The Clearsong Chronicles: Battle for Daylight

He could be anywhere, Elon thought, way out in the country, or even sitting on a throne, and being a time traveler, the latter is more likely. Well, we have his flight signature now, so capturing this joker is inevitable. We just need his personal I.D. mark, and Acosta can do that with a quick hypospray.

The lad let out a shriek and jumped backwards, his mind reeling--eyes gone wide. Struggling to remain standing, and shrieking even louder, the lad doubled over from a weird sensation in his belly. Cedric was turning into a troll!

They were both gasping for air, ardor spent, when he started to relax.

Don't stop kissing me, darling, she whispered raggedly.

More kisses--why? He grinned.

Because I can still breathe'.

F.A.T.E.-Faction Advocating Time Enforcement.

S.A.M.A.R.A.-Synchronized Alcove with Magnetic Attraction on Reverse Atmosphere.

The Clearsong Chronicles

Battle for Daylight

YVONNE L. STEGMAN

Copyright © 2016 Yvonne L. Stegman.

Cover Art: DUŠAN KOSTIĆ

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means---whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic---without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5191-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3484-1 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 4/29/2016

Contents

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To my four grandchildren, Joshua David Acosta, Michelle Denise Schooler, Robert Jordan Acosta, and Jessica Lynn Ullrich. I love you all very much. Your battles, big and small, especially the battle for the castle in my backyard, have inspired me. This trilogy is my gift to you. I've saved the best for last.

Love G~Ma

Acknowledgments

Thanks to my brother, Mel Baldwin Jr., the story teller. And to my four beautiful sisters Lee Baldwin, who would've loved reading the whole trilogy instead of just the first book, Jeannie who was the dreamer, Carole Ray, a registered nurse and teacher, and to the poet, Carmen Butterbaugh, for their love and praise. To Rich Jr. for his help in editing, and to my beloved, Richard A. Stegman, my husband for 48 years. I'll always love and miss you babe~Good-bye for now.

Prologue

I, Calliope Celeste Clearsong, take up quill, perhaps for the last time, as this tome ends my chronicles. I've lived longer than elfin vanity permits me to say, but Lorellus willing, mayhap I'll tell you other stories someday.

For now, I make clear how we elves aligned ourselves with the human and dwarven clans, but of course, you are living proof that many brave humans survived that long and terrible war. In addition, I shall answer the question of what became of the Mage Pendar and our cherished Queen Chandra.

Unfortunately, the obscure veil between dimensions did not stay hidden, so I must tell you about a malicious time-traveler named Oro Swain, but to set the record straight, I begin with King Robert of Two Rivs.

He disbelieved his tax collectors, returning from the countryside with horror stories of burning farms, missing people and livestock, as the reasons they collected less than half his expected revenue that year. And, oh how he guffawed when the small group from Aubrey Forest informed him one morning that his subjects were in grave danger, explaining that the missing farm children and females of childbearing age were either being slaughtered, or carried off in the night by darkelves.

Robert thought darkelves were only fictional beasts made up for courtly entertainment, and to fool the naïve. Not to be hard on the king, after all, most humans didn't believe in them anymore, but Robert's vociferous laughter quickly died, and his mirthful expression became a dour frown when he heard that Elton, a small village near the golden Bra'kkers had been decimated, and his city could be next.

No one, not even your mythical darkelves, would dare ride against my capital! He declared, squaring his shoulders regally. That brought a heated retort from the dwarven king, Swifty Betterwine.

"They're not our mythical darkelves! Ah, ye sound just like the elf-queen Alysandra. She needed convincing too. Her cleric had to show her, through The Orb of Vesta, just what would happen to her fancy cloud city, and everyone topside, if she didn't agree to become our ally and declare war on Elfheim!"

The king stared at the rough-looking little warrior in amazement, and an awkward silence fell over the room until Leah Greyleaf, Alysandra's captain of the guard, stepped forward, politely confirming the dwarf's words.

'Tis true, King Robert. Reverend Dawnshadow showed our queen, and her whole court, just how the blood of all surface dwellers would run violently throughout our lands, even right back to their own pit of horrors, if the darkelves are not stopped. And that can be done only by force. We elves trust our time-tested orb implicitly.

Robert could not dismiss this party and their message out of hand. Attempting to placate the eclectic coalition, he thanked them for their concern, I must confer with my generals; you shall have my answer by noon tomorrow. Before he could rise from his seat, Ruby Truebolt, leader of the dwarven crossbow archers, chimed in.

Well sir, I pray ye come to the right decision, 'cause I guarantee ye, the godforsaken darkelves have no respect for yer life or anyone else's. We fought 'em right in our king's own hall, and gave em a beatin' they won't soon forget! In a slightly nervous gesture, she tugged gently on her short, gray beard before plopping back down on her seat.

The king rose with a sigh, indicating their meeting was over. Have no doubt, if my kingdom is in danger, I shall join your alliance.

Robert spoke to his generals privately, and decided that Captain Westlake would, depending upon military intelligence, lead a company of men to the wooded area where the darkelves were last seen. That night he sent a small scouting party to check out Swifty's story. They didn't return prior to noon, nor did he receive a written communiqué, so he gave the coalition their answer--Swifty and Alysandra had their new ally.

1

It was dusk when Captain Westlake saw the elf-riders. He grinned, pleased to have found the enemy so quickly, having brought his army of a thousand men only a few days through Winslow, the dense woods known to the elves as Aubrey Forest. Stopped before reaching a large clearing, he saw the elfin warriors riding in close formation.

There they are Liam, right on the road, the captain said, offering his spyglass to the subordinate at his side. Look at those cocky bastards!

Aye Sir, Lieutenant William Frost raised the lens to his eye, peering at the heavily armed soldiers. He'd heard about their weird, purple elven eyes, and ears as huge as an elephant's, but what he saw by the fading light were thin pale elves, nearly as tall as men, seated upon beautiful warhorses. The beings wore silver winged-helms and intense blue-colored uniforms, richly trimmed in either silver or gold braid. He could almost make out their banners, a silver moon against a sky blue background, waving arrogantly against the setting sun as they rode steadily through the meadow from the north in a southwesterly direction toward the city of Florrego.

What luck, they're heading straight for us, Sir! Liam tried to contain his excitement at seeing the enemy for the first time.

Aye, but it's lucky for them, too---them being night fighters. Still, it's no matter, they won't last 'til dawn. Westlake straightened in his saddle. We'll split the troops into thirds and flank em. Rutherford stays on this side of the road with his archers. Liam, get your men across the meadow coming at em out of that wooded area, and I'll lead the frontal attack.

Westlake's forces cautiously wound their way through the shadowed limbs of massive gnarly oaks at the edge of the clearing, waiting until he gave the attack order. Bracing their shields, with swords and lances drawn, the humans rode out of the forest shouting at the top of their lungs, clashing into the elves. With surprise on the human's side, the elven soldiers, outnumbered three to one, went down fast. But, they did not succumb to chaos, retreating in mass confusion as the captain imagined they would.

Despite the human numbers, the elves hurriedly banded into small groups of ten or twelve, protecting themselves from arrow and flying axes, letting their own arrows and spear fly into the soldiers encircling them.

Elves, Birchell and Linnet, stood back-to-back, razor sharp short swords in hand as the enemy surrounded them. A big man, over six feet tall, rushed Linnet, he outweighed Lin by at least seventy pounds. He pushed the elf until he bumped into Birchell, who fought with an average sized human.

Birch grunted as he felt the jolt at his back, and glanced over his shoulder at what looked like a giant bearing down on Lin, who yelled, Switch!

Then, duck! Birch replied, and Linnet bent over at the waist. Although the soldier he fought had the longer reach, Birchell lunged, stabbing him in the stomach. As the man fell to the ground, his blood pooling around him, Birch pivoted taking his sword in both hands, and leapt up, stepping onto Lin's back. Birch hacked down at the soldier's neck and blood sprayed into his face as well as the man's.

Rolling out of the way, Lin jerked a knife out of his boot, twisted around, and sliced the tendons in the back of the soldier's right knee. The man fell hard. Birch hurried off, but Lin gave the human a quick kick in the head before catching up. The elven army fought skillfully and drove Westlake's legion further downfield.

So, it was Westlake's men, not the three hundred and seventy-five elves, who fell all over themselves, screaming and dying. Injured humans fled while their comrade's lay wounded, their blood fertilizing the ground.

In desperation, he called on his mages, mighty war-wizards without peer that typically hung back, casting their spells from afar. The captain needed them at the front lines, and soon the air popped with their deadly enchantments, sizzling into the night sky. But, the pinned down elves fought back with spells of their own! The elven soldiers who knew magic, produced fire from their bare hands, spraying death like flamethrowers, burning the humans, mowing them down until their ashes flew away on currents of magically charged air.

Night fell, and searing winds continued to fan the flames around the scorched meadow. As violence raged across the battlefield, an elfin soldier, Osmander Mithinas, stood at ease awaiting orders from his superior officer. The next minute, he lay in charred pieces. Captain Carnelian Gilmere, had time only for a backwards glance before ducking the explosion. He saw nothing but a flash from the human wizard's lightning streak that found its random mark--Osmander's smoking ribcage.

A raw weariness seeped into Carnie's heart as he avoided looking into the soldier's lifeless eyes. Instead he thought, 'On you go to Élyssia, Private.' Shutting his own eyes against the burning ash and smoke floating on the summer breeze, he whispered, I pray that Lorellus receives your spirit.

Carnelian would remember this moment for the rest of his life, not because of the horror of it, although it was truly horrible. And, not for the pride and honor he felt at the elf's sacrifice, that is the truth of war, but because for the first time since the war officially started, he felt anxious. The humans had attacked without warning, but he could tell by their standards that they were King Robert's forces. They were supposed to be his allies, but that ignorant maggot, bastard of a leader mistook his army for darkelves, striking without provocation. Anger overtook exhaustion and fear as he thought, one would think those humans could tell the difference between surface elves of light and lousy darkelves. Damn it! We look nothing alike.

Carnelian was unhorsed early in the fray. He'd taken a direct hit when an arrow struck the shield strapped to his back. The force of the missile knocked him out of the saddle, while his cream-colored horse kept going. After catching his breath, Carnie got to his feet, and fought bravely with a long sword and the shield secured firmly to his left forearm. The human army bore down on him until he found an opening. He made his way, hiding behind brush and boulder, making it to the edge of the field. His elves battled on, but once again found themselves scattered over field and hollow.

Carnie's wobbly knees refused to hold him, so he slid to the ground, fighting to deny the fearful emotions his father raised him never to acknowledge. Sitting straight up now, struggling for a single breath because of the smoke and bitter stench of burned flesh, his head darted angrily toward every explosion. Those damned wizards were scaring him, and that pissed him off as he wondered about his men's position.

Straining to find the radiant heat coming off his soldier's bodies, Carnelian, using elfsight, saw one of them hiding in deep grasses about sixty yards away. He headed for Lt. Paz, when an energy bolt that almost took his face off, told him to move faster--he did. Jumping to his feet, dodging the lightning bolts and magic blasts whizzing and crashing down around him, he outran their conjured missiles at a maddening speed before diving into the tall, weedy grass next to his subordinate.

Where are my troops, Lieutenant?

We're all over, Sir. We're taking a beating from that human magic, Paz added unnecessarily, as Gilmere's warhorse sauntered over, head down repentantly.

Here you are, Ag'ron, you found me, Carnie murmured. Turning to Paz, he said, Move east and sound the horn, Lieutenant. As soon as we're able, we'll regroup at the edge of the pond. When it's safe, we'll reclaim our dead and wounded. Mounting Ag'ron, he added, And in the morning, I'm having a talk with that idiot human leader, then I'm going into Florrego and have a talk with Mayor Fielding.

High above the rest of the world, beyond rugged cliffs holding back the ocean, stood the proud, shining elven city of Creskin, hidden and protected by powerful magic. Still higher up the mountain stood the royal palace, outbuildings, including Alwyn's school, bubbling fountains, and a serene garden. A sturdy twelve-foot fieldstone wall enclosed the whole area.

On this balmy day, Alysandra, queen of the surface elves and her summoned visitor, Lady Aster, Supreme Mother of the wild elves, strolled along lavish, park-like grounds. Though their domain had never been breached, Leah Greyleaf, captain of the guards, Ally's protector and close friend, walked a respectful three paces behind the royals. She listened to them while dutifully keeping watch, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. While the queen spoke in soft tones to Aster, her two ladies-in-waiting leisurely strolled along the garden path in front of the party.

They enjoyed the cool rush of mountain air as they watched hawks circling above, soaring in and out of the willow, rowan, and ash trees. Finally, it was time for Alysandra to get Aster's slant concerning the vision she saw in the Orb of Vesta, a rarely used elfish symbol of home, hearth, and security.

You remember when Cleric Dawnshadow showed me our future should we decide not to join King Swifty's fight with the darkelves. She looked around at the beautiful, verdant meadow garden; her almond shaped eyes glistening with unshed tears. All of this will be gone, Aster, she indicated with a sweep of her hand. The orb claims that our lands shall run red with the blood of our people, so I've sent part of the army to join Robert's forces to the south.

She wanted Aster's validation much more than she cared to admit. The orb is never wrong, so naturally, you do agree that I am doing the right thing.

The wild-elf leader nodded, "I believe you must send our forces."

Ally's face crumpled, Oh Aster, the very hand of Doom is at my throat, or I'd never put our populace in jeopardy.

The color had gone from her queen's cheeks, evoking compassion from Aster. We elves have coexisted in peace for thousands of years, My Lady, and never did we Forest Folk object to the Creskin's gracious rule. As in days of old, my people willingly stand guard before the grand city, she patted Alysandra's shoulder gently. Creskin Castle will stand as a beacon to us forever.

Smiling at the queen she added, "I've heard the dwarven drums of war, and have sent scouts to investigate the darkelves. Before receiving your invitation to meet, I was about to send my messengers to you. I am eager to tell you of what I've learned."

They stopped before a pale, gray-stone bench elaborately carved with scrolls of vines, leaves and pixies playing among maidenhair ferns.

Leah, stay with us. Darlene, Trista, you two may leave. Go back to the castle, the queen commanded, as she and then Aster, sat down on the bench. Prithee, tell me all you know.

My elves, the Supreme Mother began, inform me that darkelf tracks are all over our territory, from the forest to the sea, even into your own Keenan Hills, Madam.

The temerity! Ally declared. She kept a rigid expression on her face, listening closely, as Aster continued her narrative.

The tracks led to the entrance of a deep cave at the foothills. My soldiers followed them nearly four leagues inside, before returning to report to me.

Ally's violet eyes flared with anger. I will not have my subject's security threatened this way. Thank you so much for letting me know about this.

Of course, Your Majesty, but we're all in danger if the dark-ones dare to encroach surface lands. They've utterly destroyed the human settlement of Elton.

Ally sighed. I've heard that news, she shrugged.

And, at that time, Aster continued, gazing down at the forest beyond, a portly-looking human, an older man, spying on Elton, was hit by a darkelf's arrow, but instead of dying, he disappeared. Now, the moon was full so my elves saw clearly, and they maintain he vanished--strangely. He dissolved slowly, like someone from afar, had teleported him away.

I see no reason to concern ourselves with what is obviously darkelf magic. After they're defeated, we can study their peculiar spells to our hearts content, Alysandra replied.

The queen stood and gestured toward the castle. Well, before you leave, Aster, shall we go inside and take tea? Our Patty makes the best vanilla scones in the entire kingdom, and I'll wager you'll want to take some of her fresh currant jelly home with you.

Aster smiled, silently amused. Naturally the currants were fresh, Teasel and Meghan picked them yesterday morning and delivered them to Patty Peacock before noon. As they sat at an overly laden table munching warm, sweet scones slathered with jelly, the monarchs were as one concerning the war. They discussed parliamentary concerns such as national defense, the budget to fund the war, the public relations necessary to quell the criticism of having been publicly chided by the dwarven king because Alysandra didn't want war in the first place. Finally their conversation turned to more womanly concerns. They talked about frilly ball gowns, Aster's latest conquest, and palace gossip. In other words, the two rulers spoke, at last, about the finer stuff of life.

(Author's note: The ancient orb's whereabouts is unknown as of this writing.)

As soon as the elves retreated to the pond, a time traveler from the nineteen forties, Oro Swain, crept onto the blood-soaked battlefield, it reeked of smoldering corpses, urine, and feces. He held his breath for as long as he could, cursing the appalling smell, while searching for fallen mages among the dead, or more precisely, for their spell books, and perhaps a magic ring, or a few baubles worthy of enchantment.

Oro was still young looking despite encroaching middle-age. Taking a penlight from his pocket, he dared to use the small beam to see what he could find.

He moved carefully, methodically from one corpse to another, glancing around now and then, lest Westlake's army discover him. Chuckling softly at the fallen warrior who'd soiled himself, Oro quickly moved on to another body, blackened from a wizard's fireball. He pushed a small glass vial into jaggedly split, charred flesh, catching the liquid fat congealing in the cool evening air.

Swain learned that magic was a tangible thing after meeting a local wizard, calling himself Wist, one wintry night up in the Bra'kker Mountains. So, naturally he went back in time seeking a magic teacher. How Prospero criticized me for meddling with the dead, Oro thought bitterly. That skinny little bastard was wrong to expel me from his school of wizardry. I was only dabbling in necromancy. Besides, adipose tissue is a major ingredient in many potions, and you can't get it from someone that's still alive, and I don't go in for that kind of torture. His thoughts droned on as the moaning of dying soldiers gradually stopped, and all was quiet. The moon, at its zenith, cast eerie shadows amongst the corpses on the field, henceforth known to the surface elves as Scarlet Meadow.

Oro, alert, saw the silhouettes of a small group of darkelves heading in his direction. Switching off the light, he watched the strange black shadows coming closer and closer. He should never have been so curious.

Too late, he threw himself prostrate on the ground to hide, but they had him surrounded. A darkelf named Frass dug his knee into Oro's back, and roughly stuffed a filthy piece of wool into his mouth, muffling the sorcerer's pitiful groan.

Then, dragging him to his feet, the elf pierced the wizard's neck with a dagger dipped in sleeping potion, and Oro swooned, falling into a deep sleep. The band of darkelves carried his limp body through a secret tunnel in the woodland, down into the underworld, to the palace of Alaric Phalomar, ruler of the darkelves.

He came to, with Frass, an ugly elf, especially by elven standards, having a long, broken nose and several teeth missing, slapping his face--hard.

Have mercy. The wizard slurred, what little courage he had while robbing the dead had left him. He lay on a cold stone floor at the foot of Alaric's throne with arms flailing as if to protect himself from stinging bees.

Nay, I'm having fun, the darkelf laughed, sharply slapping Oro's arms and head.

Enough Frass!

But Sire, I'm only trying to rouse him, Frass smiled knowingly as he looked down at Oro's wet crotch. Do I smell piss?"

Mayhap, but you've definitely bloodied its nose, and I suspect you've given it a black eye too. Just drag the wretch over here.

Alaric studied the stinking time traveler. You weep and carry on like a youngling. Who are you? We've observed this evening's events long enough to know that you're not in league with our enemies.

I am Doctor Oro Swain, My Lord. He spoke into the darkness, unable to see to whom he spoke.

You're different somehow. A foolish magic user I suspect, looking at those hideous robes you wear. They're so... thick. They look cumbersome

Yes sir, I...

Bind his hands, Frass! I'll not take chances with this one.

After Oro was tightly bound, Phalomar held up the penlight, found the switch with his thumb, and turned the light off and on several times. And what produced this contraption, alchemy or human magic? I want to know more about that sort of magic.

Only a small brazier and tiny, intermittent flashes from the penlight illuminated the room so that Oro, although he could not see the king's face, knew he was in the presence of someone powerful, who must be placated--for the time being. He didn't know that Alaric ruled the land of eternal darkness, over elves who advance in rank through treachery and murder.

"True science, my lord. I present the penlight to you as a gift."

"True science? As opposed to what, false science?"

"Perhaps I've ill-chosen my words, Sir. The scientists from my time scoff at the notion of alchemy; ignorant idiots, every one of them. But, what do they know of magical things? Nothing, I tell you."

"My time? What does that mean, my time?"

Again, I've chosen my words poorly, Sir. I meant to say, that the learned people in the province from which I hail are ignorant, to say the least.

You seem strange to me, Swain. You should be tortured until I know who or what you are.

I assure you, Sir, the threat of torture is unnecessary. I'm from far across the ocean, a place called California, and I come in peace to explore your beautiful land.

Boorish, sun-loving, lying fool. Do you think you'll be free to spy here at will? Why should I think you're anything but a threat to me? I don't even trust Frass, and he's like family. Phalomar had every intention of sending this one to the obsidian mines in phosehauk territory.

Swain remained silent, eyes downcast while Alaric chuckled, and walked over to the brazier. It glowed softly, but gave off no real light until he waved his hand over it, and the flames whooshed, brightly illuminating the room so that Oro could see him better. The darkelf king was slender, and short compared to a human male, barely standing above five feet tall. His long, waist-length white hair flowed around the richly brocaded tunic he wore. It was a wine colored, gem-encrusted garment, and his hose was made of the finest soft, Hunter green wool imaginable.

The elf-king's dark, beautiful face was awesome to behold; handsome, despite having the hue of lavender-purple. It was humanlike, to be sure, yet it held no hint of compassion, only a sinister nuance of determination and purpose that made Oro shudder.

I am King Alaric, son of Merle, and soon I will rule what is left of you surface dwellers. He said that with conviction as he held Oro's nervous gaze. Then, Alaric' lilac-blue eyes began to glow softly as he spoke, "In the near future, I shall take my rightful place in the sun, and you will help me, mage."

"Why? Can you not live in the sun without my aid, Your Majesty?"

Clearly, the people from...from where did you say? California? Oro nodded mutely. All from that land are ignorant if you don't know that my race cannot expose themselves to daylight without bursting into flames. We've existed below ground for countless generations...

The wizard sighed inwardly, settling down like the captive audience he was, and listened to the megalomaniac's story.

Forced down here by the god Lorellus after a bitter war between the Deities and the Titans, a small group of my ancestors allied themselves with the losing side, the Titans. For aiding them in battle, Lor sent us into permanent exile, and named us the dark-ones.

Oro hesitated for only a moment as he tried to think of something that sounded comforting. But, why do you need me? Your Highness sounds quite sure of victory, so you must have a valid plan for invasion. Yet I wonder, since you and your people are thriving, why live topside? Undoubtedly, you're much better off down here.

"I'll wager he does need some persuasion to cooperate, Your Highness. Mayhap a stretch on the rack will do the trick," Frass recommended eagerly.

No, Your Majesty. I know just the thing you need. In California, we use sunscreen to protect us from the sun. Mayhap I can conjure some sort of sunblock for you.

Sunblock. That sounds most appealing, wizard. What will you need to make the sunblock?

Oro spoke quickly. First, your underlings should gather sufficient celestial dew from a sunbeam plant, the larger the plant, the more dew they'll collect. We'll need a fair quantity of it, and the oil within, he frowned deep in thought. Next, you'll need enough quicksand to make a muddy paste, when mixed with the dew, have it spread over your entire body, including your travel clothes. If you can procure all these components, I'll happily tell you how to cast a spell to produce the desired result.

Frass! Take your soldiers and gather the required plants, dew, and sand. Hurry! I'm eager to visit the surface by daybreak.

It might take some time to gather the dew this evening, Sir, and even more time before the spell can be properly worked. If I could get a bit more at ease in the meantime... He held up his firmly bound hands.

"Sorry Swain, I don't trust you enough to untie you. I will have Mavis give you some wine though."

While the young, terribly thin female held a glass of wine to Oro's lips, the king sat down on his throne. After a few minutes, he got up without a word, and retired to his comfortable bedchambers. Oro watched his shadowy form disappear from the room, and hoped to hell that Donovan, a spirit he sometimes dealt with, was in a benevolent mood.

At dawn, a servant informed Alaric that the soldiers had brought down the necessary elements. When he returned to the throne room, Alaric demanded that Oro begin the enchantment.

See, first I mix the dew and sand, and after I squeeze the oil from the plants, we have a nice, sticky ointment for you. Now I need a large silver serving tray, My Lord, Oro said. He placed the tray on the floor, poured a few drops of the mixture onto the tray, and set it on fire.

When the golden flames turn blue, Your Majesty must walk through the wraithfire, and be transformed into a being who can walk in the sunlight for four hours without encumbrance. The sorcerer knew the spell would last longer, maybe even eight hours, but he lied to the king in order to cover his backside---just in case. You should emerge from the flames somewhere outside on the surface. The exact location is determined by the spirit of the wraithflame.

Once the king learned that he'd have to walk through fire, he reconsidered trying the spell himself.

"Frass, you put the amalgam on, and when the fire is right, you step through it. If you appear somewhere topside, take a quick look around, then make your way back here as soon as you can."

As you wish, My Liege, Frass replied, he'd learned long ago not to think. And, at the appropriate time, he walked into the fire, and vanished.

Now what do we do? The king asked Oro.

Wait until he returns, M'Lord. They waited at least ten minutes, the king becoming more anxious by the second, until Frass hurried into the room.

The spell worked, My King! The underling grinned, bowing low before Phalomar, "I found myself topside in the company of a golden spirit who told me his name is Donovan, and that I could roam anywhere on earth. The sun was so bright, I had to shield my eyes, and the air smelled light and crisp, and everything is so green! He said I even had the power of flight, Sire, and that I could float like a wraith if I so desired. But, I thought it best to come back here straight away to inform you that the spell worked, and worked very well, I think. I actually flew back through the tunnels, Sire."

Alaric ordered Frass to untie Oro's hands. Come, sit with me, he demanded. We have much to discuss.

I've knowledge of the components for the spell up to this point, but you didn't tell me anything about a golden spirit. Do so now.

I'm sorry, my lord, that was an oversight. I don't know anything about Donovan except that he seems to be the helpful type. I assume he's a free, independent soul that is somehow connected to the dimension of fire. The wizard did not take his eyes off the exotic-looking monarch as he inquired,

What else do you want from me, King Alaric Phalomar?

Your allegiance, of course. It's been more than a hundred years since the last war, when they drove us back. We signed the usual peace treaties, and holed up down here licking our wounds and increasing our population until the day we had another strong army.

And you have one now?

More importantly, he grinned, we have allies, Swain. Most of the inhabitants in Aubrey are on our side. You see, the humans are killing them too, trying to drive them to extinction. He ordered more wine for them and continued, I'm always on the lookout for allies, and I think you and I could work well together. What do you say, Oro Swain? Do you want to help me win my war?

"I assume that it would be mutually beneficial for both of us?" Oro didn't give a fig about the outcome of Alaric's war, but he did want to survive beyond the shadowy mausoleum he was in.

Alaric's smile reassured the wizard, Of course, as beneficial as I presume, your long life would be, should you acquiesce.

Oro adjusted the silken pillows around him, stretched out his legs, and relaxed. Well, I can't claim that meeting you was love at first sight, Your Highness, he chuckled. But, I can see us working together. I take for granted that you want your whole army walking in the sunlight, and not just yourself.

That's correct.

Then, I don't think my sunblock is practical for that purpose. I suggest we come up with another idea.

He saw the harsh look Alaric flashed and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Fortunately, the scientist in him took over. Have you ever considered genetically altering your species so they'd have the attributes necessary to withstand daylight?

From the confused expression on Alaric's face, Oro supposed that he hadn't, or at least the king had no idea what he meant. You still have to rule what you conquer. Your people have been exiled down here for eons, so what difference does it make if you have to wait a few more generations for hybrids to engage in daytime combat? He had no intention of informing this unlearned monarch that he had a time machine, could go back as many generations as he wanted to, eventually breeding an army ready to fight--today. Oro decided to literally play with fire.

I grow impatient for victory, Mage. You will work with my personal scientist, Lord Vollen, to produce the hybrids. In the meantime, we'll use your messy sunblock spell so that my soldiers can fight during daylight for short periods. You see, the boarmen are loyal, but rather stupid creatures. I need my generals to use your sunblock and command them right on the field.

That very night, King Alaric introduced Oro to Lord Vollen and they collaborated in an effort to create a race of darkelves capable of fighting in the sunshine.

Through the smoky haze from many campfires, Paz, Birchell, and Linnet rode on either side of Carnelian as he set out the next morning, waving a white flag tied to his sword. They made an impressive sight as the sun blazed down on their shining armor. At first, Westlake was surprised when he saw that the elves did not explode, then his mouth went dry when he realized his mistake, and he wondered what kind of hell he'd have to pay when it was discovered that he had attacked the allies.

He kept a steady gaze in their direction until they were close enough to ride out and meet them.

Frost, you're with me!

Aye, Sir! Liam squinted past his leader at the exquisite elves as he mounted his charger.

Everyone else stay under cover. And, if we're attacked, Rutherford, you know what to do. Let's go find out how pissed our new friends are.

Meeting the elves head on, he figured he'd better appear contrite. Refusing to acknowledge the twisting and churning going on in his stomach, he ordered his men to stay close as they took off at a gallop.

Still on horseback, Carnelian removed his winged helm, looking Westlake right in the eye; he was not about to hide his resentment. Virtuous anger felt too good.

Do you have any idea how many of my soldiers you killed last night, human?

My name is Captain Woodrow Westlake, and I'm sorry about your men. I don't know how many were killed, but I take full responsibility. Last night's blunder was completely my fault, he glanced at the ground for only a moment before returning Carnie's livid gaze. "May I know your name and rank, Sir?"

I'm Captain Carnelian Gilmere, and twenty-one elves are dead and thirty-two are wounded thanks to your stupidity! But since we're allies, Woody, I have no choice but to accept your apology. His personal opinion was that Westlake didn't deserve his own commission. In fact, if he were the idiot's superior, he'd see him hanged. He noted the sweat on Westlake's face, and insisted on holding his gaze as they glared into each other's eyes. I know you lost some of your own men too, he added begrudgingly. But didn't our representatives from Florrego show you our standards?

They did, but it was getting dark, and we humans don't have your perfect elfsight. He hated making excuses and had no intention of telling him that eight of his men lost their lives, or how many brave humans were wounded. The arrogant elf didn't even ask. "As a foreigner here, I simply did not recognize your banners, and at that hour, it was more likely, to my mind, that darkelves were bearing false colors. Again, I do admit fault and offer my sincere apology." He knew he'd spend the rest of his life being reminded of this fiasco, and that knowledge hurt like a kick in the crotch.

I think the lot of us should ride into Mayor Fielding's town. I'll show him and the rest of you humans what decent elves look like, Carnie sneered as he climbed down from his horse.

Gilmere unwillingly offered his hand to Westlake. They shook hands then, Westlake no longer looking Carnie in the eye.

A human rider was sent ahead to inform Mayor Fielding that their joined army would be at Florrego's main gate by noon. And so, riding side-by-side, Westlake and Gilmere led their soldiers, riding two abreast, with humans to the left and elves traveling on the right. Both sides still aching for a fight.

Ken Fielding, the mayor of Florrego, hadn't time to finish his lunch that warm summer afternoon when his aide announced that a handful of riders, elves, and Robert's forces, waited for him on the front steps of the manor house. The mayor hurried out to greet them.

What a marvelous sight! Seeing men and elves together just like the legends of old, Ken thought. They looked as if they'd been in a hard fight, and he couldn't wait to hear all about it. Elation made him ignore their hardened faces.

Hail and well met! He exclaimed. Please come in, come in.

Well met, Mayor Fielding, Westlake replied. Our men camp just outside your city, well away from the crop fields. I hope our business does not keep us here very long, Westlake shook Fielding's hand vigorously. And do you know Captain Gilmere?

"No, I've never had the pleasure; glad to know you Captain. I have met another one of Queen Alysandra's captains though, the lovely Leah Greyleaf some weeks ago."

I hope meeting me is still a pleasure after hearing the news I bring you, Mayor, Carnelian's eyes were intensely bright. Instead of meeting up and joining forces with our army, Westlake decided to attack us instead.

Fielding's face fell in disbelief. Even for a politician, he had no soothing words for the exotic looking elf. Ignoring Westlake's shame-filled expression, he grabbed Carnie's hand, giving it a firm shake.

I'm so sorry, Captain. If we go inside, my wife Carole will have refreshments prepared, and we can sort all of this out.

Mrs. Fielding waited for them in the foyer and another round of introductions were briefly made, and soon the soldiers were ushered into the dining room.

Sitting at the table, elves and men shared a meal and drink for the first time in human memory as Ken listened uneasily to the warriors explain how they'd fought one another the night before, and Westlake's feeble excuse for his great faux pas.

You mustn't blame the mayor, Captain, Westlake insisted. He and Captain Greyleaf showed me your queen's standards, but your army marched before the setting sun, and all I saw were silhouettes and shadows. The God's honest truth is that I was much too eager to engage what I believed to be mine enemy, he looked around the table before addressing Carnelian directly. This was clearly a case of mistaken identity Captain Gilmere, and I cannot apologize enough. I'm very sorry for the incident.

Then I shall let your god judge you and refrain from mentioning the, uh, incident henceforth, except to Queen Alysandra, she must be brought up to date. His look assured them that the queen of the surface elves would not be pleased.

I assure both of you Captain--Mayor, I'll inform King Robert of my error, and he'll be more than happy to judge me.

The captain rose from the table, his subordinate did likewise. I leave for Creskin. Paz, tell them to mount up!

You're more than welcome to spend the night with Westlake's men outside of my city gates.

That won't be necessary, Mayor. I am anxious to inform the queen that our first major engagement was not with our enemy. I'm sure she will be understanding. He didn't smile.

Soon, the allied forces learned that darkelves fought with guerilla tactics; striking, then running and hiding, attacking only at night, and letting their cronies, the boarmen, take over the fighting during daylight hours, engaging the allies twenty-four hours a day.

2

The newly built passageway leading to Elfaura was dark and gloomy. Hardy dwarven boots disturbed cool mists creeping along the ground as their drums, beating rhythmically, moved the army through the tunnel in a steady course ever onward to the darkelf city.

King Swifty, Reverend Gil'ak Betterwine, Generals Talis Aden and Burp Betterwine, along with Colonel Ferron Bellowsblaster, led the way. Colonel Belch Hornsprout and his Halberdiers brought up the rear.

Yesterday, Reverend Gil's runic magic told the old priest, wearing an armored breastplate over his neutral colored robes, that today was an inauspicious day to meet the enemy, and he'd dutifully related that information to his king.

"I don't believe in that damned drivel, Gil. We march in an hour! And soon the bulk of Swifty's army was on the move.

Since the king did not take his advice, Gil'ak didn't want to make small talk with him, and gradually let the others go forth until he fell in line beside Belch. Keeping his voice low to avoid echoing, the cleric spoke in a near whisper.

Last night, I drew a pentacle without pausing a single time. See? He took a small piece of vellum out of his satchel, unrolled it and showed the colonel a rust-colored, hand-drawn star. Never lifting me quill made this rune very powerful, Belch. I drew it with me own blood, so it'll protect our soldiers from all earthly beings attackin' us. When I have some time, I can design one with more intricate lines for protection against magic, too.

Belch nodded, wishing that since they were about to engage fierce, magic-wielding elves, the cleric had made a more complex pentacle in the first place. He gave the reverend a generous grin and glanced back at his foot soldiers carrying their trusty halberds. Nothing was amiss.

Once the army cleared the high bridge known as Belzur Pass, a formation caused by a cavern collapse, the drumbeat slowed considerably, only Ferron, Burp, and Belch had been this far south of the stronghold, so the soldiers moved cautiously from that point on.

Swifty stole a glance at his father's ring, his ring now. It was forged of pure wolframite and fiercely negotiated elfin silver, and he thought about the dwarven runes inscribed inside. Translated, they meant, 'Justified Ruler.' That's exactly how he felt--justified, and noble too, as he kept his pact with Odin to destroy the darkelves and bring long-lasting peace to his people. The steady beating of the drums resonated within his psyche, lifting his spirits as well as the brave army eagerly following him. He took a deep breath, we'll never give up our home.

The passage descended deeper into the mountain before veering off to the left for several leagues. They marched three more hours before the king ordered a brief rest period for a meal and to talk to the leaders of his army about strategy.

Listen Burp, he said, after taking a swig of warm, vinegary wine, he didn't even notice the acerbic taste. His mother used to say that Swifty would be impervious to goat piss if his mind was elsewhere. The king wiped his mouth on his bare forearm before saying. "Since you're the one who made the map leading down to their city, he spat on the ground after saying the word city, take half a dozen soldiers in for a closer look, and send word back here letting me know what's going on."

He grabbed another piece of dried boar and ate a mouthful. Surprise must be on our side. Take whoever ya want, just get back as soon as ye can. I'm taking Ruby and Shani with me, they're the best archers we have--females or no, he added under his breath. Plus, I want Leif, Otis, and Thurston. It's hard to say which of those three have the best arm for throwing an axe.

I'll prepare for the journey, Sire. Belch Hornsprout volunteered.

There's no need, Colonel, the king said hastily. This is a scouting mission only, and I need ye here to talk strategy with. If Belch was disappointed, he didn't show it.

After a few minutes, he ordered his soldiers to their feet once more. It is common knowledge that dwarves are not good at being still, listening to infernal silence, but Swifty was sure they were near the city and so admonished his drummers to stop beating those rotten elf-skins, saying We gotta stop announcing our coming. And the throbbing of the drums ceased.

After walking four and a half leagues, the small scouting party came to the sanctified pool of Battos, also known as the demon-god, Tereus, with at least ten darkelves guarding it. Burp remembered the last time he killed darkelves here, a total of eight, he recalled.

Odin knows I want to destroy these sentries, but we must get by here unnoticed, Burp whispered. The king wants an accurate head-count, and that means we gotta get in close, and the city is still half a league away.

He looked at their surroundings, upward and behind the hideous fountain depicting the curved-horn demon, and saw naught but the tunnel wall behind it. At the right of the pool, he saw a rarely used footpath leading up to two small cave openings. That way looks encouraging, he muttered, hoping one of those caves was a means into the city. If we stay low to the ground---wait! Yes, there's a fissure right here, if we squeeze through, he struggled to speak as he pressed the right half of his body into the crevice.

Finally, he was on the other side of the tunnel wall. Turning to the rest of the party, he whispered sharply, Well, come on!

The tunnel was small and narrow, so the dwarves had to crouch, duck-walking a hundred feet before standing at last to continue on less than a league. A gust of warm, moist air met them as they looked down at the glowing city. This would probably not be the way King Swifty could go. Still, we may as well explore, Burp mused.

See that huge lichen field on the left side of the river? That's where Belch, Ferron, and me laid on our bellies watching the goings on down there, he explained to his party. Let's keep going.

Hunkering down, they sprinted out of the rough cavern opening and hid behind tall, coarse stalagmites, avoiding stalactites dripping with water, as they made their way downward to the black river's edge. Hiding among the boulders and weeds, they spied upon the island-city concealed deep below the earth's surface.

They saw Phalomar's shadowy palace. It looked like the silhouette of a spiry cathedral with many windows. Around that, were businesses and study halls in the heart of the city. Spreading outward were the noble's mansions, leisure centers, and middleclass apartments carved out of stone pillars. And finally, small, stacked-stone huts for the peasant class that stood near the military training and parade grounds located close to the river, practice walls, and finally, the lichen fields.

Their army was more than ten thousand strong, and the rest of the populace was at least another thousand. Truly, their numbers hadn't even been guessed at before, Burp thought. He turned to his party, Let's explore a few more of these cave openings. I need to find a way to move our army into the city. Okay, Ruby, you follow me. Thurston, Otis, you take that opening to the right, Shani and Leif, you take the cave up there, he pointed to the northeast. And stay calm everybody, I don't want to have to fight our way outta here, he called over his shoulder as he and Ruby sprinted off into the nearest cave about forty feet away. The rest of the party broke up, heading in different directions.

After walking nearly a mile, the tunnel Ruby and Burp had taken abruptly dead-ended.

Unless we find a secret door somewhere, this is not the passageway for us unless we dig our way through, and we have no time for that, Burp sighed.

You're right, General.

Whether it was the way she said the word general, or his own prickly conscience, Burp felt the need to ask Ruby something he'd wanted to for a long time.

Since ye used to be my superior, I'm wondering if yer mad at me for getting promoted over ye, Truebolt?

"A little, at first. But, ye received a field promotion, and that I can't begrudge 'cause ye earned it. We all know what ye went through with that cursed ax, so if our king thinks ye deserve to be a leader, who am I to argue?"

I admit that life sure takes a lot of strange twists and turns.

Yeah, like these tunnels, Ruby laughed. He loved her hardy laugh.

Someday, he'd take a chance with her mean right hook and tickle that little silver-gray beard of hers.

We should turn back now, he said, and she agreed.

Shani and Leif set a fast pace through their tunnel that opened much wider after twenty feet in.

Mayhap we've found the king's passageway. Shani whispered, shifting the pack on her back. Knowing they were just scouting and hopefully not fighting, she'd packed light, bringing along only her crossbow hastily slung over her shoulder. But, after walking for almost an hour with no rest since they'd left Belzur Pass, she reluctantly admitted that she needed a short breather.

Leif saw the weariness mingle with hope in her pale blue eyes, and agreed that they'd probably found what they were looking for. This way was straight, except for that one intersection, and they'd turned to the right trying to get back to the original tunnel leading to Elfaura.

Aye Shani, let's sit for a second. He squatted down, the dampness didn't bother him anymore, and he'd grown used to stale air. Clearly, no one had used this passage for over a decade. With any luck, the enemy has forgotten this way exists. Squinting down the tunnel, he saw a ray of light several yards away, and caught the trace of a chilly draft.

Come on. Smell that air? He sounded hopeful, We haven't found just another passage, we've found another entrance into the mountain.

Shani stood, readjusted her gear, and sprinted beside Leif until they had to slow down when the tunnel ended in an old cave-in. Through mild sunrays shooting between the cracks, the dwarves could tell that it was just passed dawn. And, they could smell the swamp.

Ugh, smells like troll puke outside. Shani said.

Or Burp's armpit, Leif grinned. Let's head back.

Otis, tired of staring at Thurston's backside as they trudged down their meandering tunnel for more than an hour, whirled around at the sound of a pebble falling to the ground behind them. He was amazed at the floating eyeball, not much larger than a gaming die, ducking behind a slight protrusion in the wall near the ceiling.

Did ye see that damned thing, Thurston? he cried.

Sure I did; what the hell---a flying eyeball?

Aye! Some scabby mage is exploring these tunnels! he whispered.

Blasted mages! I hate everyone of em.

Then, addressing the wizard-eye hovering behind the small, overhanging niche in the wall, Thurston called out, Come on ye snotty little spy, show yerself!

The eyeball, complete with a connected optical nerve trailing along behind it, floated into view for only a second before blinking out.

Well, I'll be damned! Thurston exclaimed.

Me too, I guess three's a crowd, huh?

Aye, he must not be very powerful to get caught like that.

Look, what do ye say we head back and tell General Betterwine about this? I think we've gone far enough, this winding path can't be useful.

"Aye. Only I'm leading the way. So, ye can just gander at my arse for a while. On second thought, just watch where the hell yer goin."

Had the little soldiers gone but half a mile farther, they'd have seen an underground garden, and heard the sounds of the mysterious weeping rock wall where water from Lake Orison seeped underground, unknown to surface dwellers.

Oro broke the connection with his wizard-eye. It exploded with a loud pop into a shower of blood and gore sprayed like a sneeze against the wall. Damn it, he thought. I knew I should've used an owl's eye instead of that boarman's. If it hadn't let its optic nerve scrap along the wall, those dwarves wouldn't have caught me. Well, I'll score some points