ow far is the Dark Tower?" Mey questioned. "How long will it take us to reach it?"

"About three thousand miles east," Vil answered, "should we start now, we'll be there in a day and half."

"It'll take us that long to warp that far?"

"Not exactly, for there are no warp-ways unbroken that could bear our load." Vil walked over to the cliff, "our only choices: by ship or by air."

"So what will you do?"

Vil grabbed his whistle and blew it, shrill and clear.

Multiple times the echo of the whistle ruminated through the tall ranges, ever so gradually fading away. And it was answered by a loud shriek, much like the scream of an eagle, but deeper as if the roar of a lion.

A shadow rose from the sheath of tall ranges, spanning its black wings from hill to hill, growing ever so slowly. Thus the griffin approached them, flaunting her great wings as the wind around her swirled and simmered into a whirlpool as she landed.

"Banewing," Mey had naught but joy on his face. "I've seen her before."

"Aye, I found her as a motherless hatchling injured in the forest one day, and decided to nourish her and raise her in the barracks. Soon she was shy of us no more, and my best friend. Many a time has she risked her own life to save mine, for which I am ever grateful."

"She's beautiful," Mey smiled dreamily, tousling her feathery mane, "I can see why you like her."

"Why?"

"Eh, nothing," Mey shook his head, "are we ready to depart?"

"Aye," he answered. Mey climbed first, Vil followed, knapsack on his back, his hands tightened around Mey, holding the reins of Banewing before him.

"Hold tight," he whispered, tugging onto her reins. With a swift leap off the mountainside she took off, wings spanned many fathoms hovering over a cushion of air.

Like a distant memory the earth fell behind, fading into the blue as they rose up into a cordon of clouds. From high they could see the vast swathes of land which made up the high-elf city-states of South Alinor, Ostithil could be seen from hundreds of miles afar, glimmering as a strand of pearls on the blue background, the towers of the capitol penetrating into the autumn sky.

Soon the green fields and stony mountains fell behind as well, they were now flying over the sea: a vast expanse of water as far as the eye can behold, merchant ships entering and exiting the harbour, fishing boats at work, whales and dolphins playing merrily, white gulls calling out to the ever-foaming billows.

They looked at each other and smiled, kissing under the sun and amid the rolling gales, until something came between them and the sun. They were not alone; a dragon blue and yellow glided above like an important past, casting a shadow over them.

"Hail," Vilyánur wished him. "Where are you headed, o mighty beast?"

"Fire and glory," the dragon replied, "I am headed for the north, in search of the armada of King Aiwind. As he battles on against the hordes of chaos, my comrades and I must join him. But where are you headed, o son of Eldärion?"

"To the Arcaneum," Vil said, "our business is our own, so forgive us."

"As you wish," the dragon turned north-east, "I shall leave now, stay clear of the northern wastes, for they are not safe at this time of year."

"Noted, thank you."

And so they parted. For the next few hours they flew over the barren sea, nothing but blue water as far as they could behold; the curvature of the planet imminent from afar. The sun climbed into the sky and then began her descent, finally descending into the scarlet swirls with the coming of night.

"There," Vil pointed to a small island in the middle of the ocean, no bigger than an elephant-stable, but big enough to stay for one night. "Come on, Banewing, I know you're tired too."

Thence they rested for the night, it had been a long and tiring day, and now they had their rest.

...

Like a little child Mey jumped into the wet sand, standing there, observing as the waves struck against his bare feet, every moment digging a bit into the sand. "Enjoying, aren't you?" Vil came up to him with a coconut, surprising him with a kiss.

"Vil," they embraced, "I love it here, some day we should be back just to enjoy, provided we survive-"

"Hush," Vil put a finger on his lips. "Don't say that, we'll both live, I promise."

They kissed again under the million pale dots that shone in the sky, oft looking back to see Banewing playing in the sand. There was harmony: the sound of the waves crashing against the beach complied with the cry of the gulls.

Thus from the shadows arose another voice rose, growing from a soft hum into full-fledged song, a song of love and joy, Vil's voice sailing swift through the air.

Hear the voice of sea crash on shore tonight

and disperse into darkness grey;

if you only knew what it meant to me,

you would think merry thoughts of me;

if you only knew what it meant to me,

you would not hold a grudge on me.

Like the surest past sail the ships abroad,

leaving those who remained behind

to dwell on long and sure under the trees,

recalling when the days were fair.

Oh, no, by my fate, how cursed am I

to dwell on whence we all once dwelt.

I think we all have what binds us here,

for some it's love and others duty,

I don't know what it is for me that's here,

perhaps 'tis the love that you give me.

I don't know if it is or if it's a dream

but I think 'tis the love that you give me.

Mey clapped, tears filling his eyes, "brilliant Vil, you truly have mastered the art of chorus."

"It's nothing," Vil said shyly, "I just felt like showing off, since I am with the person I am closest with. Maybe if next time we sing it together, we can make it much better, with your skills at the pipe and mine at voice."

"I'm not that great at it," Mey shook his head, reclining unto the soft sand below him. Once again the night fell silent, graced by the song of sea and starlight. But then it came like an inquisition: ships at a distance, followed by sounds of struggle.

"Wait, what's what?" Mey was the first to realise.

"What's what?"

Mey turned to the sea, hearkening to the many explosions, sounds of steel and strife mingled with dying shrieks. Sure enough, over on the horizon pale yellow lights flashed.

"Wait," Vil ran for his knapsack and took out a telescope, putting it to his eye and peering into the distance, "ah, a naval battle."

"What? How do you know?"

"Look here," Vil handed him the scope, "this tool allows you to see great distances."

Mey looked into the device, peering into the distance as far as his eyes could make out. There he saw ships, and what seemed to be marines engaged in battle, dragons hovering over. Some of the ships flashed pale with light, breathing fire and spitting metal.

"Cannons," Vil replied, "revolutionary technology, one day it will change the future of warfare."

"And who's using them?"

"Must be my uncle's forces," Vil commented, "best not bother, this is but one of the many skirmishes that will happen over the whole sea for the next few months."

"Damn, this looks bad," he sighed, "should your forces lose, they'll have nowhere to flee but The Darkness Below."

"Do not be afraid, our navy is nigh invincible, especially with all the cannons and mortars." Vil landed a slap on Mey's shoulders, "go to sleep, should we leave early in the morning, we'll be there before afternoon, and the sooner we can leave."

Mey shook his head, returning the telescope, yet sharing a last glance as the last flashes faded from the horizon, drowning the sea into a silver darkness.

*****

Early in the morrow they left the island, taking to the skies once again. For another two hours they sailed over the empty blue, dolphins and whales swimming jollily below them, but nothing else for the most part.

Soon the sea fell behind and mountains silently rose to the horizon: mountains to the north, mountains to the south, and in the middle a tall obelisk protruding into the black sky above, twilight resting at its knees. "The Dark Tower: we're there!"

"The Dark Tower," Mey gasped, taking in the full length of it. It was much like Ostithil, but grander – a city rested around the tower, carved between the mountain and the bay.

Much was its majesty, but it was unmistakably grim: the city had fallen three millennia ago, and now what remained were meagre ruins and memories. Dark clouds welled up above the tallest tower, lightning striking the peak at regular intervals.

"Aye, that is the Arcaneum," said Vil, "once the prestige of Alinor, now a shadow of the past."

Flying by the lofty walls and buildings, they landed in the courtyard before the great hall, Banewing hesitant to fly any farther in: something of terrible power dwelt therein, something which a smart being like Banewing dare not challenge, but Mey and Vil were not that smart.

"Something is eerie about this accursed castle," Vil stated. "It feels as if fiends still dwell therein, waiting for us to walk in and spring their trap."

"As if you need to confirm," Mey remarked, heavy in sarcasm.

Vil gently tousled Banewing's nose, breathing into her nostrils. "Stay close, but do not follow us in. If we're not out in one week, fly away and get help."

Banewing shook her head and took to the skies, leaving the two of them alone with the eeriness of whatever dwelt in, and so they entered.

The halls, which once were lit with raging arcane fires and walked by mages of the highest order, were now a dark and dreary reminder of the past, haunted by a sea of black mist, housing the many shadows of evil. Many a dead elf lay there, sleeping a sleep of bronze and iron.

The putrid stench of decay and vie cluttered the air, entering their noses to much dismay, Mey struggled not to gag. Vil felt sick, the anomalies in the arcane field disoriented him.

Some of the arcane lamps and pylons still burned bright with arcane light, but much of it was unusable and tainted by chaos, now feasted on by imps and lesser daemons, less enough to be fearful as the two neared them. Mey watched them flee, entertained by their actions.

...

Vil's eyes scanned the frame of the tower, trying to make a mental map of the place he was in; only if he had a memory eidetic enough to remember the layout. He turned to Mey, his eyes following imps, a smile dancing on his face.

"Mey, what are you smiling at?"

"Look at those imps, so adorable, like us when we were children – so afraid of us."

"Are you sure it is us who they fled from?"

"What? I mean . . . what else would they be-" he stopped, his ears caught something. "...wait, no, you were right, something's amiss. Be cautious."

"I am," Vil slid his sword out, clutching it tight with both hands, sending the glimmer of the black steel at the dark crevices. They heard it slither around – a snake perhaps, but not a living one, and it was too big to be a regular snake.

Thrice Vil scanned his surroundings with his spectral sight, but the arcane energies around them made it difficult for him to judge. The fourth time he got heed: two spirits, one born of primordial chaos, and the other necromancy.

One was a daemon: skin as black as night, eyes as blue as arcanum, height of a high-elf. Vil sensed on and on as it hovered around as fast as a storm. The other entity was a spirit: a ghost housed within the body of something which could resemble no living creature.

"Look out!" Mey alerted him: an undead construct, a bony serpent as wide as a wagon, was set upon Vil.

Vil jumped in panic, and with a gallant move of reflex he twirled and dodged the fangs of the snake, and struck its ribs with his black blade. The serpent bounced back at him, and Vil swung down under the serpent and passed through its hollow ribs, using his sword as a lever.

It was then that he realised: his sword still remained in the guts of the construct, pressing against the bones of its neck.

Oh well, he said with a smile, swords are no use here anyway, looks like sorcery will have to pave the way.

Once more the serpent charged, but was caught in Vil's force-field. Like a mad beast it snarled, pushing with all its power, but Vil held it back, his hands spanned toward the beast, invisible lines of force repelling.

"Mey, work your magic on it for me, will you?"

For two whole minutes he held the beast back, until his mana ran out. The construct charged again, but by the force of friction and the cracks which Mey had hewn upon it, the body of the beast gave up and broke apart. Like a dying foe its spirit ran out, unable to comprehend what exactly happened, and the two of them had won.

*****

"That was fun!" laughed Vil, suddenly his eyes opened wide, gaze fixed behind Mey.

MEY! LOOK OUT, BEHIND YOU!

Mey yelped and turned aside, narrowly missing the jaws of another snake, but now Vil was in front of it. As it reached for Vil, he jumped aside but lost his footing, and the snake pounced back upon Vil's fallen figure. He closed his eyes, frozen and helpless, but ere the snake struck him, it let out a yelping cry and then ceased to silence.

Vil looked in fright and saw the snake collapse to the ground as dead as a leaf, its evil spirit banished.

"Vil," Mey jumped at him, "are you alright?"

"Yeah, so I think," he said, rising to his feet.

"Be careful next time."

"I will," Vil kissed him on the cheek, "did you see what saved me?"

"No," Mey looked up, "I was too scared!"

"It's alright," he comforted him, "I was about to warp away anyway, so now come, let's go and see what killed it."

They approached the snake, only to discover a black spear, still smoking and emanating radiations of chaos. They looked at each other in question, heavy in confusion. They both could figure out small parts of the puzzle, but the bigger parts still remained in the shadow.

"So apparently this daemon is not a servant of Morthaur," Mey said.

"I can't tell," Vil replied, "if it's not, why doesn't it show itself to us?"

"Maybe it's too shy," Mey tried to explain.

"Wait, I know what we can do," Vil crouched and dragged the spear out. "Here, smell it."

"What? I'm a wood-elf, not a bloodhound."

"Matters not," he handed him the spear.

Mey shrugged and took a long sniff of the hilt, "smells elf . . . although that's probably just you. Hmm, well . . . I know where he's gone, follow me."

"Excellent," Vil smiled, "I knew you could do that."

...

"Come on," Mey sheathed his sword and continued on, Vil following.

Thus through the dark caverns they trekked, embracing the ease of the shadow once again. Light from the windows above illuminated the dark paths, but that was not nearly enough. The only thing leading them now was the smell: a fading scent of chaos.

"Stop," Vil commanded, pulling Mey with him behind a pillar.

"What is it?"

"Look."

Mey looked into the darkness for long, until at last he saw it: a chaos hound on the hunt, but curiously enough, it wasn't the hunter.

And behind it chased bent men, wood-elves by the looks of it, but they were lank and skinny, wearing nothing but loincloths, their skin putrid black, arms tightened around bladed staves and sickles, but they all wore a strange headgear: from shoulder down they were elves, but on top they were jackals.

"Moon-elves," Mey coughed, "remember Nixior? They're his kin, and as such as evil as him."

The two watched on as the five moon-elves surrounded the hound, snarling as if they were jackals themselves, poking the beast with spears. On one of them the hound leapt, but was met with five spears. They skewered him like game, applying all the pressure in the world to pierce through its hide. With their sickles they severed the head, and dived into the defiled corpse.

The stench of decay was enough for Mey to gag aloud, he couldn't believe how badly these elves had degraded, their sanity lost millennia ago.

"Come on," Vil hinted to him, "we shouldn't be here for too long, lest they see us."

But alas, just as they tried to get up, they met eyes with the alpha of the hunter-pack, a stern warrior thirsty for the blood of mortals; the very sight instilled an aura of fear amongst them.

"Run!"