il!" Mey jumped at him, cushioning his pale, cold body as it made its way for the ground; he was heavier than Mey, but still enough to bear on for a little while. "Vil, are you alright?"

"He is," said Vareth, walking out of a pile of bodies, soaked in blood and bile, his axe blunted.

"Aye, that keeps happening occasionally," Aeresil joined in. "The siphon claimed a great part of his mana, I hope it was not too long an exposure."

Vareth reached for him, slipping his hands under his shoulders and thighs, picking him up into his lap. Vil's head rested on Vareth's huge chest, hands dangling from his body like dread vines, trying to curl up into foetal position. Seeing him like that, Vareth couldn't help but crack a smile.

"What's so funny, Vareth?" asked Aeresil.

"Oh, nothing. It's just . . . at times he'd fall asleep on the sofa, and I'd pick him up like this and take him to his chambers, it's just . . . forgive me, I'm being nostalgic."

Aeresil laughed, "ah, yes. He's just taller than before, still the same child he once was."

Mey looked at him and laughed, hard to believe this was the fabled hero who had defeated the Daemon-King Krayn, singlehandedly or not. I am become Morthaur, Vil mumbled in his sleep, somewhat cutely.

"Anyway, we should leave now," said Aeresil, "we are so close to our goal, let's not tarry any further."

"Agreed," said Mey, "let us leave."

And thus it came: a fell voice draped in a cloak of gloom, reverberating through the long halls, ringing in their ears like a fell screech. "Foolish mortals!" said the voice, "You think you can escape the inevitable? Fools! You shall all die, like those who came before you, hear now the tramp of doom and know your end is nigh! Never shall you again see the light of day!"

The portals around them blinked, summoning daemons of great shapes out of them.

"Oh no," Mey gasped, "run, RUN!"

Now was not the time to stand and fight, they were barely half a thousand against gods-know how many daemons. Wood-elves retreated first, the knights following, and the elite legionnaires of Vilyánur at the end, claiming many lives with their retreat.

...

A vortex of seminal powers welled up inside the cave, forming into something sinister in appearance – a shadow of Morthaur, a wretched abomination of smoke and dust, with a black aura about it and eyes as red as the sixth circle of hell.

"There is no escape!" shouted the god, spawning daemons of the highest order to accompany him. And the elves fled, struck by fear as the servants of the god walked up to them with disdain. Nobody dared to stand before the foe's eternal might, or so they thought.

"Bring down the entrance!" shouted the twins.

"On it," said Mey, using his powers on the entrance, but to little avail. His energy was not enough to bring down the mouth, but who else could help him? Nobody dared to stand there in the mouth of death – nobody, save one.

"Garamond!" shouted Meneldir, "what are you doing?"

"Go, my lords!" he shouted, "for the glory of Alledoria!"

Thus with his hooves he struck the pillars of the cliff, and the mouth collapsed thereafter, leaving none but Garamond and a few of his faithful on the other side of the cave. Meneldir and a few other elves peeked into the caves from the gaps between the boulders, seeing the old satyr prepare to make his last stand.

The rocks rang with the shrill music of Garamond's hooves, and his voice came keen and clear down the dark pits. One by one, the champions of Morthaur essayed, but Garamond struck them down each the same, but his own champions followed therein. At length only Garamond stood alone, mighty and proud as a beacon of courage, cloaked in fire and shadow and wounded with five wounds.

At the end he faced the heavy swinge of a mace upon his helmless head, and then was dealt the mortal blow by the sword of a greater fire daemon. With his dying breath he cursed the daemons thrice ere he plunged to the earth.

But the warlocks dared not raise his corpse, for before they with their foul appendages could lay evil upon him, he burst into a vibrant array of colours and faded into nothingness.

"Garamond Satyr-King," said Meneldir in lament, "your death was not in vain. For long shall thy sacrifice be remembered, I promise."

*****

As Vilyánur opened his eyes, a stream of pale light washed them with brilliance. He could see shadows moving in the light, jumping here and there. And in the midst of it, a voice spoke up. "Good morrow, my lord."

Vil groaned, rubbing the weariness off his brows with his fingers, rocking his shoulders to free himself from paralysis. He was in his bedroll, within a small tent erected in the wilderness for his privacy. As he opened his eyes and sat upright, Glarion approached him.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Glarion?" he questioned, "when did you come?"

"The rising swirls of power: anyone could have spotted them from miles on an end, although we were told this could happen, so we were here already."

"Here already?" he gave a puzzled look, "why?"

"I and my companions were in a nearby village, on semi-military errands for the locals, when an elven maiden, fair of face and of skill, approached us. Your lord is in trouble, she said to us, will you come and aid us in his rescue?"

Arial, he thought, or maybe Niall?

"Though at first we were hesitant, knowing well the price we might have to pay, but the longer she went describing the situation, the more we were convinced. And so, with a heart of hatred and lance of courage, many of the locals following, we went to war."

Vil put his hand forward, shaking Glarion's. "Sir Glarion, I thank you with all my heart. For breaking the shieldwall, it is you and the knights that I have to thank, and the wood-elves too."

"We are just doing our duty, sir. As your defenders, it is our task to protect you. And protect you we have for the last three days."

Something struck Vil all of a sudden, "I do not know which question I should ask first, but was I asleep for three days? And what ills fell upon us whilst I slept?"

Glarion lowered his head, "yes, and none so far but I do not think that means none will."

Vil tilted his head, "and where is Prince Meneldir?"

"We sent him off. He had been so worried about you, poor boy stood there night and day, ever vigil for whatever may ail you. It was not easy getting rid of him, he only agreed after we swore to stand here on vigil as long as he slept and ate."

A small pain grasped Vil's chest, he couldn't believe Mey actually did that. "Anyway, call for him, and get me something, I'm starving."

"As you wish, lord."

...

His request was issued with great care. Under the warm summer sun he rested, feasting on their emergency rations, emptying alone the full-day ration-packs of two soldiers, sitting in his tent alone save for Glarion who wandered about in and out.

"Have your powers returned to you, my lord?" asked Glarion at length.

Vil stretched his arm, a bolt of lightning bounced between his fingers, ionising the air between them. "So it has," he said, "but I fail to see why that is relevant."

"Because the lines of power are tightening around this nexus, which means we can finally use our mobile pylon to escape."

"Escape? No, we didn't come here to escape," said Vil, "we should be on our way to meet the Dragon Lord Caravir, he can aid us in our quest."

Sir Glarion nodded, "oh, alright, sir. Do you want us to stay with you until the end of your exploits?"

"That won't be necessary, Sir Glarion, you can go off and do what you were originally planning to do. Maybe leave the mobile pylon with us, that'll help us warp to friendlier territory once we accomplish what we had set out to do."

"As you wish, lord," he nodded, standing up and leaving for his men.

For a mere two seconds Vil was left alone in his room – two seconds.

"Vil!" out of nowhere, Mey leapt upon him from the shadows.

"Mey," Vil rubbed his cheek with his, driving his fingers through the soft red curls. "How are you?"

"Far better, now that you're up."

"Hey, nobody can harm me," Vil chuckled, "it will take far more than brute force to take me down, I promise you."

"I was so scared when they put the siphon on you," he whimpered, "I felt like . . . like-"

Vil put his finger on Mey's lips. "Shh . . . I'm alive, and so are you, that's all that matters." Mey grasped Vil's hand and kissed it, then moved his head closer and bit on his lips. "Mey," he kissed back, "we shouldn't be doing this here, and we should get going."

"I care not," he replied, "I have you, what else can I need-"

A loud voice interrupted them, drawing them to horror. "What was that?"

The host looked up in despair: green shadows emerge!

*****

No sooner than his upward pointing was he proven true. Ere the elves could properly look up, they were caught in a web of emerald fire – chaotic flame burned their figures to nothingness, leaving only their screams echoing across the mountain dell, and amidst the confusion came a screech so piercing and shrill the elves had to shield their ears.

From the sky thereafter descended a dragon – a beast of purple scales, green eyes without pupils, membranous wings of brown, and a body which bent by the will of the wind.

Archers! Loose!" Niall commanded, and her wood-elves answered with a volley upon the dragon, but their darts of iron pierced not the hide which formed its underbelly.

So this is how it ends, thought Meneldir, clutching Vilyánur's hand and summoning joyful thoughts into his mind even though he thought it was vain to try to hold out longer.

He closed his eyes and tried to feel the energy of the world around him, until his fleeing thought heard a voice – another roar coming from above, accompanied by fearful energies falling from the skies.

In a flash as it seemed, a fireball fell from the skies, grasping a dragon by its skull and dismembering it from the neck, the two colossi whirled above a few times and in the end the chaos dragon was thrown down onto the ground by the combined inertia of the two.

There was another – a forest dragon. His scales brown and green, butterfly patterns on his wings, elk-like antlers on his head, and his entire body draped in green vines.

Cheer and hail seized the air: the forest dragons had discovered them.

Two more forest dragons entered the show, the flames they breathed powerful enough to cow the breath of chaos and heal the elves of their wounds. They flew around, but did not land, except for one.

He came in like a gentle breeze, his wings grey and patternless, one of his antlers broken, but still his vestige great enough to cast a shadow upon the elves.

"Fire and glory, travellers, welcome to the Abode of Caravir, I am the Lord of the Land, Caravir of Alledoria."

"Greetings, o great one," bowed Meneldir, "it is good to see an old ally again."

"Prince Meneldir, and Lord Vilyánur," Caravir lowered his head, "I knew you two would turn up, so I had foreseen."

"Oh, then you must know why we are here," said Meneldir. "O Caravir, Lord of the Forests, I know how great a warrior you are, and also of your kindred's weariness after the Second War, and even though I feel it will not be good of me to ask your kin's aid again, but we are in peril and in the need of someone of your prowess."

"I know," said Caravir, "for the winds bore to me the news: I know what it is you fear, for it is also in my mind."

"And that is not all," said Meneldir, "even though I brought notice of this to my father months ago, he pays no heed to my callings, deeming all of this a simple fantasy and minor warbands. O great one, we need thy assistance in making the Forest King certain that this is no fantasy, but another Great War."

"Very well," said Caravir, "I shall come with you to Silverhearth and beckon to your father of what is right. Thank you for telling me."

"The honour is ours, Lord Caravir," said Vilyánur. "I hope you can draw the Forest King unto our side, for we are in need of the wood-elves in this war."

"I will try," said Caravir. "For now I have to leave, and I suggest you should leave as well. Do not let the spies of the king find out about the two of you."

Caravir gave a final bow and jumped into the air, flapping his great wings and disappearing into a vortex of leaves thereafter.

"Well," said Mey, "that's dealt with."

"And now I'll be returning," said Vil, "go back to Silverhearth to try and convince your father, in the meantime I have some research to do, and for that I need to go to the Imperial Library at Arcturus."

"Good enough," Meneldir sighed, "I suggest you to leave now, warp back as quickly as VIL, WATCH OUT!"

Vil looked back, oh so luckily missing an arrow to his neck. "Shieldwall!" the legionnaires shouted, forming a tortoise in the middle of the road.

...

"Aha, caught red-handed," King Arvedui approached from the shadows, "now, son, what do you have to say about this? What excuses do you have for claiming the lives of our own vassals and consorting with enemies."

"Dad, I didn't mean it, I just-" Vil put a dagger to his neck.

"Step back!" Vil threatened the king's men, "one move and I slit your prince's throat."

"Vil, tell me you're being pretentious," Mey whispered, but Vil replied not.

"Please don't," the king said in fear, "soldiers, do not shoot."

Ever so slowly Vil moved towards the tortoise his men formed, Mey now wondering if Vil was even doing what he thought was right . . . maybe Morthaur had him possessed, or maybe he was just pretending, but what if Mey had really been a poor judge of character? No, that couldn't have been . . . could it have?

"Mey," Vil whispered to him, once in the tortoise, "I will count to three, run to your father then are there."

Mey nodded.

"One, two, . . . three!"

Mey made a run for it, dashing out of the tortoise of red shields and towards the royal guards, only to stumble and fall to the ground. "Now!" the king shouted, the royal guards raised their weapons, but before they could they were blinded by a flash of light and electric screech. Like the wind the warriors of Vilyánur had come, and like the wind they were gone.

"So," King Arvedui looked at Mey and his followers with eyes of judgement, "do you want to explain yourselves?"