rossing the enchanted borders, they beheld the trees lighter and taller than before, the path widening into the form of a highway, the forest canopy retreating to let sunlight wash the travellers with blinding light. It was a welcome change from the dark forests, as anyone would be after spending a week travelling through a network of caves and forests.

"Finally, some civilisation," Vilyánur rejoiced, "I can't wait to see civilisation once again."

"Civilisation? No, you will not find that here, my Lord Lindrúin," Mey laughed. "We are anything but civilised."

They all chuckled at his comment, even the wood-elves. "You are lucky the grey-elves built the Silver City ere succumbing to the plague," Mey continued. "Otherwise we'd never have a capital this beautiful."

"Forget a capital, what you need the most is roads," said Vil, "and I know we cut a week's worth of time using the network of caves, but most outsiders will not be used to them."

"They need not travel so far inland," said Nixior, "you are friends of Meneldir, and revered heroes of legend, which is why we are honouring you as such. Had you been anyone else, you'd have been lying dead in the outskirts of Angdor by now."

Vilyánur laughed, "even if I were a common centurion, your wolf-riders would have never dared to face us." He glared at the wolf-riders, meeting fearful eyes from them. "Heavy armour and kite shields are not something meagre arrows or makeshift spears can penetrate, and our lances can punch a hole through your wicker shields."

The less armoured soldiers in the vanguard looked at them with a sight of fear and respect; they knew he was not bluffing. Just a week ago they witnessed a knight's lance go through a dark wolf's pelt, a pelt which their spears failed to scratch.

"Anyway, we're there," said Mey, Vil looked up to look at the gates of Silverhearth.

Unlike most high-elf cities Vil had seen, Silverhearth was five cities joined by a network of roads and surrounded by a layer of lofty walls, with farmlands between each sub-city – an innovative design, to be sure. Each of the three gates was a winding path up onto the plateau upon which Silverhearth stood.

The palace stood upon an island on the river Angkreb, separated from the other parts of the city by a torrent of icy water, connected by a bridge that spanned over the river.

"Interesting design," commented Vil, "taking the city by force will be difficult."

"Difficult? More like impossible," said Mey, "Ancient designs do not fail easy."

"As unfair as is, the ancients just had a lot of time on their hands to improve their designs. We work theoretically, they did practically," Vil complained.

...

Following the highway, the host entered the royal district, dismounting their horses at the stables to head into the palace halls on foot. The long, twisty path to the king's chambers passed through the Hall of Fame: a serene hallway holding stories of many of the wood-elven heroes.

Most of them were fairly mundane (if that word can be applicable to heroes) pictures found in every noble dwelling, save for one: one of the portraits showed the effigy of a hero clad in silver battling against what seemed to be a shadowy monster – a creature of fire and shadow, a daemon of some sort.

Though at first Vilyánur mistook the silver-armoured knight to be a wood-elven hero, he soon noticed the sword in his hand which seemed to be a high-elven blade. A bolt of lightning danced about his blade as he held it aloft. He made no mistake, it was him.

"What a beautiful hall," he commented.

"You know," said Meneldir, "this hall contains a thousand portraits, and my most favourite of them-"

"Be silent, prince..." Nixior barked, "it is unfit for you to ramble about your interests, I doubt Prince Lindrúin will be interested in your words. You should learn to control yourself."

"No, it's okay," said Vil, "which one's your favourite?"

"Never mind," said Mey, lowering his head. "I need to control myself around him," he thought.

"You can tell me whatever you want," said Vil to him, "I am neither offended nor irritated, and you're an old friend of mine."

"My lord," Nixior called, "I know your patience is limitless and lust of adventure unending, but do not instigate our prince, for he needs to learn how to behave."

"As if any of you do not," – Vil thought, careful not to speak out loud.

"And for his actions Lord Meneldir shall be rebuked, that I'll ensure."

"No! You can't do that," Mey looked at him in fright, "I didn't even do anything. I-I . . . I was just trying to do good to the realm: protecting the realm from daemons isn't a crime, is it?"

"Do not think you can fool me," said Nixior, "my helm has enchantments that dispel your powers."

"Ah, enchantments . . . so 'tis not an intrinsic quality of yours," Vil thought to himself, grasping a bug he had mind-controlled, "thank you for revealing your own secrets, you'll be the cause of your own downfall."

The bug leapt from Vil's hand and onto Nixior's shoulder, climbing up his hair and into his helm. "Ugh," Nixior removed his helm in irritation, "these bugs seem to be getting everywhere these days."

"Yes, true," said Vil with the wave of a hand, "just like daemons . . . that need to be hunted down and killed. And of course, Mey did nothing wrong."

"Yes, exactly," he said and donned his helm on.

Mey looked at Vil in amazement, "thanks," he said telepathically with a smile. Vil smiled back.

*****

A king's hall was a cairn of silver adorned with gold and gems, a tall throne stood at the end of the corridor washed by sunlight. The halls were lofty, big enough for an elder thunderbird to flap his wings in and not hit the walls.

From one of the stairs leading to the other rooms descended a man Vilyánur had seen but once before: the old king had greenish-amber eyes and auburn hair, much like his son. He was about the height of Vilyánur, garbed in silver robes which dazzled as bright as the full moon.

On his head was a wooden thorny crown with antlers rising high, his cloak was decorated with long strips of feathers, his gauntlets adorned with tiger claws.

BEHOLD! KING ARVEDUI!

A silver trumpet sounded at a distance, and the wood-elf knelt before him, but Vil and his retinue knew not to kneel, for this practice was alien to them. Back in the Kingdom of Alinor, kings and generals were addressed by a stomp of the right foot and a bold salute, but this wasn't appropriate for a foreign king now, was it? Vil just stood there, awkwardly staring.

"Lord Lindrúin," said the king at last, "a pleasure of mine to meet you it is."

"The pleasure is mine, King Arvedui," said Vilyánur with a bow, "you seem to be as I remember, even though that was two hundred years ago."

"I remember you too, ex-prince..." the king continued, "I remember your father . . . can't say I'm fond of him, but an honourable man he was, me not acknowledging that will be foolish."

Vil smiled, "I've heard about your exploits too, you are an able leader too."

The king bowed. "What brings you here, young one? Ill news, I hope not?"

"As is, my lord," said Vil, "we were minding our business on our side of the borders when we saw a meteor land in the forests – a herald of chaos, tainting the land around it."

"So?" the king asked nonchalantly, "such things are common, nay?"

"Not exactly, my lord," said Vil, "I fear we might be living at the doors of another great battle, one far greater than the ones we fought before. Though I cannot be sure, I believe Krayn's invasion was not the last one."

The king delved in thought, "do not be worried, I'm pretty sure 'tis no such fuss."

"I can confirm, my lord," said Nixior, "what he says is true, we saw the thing-"

"Did I ask you to attest for him?" scoffed the king, "when I would want the opinion of a mindless warmongering thug like yourself, I will ask for it. What mind tricks he may have played on you will have no effects on me."

And there was a brief silence mingled with suppressed laughter.

...

"Father," Meneldir approached him at last, "Lord Lindrúin is no novice in matters of daemons and destruction. I beg of you to at least hear him out, consider the possibility-"

"Silence," said the king, "I have a kingdom to run, I have neither time nor resources to be spent in daemon-hunting. As for you, I hope you get over your obsession with high-elves."

"But, my lord," said Vilyánur, "I know chaos when I see it. There isn't a shortage of daemons who would seek to exploit holes in the barrier; it is viable that the damage dealt to the barrier by Daemon-King Krayn attracted-"

"Ooh," the king groaned, "how long will I have to speak before I can make it clear: I will not waste my resources on hunting things that don't exist!"

"Fiendish attercop!" murmured Vil to himself.

"Did you say anything?" the king turned back.

Suddenly something overtook Vil, a strange smugness driving him over. "For long I wondered why we were at war, but now I realised: some people are just too wise to hear others out, dousing their kingdom in authoritarian ideologies none but they agree with."

The king looked infuriated. "I know how to govern my kingdom, you dare not order me!"

Vil stood looking at him with an expressionless face, incurring the old king's wrath upon himself. The king closed in, giving him a death stare. Even though any normal elf would have cowered away at this, Vil stood steadfast, neither did he move, nor did he avert his eyes. Unblinking he peered back, bolts of lightning bouncing between his eyes.

A minute passed, but it seemed Vil was become a statue. The king broke contact and looked away. "I have spoken." Suddenly his expression changed, a welcoming smile stretched upon his face, "Lord Vilyánur, you must be tired for the long journey. Nixior, why don't you take him to the royal apartments?"

Vil smiled back, "as you wish, your majesty."

Sharing a last glance with the king, Vilyánur and his host emptied the halls. It was a strange day for the wood-elves; even Nixior, being how haughty he was, was nothing compared to Vil in terms of pride, it seemed to them.

For two days the high-elves rested with their woodland brethren, and on the third they finally set out for home.

*****

"Forgive me for everything that happened, I wish my father had not been so harsh on you. To ignore the words of an esteemed shadowslayer is folly."

"Nay, do not lament," Vil said in a soothing tone. "You had nothing with it."

"Once again, I merely hope he was pretending to be ignorant," Mey wished, "otherwise we're in deep trouble."

"Don't stress on it," Vil advised him, "sooner or later, things will change."

Vil reached out and rested his hand on Mey's shoulder, sending a wave of glee into his mind. Whether it was merely the feeling of having his old friend by his side, or an enchantment of arcane nature, Meneldir was grateful for it. He half-wished Vil would stay a week or two, but at the same time he knew there was no way their closeness could pass unnoticed.

"So . . . what now?" asked Mey, Vil gave him a grateful nod.

"What these attacks signify, I know not. But this I know: your people shall be its first victims."

The very thought of it sent a shudder down Meneldir's spine.

"I suggest doubling the forest watch, for a start."

"Aye, that sounds like a reasonable approach," Mey nodded. "Except monitoring hundreds of millions of acres of untamed forests dominated by a thousand tribes and hundred vassal kingdoms is no easy task. Especially considering how much some of the heartland tribes love us."

Vilyánur nodded, lost in thought.

"But alright, I will try anyway. Not like it'll attain anything though, we're all trapped in our own fantasies; our world lays stagnated by decadence and inaction."

"How difficult is it for you people to control all your subjects?"

"Impossible," Mey replied, chuckling in a silly manner, "I mean . . . for the most part all the tribes and petty kingdoms function pretty independently, the only thing connecting us the gods we worship, not even that at times."

Vil nodded, he could understand the situation, but there was little he loathed more than a league of loosely allied powers masquerading as one kingdom, but what other choice did the wood-elves have anyway?

"I know what you think," said Mey, "how come we even call ourselves a 'kingdom' when we are not even a unified force but rather a confederacy, something in between a feudal monarchy and your state."

"I've seen this form of administration before," said Vil, lost in thought, "but still I can never get a hold of it. Why not just have a senate with one senator for each tribe? We do that in our own kingdom, and it works perfectly well."

"Every tribe thinks differently," Mey answered, "we'd never reach a single decision."

"Really? Then how do you do it now?"

"Every tribe functions autonomously, just that we of the Dragonseer Clan get to have the first say. It functions a bit like how vassalage works in other parts of the world."

"We have different autonomies for different city-states too," said Vil, "and a grand senate to govern the big matters."

"So your uncle's position as monarch is . . . is it a vestigial relic of the imperialistic past?"

"Oh, no, not exactly," said Vil, "he's still the monarch, and can be handed dictatorship, and he also commands all the house-legions, which work independently and can be mustered faster than the state-legions can be."

Mey gave him a confused look, "maybe politics isn't my strongest side."

"Neither is mine," Vil chuckled. "But unfortunately I have to."

"But at least your legions are more organised than ours," said Mey, "it can take over a month for all our legions to assemble, which will be a good thing for you . . . I can't believe I'm saying this, I'm revealing our weaknesses to my enemy."

Vil took a keen look at him. "Hey, are we enemies?"

Mey nodded sideways, "I mean, right now amid this cold war, yes. But I'd like to not be. I do not want to fight you in any condition."

"What a relief," said Vil half-jokingly, "you are swifter than me; you'll defeat me in single combat by sheer speed alone. I can't even hope to fight you, for that'll be my funeral."

"I don't think I can take on you," Mey replied, "but for once I'd like to leave this untested."

...

They both knew what a tense state their nations were going through: for the last thirty centuries this cold war had endured, an entire generation knew nothing more to exist between the Imperium of Alinor and the Forest Kingdom than feral animosities and bitter rivalry issues.

At this point, the only reason the wood-elves didn't launch an assault was unfavourable terrain, the uselessness of light infantry upon the high-elf legionnaires, and the doubtable allegiance of some of the tribes.

And the reason the high-elves didn't start a campaign into the forests was the total uselessness of cavalry charges and heavy infantry in the dense, mist-ridden, shade-haunted vales of the woodlands.

"I do not want there to be a war of such nature, that'd be a terrible waste of resources."

"There won't be a war," Mey complied, "but long-standing stalemates, yes."

"Which basically means that we won't be getting any aid in case of an interdimensional crisis?"

"Not per se, some of the tribes might help, others may not."

"What are those that might?" asked Vil, their platoon having left the city gates and now in the outskirts.

"I'll make a list and mail you in a couple days, right now the only clans I can think of as potential allies are the ones whose patriarchs and matriarchs I know personally."

Vilyánur nodded, all the while looking around attentively for signs of border-patrols or homesteads.

"I could instead just ask my friends to help you, they can catalogue the tribes and clans much better than I ever can hope to-"

"Shush," Vil put a finger on Mey's lips, whispering to him: "dismount."

Mey dismounted, Vil following him. With a grasp of his shoulders, Vil pulled Mey into the woods, changing his voice and tone almost entirely. "I've missed you."

A warm feeling filled Mey's heart, his eyes grew wider and heartbeats faster.

"I've missed you too."

He grasped Vil's cheek and leant in closer. Under the feathery leaves of an orchid tree, they shared a kiss, their eyes closed and minds and moods interlinked.

"I want you to come visit me some day," said Vil.

"Sure I will, what should I tell your bodyguards?"

"Give them this," said Vil, handing Mey a golden coin. "That'll shut them up, just come visit me whenever you want. I won't mind."

Mey smiled and kissed again, "as you wish, my lord."

"Good bye!" said Mey, riding back home as Vil walked out of the forest, homeward bound. He looked back one more time as he saw the carmine banners of the knights of Alinor fade into a sea of darkness, simmering out like a distant dream.