” A tall elf announced.

“Very well. I will meet them.” The elf looked anxious, but Mor’iel had a confident expression on his face although he felt anxiety over the upcoming clash. He didn’t rush though, he calmly took a horse and rode out to meet them. He made his horse walk at a slow pace, and revised his plan in his head.

Then he saw them. More than half of them were soldiers, escorting them probably. Upon seeing him they all stopped up, some pointing fingers and others grinning, sure of their victory.

He could already sense some of them preparing defences. He dismounted, and walked over to meet them. He saw a tall and thin woman holding a sort of globe in her fist, staring at it and then him repeatedly.

She then took it away, and took the head of the group. They stopped thirty feet from him.

“I’m Alyss Fey, and I’m hunting a sorcerer. You’re the sorcerer?” She said with a straight face. He didn’t respond. She took a quick glance at another man, who Mor’iel saw was Filian. Surprisingly, Ellyn stood next to the young mage. Filian nodded.

“Did you murder Meslis in his home?” She then asked arrogantly. This was more of an interrogation and execution for them, Mor’iel realised.

He made a charming smile. “I did. And I also killed Pingran, Sven and Lain last year, as well as Mandel two years ago,” the list went on, to include over a dozen names in the last five years. The wizards were bitter and furious, but apparently they had agreed to let Alyss handle him alone. So foolish, he thought. “And now, I am going to kill you.” He said with his index finger pointing at them.

“You didn’t even defeat them in duel. You murdered them in cold blood by surprise, one after another. You coward!” A wizard said, nearly spitting.

Mor’iel’s smile vanished, leaving place to a cold expression. “You’re hunting sorcerers with extreme prejudice. You would have come for me anyway, it was but a question of time. I just hit first.”

“And you proved us right. You cannot be let alive.” Alyss said. A few soldiers were holding torches behind her, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to use fire, a wizard’s must destructive weapon. A wizard couldn’t create elements, only manipulate them.

She launched a fire sphere at Mor’iel, which he easily batted aside with his Loth, making it explode prematurely. Then he made a fist with his hand, and slowly opened it, leaving a strong red light emerge through his fingers, with dozens of small white lights like fireflies furiously whirling about inside.

“Soul magic! And then your question why we’re hunting you? How many have you murdered?”

“Enough.” Mor’iel said. In his palm were the power of tens of souls. Every being had roughly the same size of soul at birth, and therefore roughly the same power, wizards and sorcerers were just the only ones able to channel that power, although in different ways. Wizards manipulated elemental magic while sorcerers could tamper with souls, as well as use their sorcery which included different abilities like the Loth.

Alyss made a fire stream this time, a more consuming spell but much more difficult to fend off. Mor’iel guided his Loth in front of him to take the blunt of it, while he released his spell with his right hand.

Tens of Ignisen erupted from his palm all directed towards the enemy group. They were shaped like small dark spheres, with a trail of blood coloured fire behind them, which was why he they resembled Ignisen. But its real name was an Ignisen. Alyss interrupted her spell, Filian jumped out to the side.

Some wizards just stared in horror at their approaching doom in the few seconds they had, some tried to defend themselves with wind, and even water, which they retracted from their water supply, but they were to slow. Each Ignisen had the raw power of one soul, which made it equivalent to the entire power of one wizard.

He could also make them out of his own power, but that was much more taxing, while other souls just required careful preparation and to cast a spell to transform them into energy for the Ignisen first. A much longer process, but worth it.

Just before they reached the groups, he saw a white blinding light. One of them had an escaping artefact. Probably the leader, the so-called Alyss. Then his attack landed.

The Ignisen made huge explosions, ripping limbs and bodies apart and spraying guts everywhere. In the following chaos the surviving soldiers whom were standing with enough distance to the magicians were fleeing with severe burns and wounds, covered in ash and blood. It was difficult for Mor’iel to assess exactly how much damage he had caused, because of the craters and smoke, but he could spot numerous ripped apart bodies.

He took a step forward but then the world began to turn for him, and he was suddenly watching the sky, lying on his back. The strain on his body was huge with such an amount of raw power being released through him.

He had created and used a technique to increase his soul’s power, only feasible thanks to his longevity. It consisted on ripping a little piece of his soul out and sealing it in his mithril ring, then waiting for his soul to heal through a few years, and finally adding the soul part in the ring to his healed soul, forcing it to expand and become more powerful. Then repeating the same process again.

Needlessly to say, this had been an extremely slow and painful process. If he took too much of his soul, he could lose his life. Mor’iel had been doing this for more than a millennia, and only stopped a few decades ago. Without this, just one Ignisen with his own power would have been straining, but now he could make a dozen of them.

In all the books and information he had picked up in his life, he had never heard of a sorcerer as powerful as he, which gave him huge self-satisfaction.

With a long look on the carnage, he then returned to his horse, and rode back to his men. When he arrived he would sent squads out to clean up the rest of the enemies. And he would rest, preparing for the next big step in the plan.