by Steven Drake
“I believe in destiny, Jerris,” Rana added, flashing the boy an encouraging smile. Darien only rolled his eyes at the naiveté of his companions.
A few minutes later, the travelers emerged from the dark passageway into the light. As their eyes adjusted to the light, the travelers first beheld the valley of the elves, a place hidden from history for thousands of years. The travelers stood within a walled mountain valley, roughly circular and bounded on all sides by high stone cliffs.
Giant trees rose up throughout the valley, like gigantic pillars holding up a green sky. The trees lacked branches near the ground, instead concentrating their efforts at the very tops, where they branched out incredibly wide. Where one tree’s limbs ended, another’s began, so that the limbs intertwined, weaving a spider web of green that blocked the entire sky. The canopy even grew up the side of the cliffs, so that even from the air, spotting this valley would be all but impossible. The lush canopy filtered the incoming sunshine and blanketed the valley in warm green light.
Long vines intertwined with the tree branches of the canopy, here and there hanging far down toward the valley floor, where they produced bright pink and purple flowers. Brightly colored butterflies, blue, orange, and yellow, gathered round the flowers, awaiting a chance at the nectar within.
Many stands of fruit bearing trees could be seen off to the left and right, well-tended groves no doubt meant to feed the inhabitants of the valley. Tiny purple flowers mingled with patches of moss, clover, and low creeping vines to form the forest floor. Darien was immediately curious where the inhabitants of the valley dwelt, for no residences could be seen, nor could any of the other buildings one expects to see in cities and towns. In fact, the only visible structure was a large white building off in the distance toward the opposite side of the valley.
The air was filled with the sound of buzzing insects and chirping birds, who seemed oblivious to the season. Winter seemed to be banished from this place, and while the Craglands below were beginning to chill and freeze, this place seemed to remain locked in perpetual spring. The smell of flowers and fruit filled the air, like the aroma of an orchard.
For a short while, the three of them simply stood outside the entrance to the passage, taking in the beauty of the hidden valley. Soon, Darien caught sight of a woman, tall and thin, riding towards them on a white horse, from the direction of the white building. She wore a matching forest green shirt and pants with sky blue trim, clearly a uniform for an officer of some sort. Her long auburn hair was tied behind her head in a ponytail. Unquestionably a pure blooded elf, she bore the unmistakable traits of the race, pale unblemished skin, long pointed ears, thin eyebrows and sharp angular features. She rode straight up to them, dismounted, and unexpectedly fell to one knee.
“I am Ceres Arloran, Captain of the Sentinels of Kadanar. I bid you welcome to our city. Your coming has been foretold to us.” Then she raised her head, and regarded each of them individually, turning to each as she spoke. “Rana Geruda, friend of faeries. Jerris Tolmirran, keeper of the Star of Kings, and crown prince of elves.” When she turned last to Darien, her expression changed, from one of respectful greeting, to something else. Fear, wonder, and suspicion mixed together on her face. Her eyes, he noticed, fixed immediately upon the Demon Sword, and did not waver from it, as if she expected the sword to leap suddenly from its sheath to do battle. “Darien the Executioner, keeper of the black blade. Lorekeeper Galen has instructed me to bring you to him. He awaits in the Ivory Hall.” Then, without pause, she stood, returned to her white horse, and waited.
“Um, thank you.” Jerris stumbled over the words. The woman did not respond, nor even acknowledge that he had spoken.
“I believe she’s been instructed not to say anything else Jerris,” Darien said. “This lorekeeper probably doesn’t want anyone to speak to us before him. Let’s just follow”
So the three travelers followed Ceres as she led them under the trees towards the white building, presumably the Ivory Hall. A short while later, it became apparent why no other buildings had been seen. Deeper in the valley, thick brown and yellow vines grew up around the trees, coiling up around the massive trunks. They spiraled up high into the sky, forming natural ramps up to buildings, platforms, and walkways high above the forest floor. All these structures seemed to be made of coiled and tangled masses of the thick vines, bearing no cuts or signs of woodwork. It appeared that the entirety of the arboreal city had been grown in place from the strange vines. Now that he had become aware of the true nature of the city, Darien could see that it spanned most of the center and the far side of the valley. The passage where they had entered was far enough away that the whole of the city had blended seamlessly into the forest background.
A few minutes later, they came to the stark white building they had seen from far away. It was a massive structure, larger even than the keep of Shade Castle. A central dome towered at the center of the structure, with five wide halls, radiating outward from the central dome like beams of light from a star, each a giant in its own right, obviously housing several floors and many dozens of rooms. Tall, ornate colored glass windows glittered in the green sunlight, which seemed to filter down somewhat brighter on the building. The Ivory Hall lacked both brick and mortar. The walls were solid and unmarred, as if they had simply always been there, and always would be, a timeless part of the land itself.
They approached a set of double doors, black, like the one in the underground passage, at the center of the building. The doors opened as they approached, pushed soundlessly open by a pair of silent guards, arrayed the same as their elf guide. Ceres got down from her horse, and led onward, not hesitating, and the travelers followed through the open door, leaving their horses outside. Inside, they found an open rotunda with a raised platform in the center. They walked down a wide aisle which ran directly to the center of the room, upon floors decorated with black and white mosaics, polished to a glistening shine. Long tables, curved to match the arc of the rotunda, surrounded the platform on all sides, forming nearly a dozen narrow aisles. It seemed that there were enough seats for hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, and most were filled on this occasion. Elves, many arrayed like Ceres, and many also wearing simple garb, sat with their eyes fixed upon their guests. All were utterly silent.
Atop the platform at the center of the rotunda, stood a single, tall, silver-haired elf. He possessed the youthful appearance of all elves, but his deep eyes and stern countenance gave Darien the impression that he must be extremely old. The long silver hair, thin and airy like wispy strands of pure light, flowed over his shoulders and halfway down his back. He wore sky blue robes trimmed with silver, tied at the waste with a silver cord. He carried a staff, a deep burgundy colored rod, five feet long with a clear crystal at the bottom, and a fixture at the top, a ring with rays projecting outwards, but empty in the middle.
Ceres led them up a few short steps onto the platform, bowed to the lorekeeper, and hastily departed. The elf looked at them a few moments without speaking, his face both gravely serious and welcoming at the same time. At last, he finally spoke.
“First, welcome child of prophecy, and rightful heir to our kings of old, Jerris Tolmirran. Have you the Star of Kings?” His voice was loud, carrying all across the large open room.
Jerris stood there open mouthed for a moment, frozen like a statue until his older companion gently nudged him and whispered quietly. “He wants you to show the talisman, Jerris.” Jerris fumbled around in his shirt for a bit and finally drew forth the talisman, and as he did so, it glowed brightly. Hushed whispering could be heard all around the room, and awed looks appeared on the faces in the crowd. Some appeared near to tears, while others appeared ready to leap for joy. A moment later, all had left their seats and fallen to one knee.
“Well met, Jerris Tolmirran,” the elf spoke once again. “I am Galen, the lorekeeper of Kadanar. I welcome you, our future king, to the last sanctuary of the elven people. Be at peace, for you are among friends.” T
he crowd then rose to their feet with a thunderous applause.
Jerris appeared to be uncomfortable, and more than a little embarrassed. And why not? For until this moment, the boy had thought himself nothing more than an ordinary half-elf. The reality of his heritage had suddenly been made real, and the boy was hardly prepared. Darien felt somewhat sorry for the lad, for his life would become quite difficult now. Being a king meant having duties, expectations, responsibilities, all of which the lad would likely find himself unready to face. He also realized that now the boy would be more alone than ever before, for these people would be subjects, not companions.
Darien’s thoughts were shortly interrupted as Galen spoke to him. “You are Darien the Executioner, are you not?” Darien nodded silently. “The faeries have spoken of you, and they say young Jerris owes his life to you. For that, we are eternally grateful.” Still, the shade did not speak. He only nodded again and smiled politely. “You also carry with you blade that cuts through emptiness, the invincible shard of the void, the Demon Sword.” The lorekeeper spoke now with a slight hesitation, colored no doubt by fear of the thing of which he spoke. Darien reached up and removed the blade, sheath and all, from his back. He held it up for the loremaster, who examined it, and nodded uneasily. “So there can be no doubt, it has reappeared. It is as I feared. Be that as it may, this is a time for celebration. Our future king has come to us. Let your hearts be light. Return now to your homes. There will be a great feast tomorrow at mid-day to honor our future king, but for now, our friends need rest, and we must retire.” The crowd rose and applauded once again, and Darien returned the sword to his back. As the applause continued, Galen spoke low and quietly. “There is much to discuss yet, friends, for your ears only. If you would follow me.”
They left the rotunda by a different way than they had come, heading down one of the long hallways that extended into the outer wings of the building. They passed many doors before Galen stopped and opened one on the left. The door opened to a room filled with books stacked on shelves. Light shone in from one of the colored glass windows, yellows, reds, blues, and greens filtered through and cast their pattern of colored light upon the polished white floor. Ceres stood silently beside the door, closing it after the last of the three passed through. Red cushioned benches sat along the far wall, and between the shelves. Galen bade them take a seat, and the two younger guests did so, but the older half-elf remained standing, still uncertain about the situation.
The lorekeeper stood silent for what seemed several minutes, as if choosing his words most carefully. He looked most often to Darien, his eyes betraying something more than fear of the Demon Sword. The lorekeeper gathered himself, then spoke slowly. “I will waste no more time with formalities. I apologize for the enthusiastic greeting. I know you must be tired, and were ill prepared for that display, yet such displays are regrettably necessary, and not entirely unpleasant, though I guess you at least have no love for ceremony.” His eyes landed squarely upon the Executioner, who nodded and smiled politely once again, acknowledging the shrewd observation. The lorekeeper winced slightly, as if suddenly troubled by something painful, then continued. “I would speak with you of the weapon you carry. No doubt you have many questions, but first I would tell you of the origin of that blade. Perhaps some of it you already know, but I suspect there is more yet that you do not.”
“Very well,” the quiet shade finally spoke, in an almost disinterested tone. He was far more interested in the faerie queen, whom he guessed was pulling the strings of all the others. Once again, Galen winced almost painfully at Darien’s reaction, enough this time that the shade thought it odd. Even so, Galen began his story.
“There is much that we do not know, for much of our knowledge has been lost to the eons. Even so, we know that it was our ancestors who awakened the first of the formless ones, whom men named demons.
"We built a great civilization, based upon the invisible power of magic, which we harnessed through the starstones. We built a world without hunger, or want, or fear. We cured diseases, and extended our lives for tens of thousands of years, far beyond our lifespans now. But, for some, even that was not enough. They desired true immortality. They searched for a long time. They delved deeper into magic than any had before. They studied the very fabric that binds the cosmos together, and what lies between the threads, the void that is everywhere and nowhere. In that darkness, they found something, or rather, something found them, ancient beings, older than time, formless, and empty.
“We do not know how many demons there were in the void originally, nor do we know where they originally came from, or if perhaps they were always there, waiting to be discovered. What we know is that those elves who discovered the demons, soon joined them, and recruited others. It is recorded that perhaps half our race succumbed to the lure of immortality. They shed their physical bodies, becoming beings of pure magic. But the process left them mad, disembodied, consumed by a hunger for the pleasures of flesh they could no longer experience. Unfortunately, they learned to sate their desire by possessing the bodies of others, and claiming them for their own. As one vessel died, they abandoned it, and sought another. They created the low creatures you know as orcs, goblins, trolls, and many others like them to serve as vessels. They destroyed our civilization, and everything we had built, all in the pursuit of ever greater power and pleasure.
“What remained of our race went to war with the demons. The war lasted many centuries, but slowly, surely, we were defeated, and the demons ruled this world for a thousand years. We withdrew to our most secret sanctuaries, where our wisest and most powerful sorcerers and craftsmen began working to find a way to oppose the demons. They eventually crafted weapons to fight the demons. In secret the elves created two weapons, swords of incredible power to destroy the demons. The first blade was called the Star Sword. It possessed the power of pure light, to repel the demons’ evil spirits, driving them away as light banishes darkness. Still, the Star Sword alone was not enough to achieve complete victory. While it could counter much of their magic, and repel their formless spirits, it could not truly destroy them. So, a second weapon was made, one which had the ability to destroy demons with their own power. That is the Demon Sword you carry.
“While we were in hiding, the younger races, men and dwarves, appeared. They grew strong and thrived even under the rule of the demons. Because of their relatively short lifespans, the demons did not consider them a threat. This proved to be a grave mistake, for they became numerous and strong. A rebellion formed among the young races. In order to aid them, we gave them the Star Sword, but we did not dare trust them with the Demon Sword. Instead, we secretly trained a champion to wield it. It took many years before the demons took the rebellion seriously, while we waited and watched.
“Finally, when the demons moved to crush the rebellion and take the Star Sword, we sent our champion against them. It should have been our finest hour, but our champion failed. He was overwhelmed by the evil of the blade as soon as he picked it up, and he became a mad creature of death and destruction, killing friend and foe alike. Finally, he was slain, and it seemed that all hope was lost. In that moment, a young human, whose name is not recorded in our records, picked up the sword, and mastered it. He used it to cut down the demons with their own power. After the battle, he returned to his people, and, we assume, lived and died a normal life. There were so few of us, we retreated to what sanctuaries we had left, and withdrew from the world.
“For many centuries, the sword did not reappear, and we assumed it lost, or hidden away. Then, about nine hundred years ago, a sorcerer named Varias began seeking moonstones, for some unknown purpose. At first, we did not consider him a threat, but as he grew more powerful, we realized something was strange about him. He possessed powerful magic, more than any mortal should have been able to possess. By the time we realized the true nature of his power, it was too late to stop him. Somehow, he found a way to tap into the sword’s power without ever touching it, without bindin
g himself to it. He used it to make himself far more powerful than any human wizard could have hoped. He built an army, and then an empire.
“We did the only thing we could, and warned the most prominent group of mages in the human kingdoms, and taught them magics to use against Varias. That group of mages became what is now the Order of the Golden Shield. For many centuries, the two sides were stalemated, each fearing the other’s power enough to prevent all-out war, but when you took the Demon Sword, you changed the nature of that stalemate. If you can master the sword, you will change the balance of power, and Varias knows this. He will become increasingly desperate to kill you, risking more and more, until he is left with no choice but to throw all his power against you wherever you are. You understand, now, why you are so important?”
Darien shut his eyes and rubbed his chin, considering all that had been said. He stood that way a long time as Jerris and Rana watched attentively, waiting for him to speak. “It is a fantastic story, but all of it happened so long ago, who can really say what’s true and what isn’t? Even so, the Demon Sword is real enough.” The Executioner then opened his eyes, looking into those of the lorekeeper, trying to assess the elf, and watch closely his reactions. “As for the Demon Sword, you have told me very little that I didn’t already know. I understand the situation very clearly, as indeed I always have, since I left the Master’s service.” At that point, a look of confusion passed over the lorekeeper’s face that bordered on panic, suggesting strongly that he did not expect that answer. He must not know about Ezra, or he wouldn’t have been surprised that I already know a great deal about the Demon Sword, Darien thought to himself. He is desperately trying to think how I came by that information. “I am not a blind fool. I know what you would ask, and the answer is no. A powerful weapon to use against the Demon King, that is what you seek, and then you will rebuild the elven kingdom upon the broken remains of his empire. I will not use the sword, not for that, nor for any other purpose but the most desperate need.” The Executioner stood silently, watching the others, and waiting for the answer to sink in. The lorekeeper seemed disappointed, almost hurt, while Ceres Arloran glared at him from her post by the door, like a cat poised to strike given the slightest provocation.