III. Whispers from the Long Summer of Nagarythe....

[Elithmar]

Fair enough. I still think this Old One needs to man up though.

[Headshot]

I still think this Old One needs to man up though.

I think Tanith would agree with you. Though he says that about everyone south of the Anulii, Prince of LOTHERN.

Story wise, the important thing was the Wall. Not as a physical obstacle - the monster could just go around it - but as a focus for the Old One's powers that were binding the creature in multiple dimensions. Tim was standing atop of it with his enchanted Avelorn bow; I'm no Sapherian but I'm expecting some sort of 'power bleed' there. Oh, and of course the other biggy is that God-Demons tend to not be known for their calm, rational nature. Ego all the way, baby! That whole 'I AM A GOD! KNEEL BEFORE ME!" shtick.

Now shush!! I only have a couple days to finish this thing before I'm leaving Ulthuan, and you'll be forced to bother Tiralya again!

headshot

P.S. What is a citizen from Saphery called anyways? I keep wanting to say 'Sapphic'. But I think that might just be wishful thinking on my part....

[Aicanor]

What is a citizen from Saphery called anyways? I keep wanting to say 'Sapphic'. But I think that might just be wishful thinking on my part....

They are usually called Sapherian or Sapheri (Sapherii). Sadly, Saphery is not another island inhabited by Elf maidens in bikini.

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

They are usually called Sapherian or Sapheri (Sapherii). Sadly, Saphery is not another island inhabited by Elf maidens in bikini.

A shame really...

[Elithmar]

Maybe Sapherian males use their magics to create illusions of them?

and you'll be forced to bother Tiralya again!

I do that whether you're here or not!

[Aicanor]

They are usually called Sapherian or Sapheri (Sapherii). Sadly, Saphery is not another island inhabited by Elf maidens in bikini.

A shame really...

Aicanor's not Sapphic so she doesn't mind. But perhaps it is the reason why her brothers like to travel so much (illusions can only go so far)?

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Well played M'lady.

[Headshot]

Part 13

Captain Aerionflynn stood upon the parapet of the Keep and watched the enemy draw nearer. It suddenly struck him that in all of his travels to and from the Dragon Isles, that this was the third time he had stood upon this very parapet. But the first time without any female companionship.

He snorted, rested his hand upon the pommel of his fleet officer’s saber, and climbed down the stone steps to the courtyard below. Ignoring the bedlam of shouts, and soldiers running in ones and twos below, at a brisk stride he crossed the yard into the Keep proper, and began to climb the donjon stairs. Along the way he ran into Tanith, and a pair of grim-faced Shadow Warriors.

“This reminds me of something my father always used to tell me,” Flynn greeted.

“What’s that?”

“’Son, never get married. Go to sea!’”

Of course not that Flynn had any real choice in the matter; being the number two in the whole progeny issue. So while his older brother learned to manage the family’s extensive vineries in western Eatain, his father had bought him a commission in the Royal navy. Not that it had been as easy as he had expected or hoped. There were years of training in ship-craft, navigation, and the arts of war. And the long progression from lowly ensign serving on one ship or another until he had finally got his own command. Still, all things being equal, whenever he traveled home and saw his brother with his purple-stained fingers, scolding wife, and screaming little niece…. He was plenty certain that he had gotten the better end of the bargain.

The Steward’s room was just as chaotic as the courtyard below. The Steward was there upon his throne surrounded by elven dignitaries and their families. His eyes were frantically looking about the room.

Flynn cleared his throat. “My Lord Steward, what is the plan of battle?”

“We…we must,” the Steward announced as the room quieted about him. “We must…light the signal fires. Yes! And then raise the harbor chain!”

Flynn glanced out the open balcony. He could see that the Keep’s warriors had already done both. The bonfires burned upon the point of the harbor entrance, and they would only be the first of a string stretching across the countryside and all the way to the peak of the Twin Sisters, which would be visible to the Asur patrols at sea, and with luck, the City of Spires itself.

Still… looking out beyond the headland, he could see a pair of armored corsair raiders approaching, their prows reinforced in kraken bone, and their sides covered in scale and iron fittings. Upon their twin castles, multiple detachments of repeaters were being readied, and their rigging was full of sharpshooters. The great chain, winched into place across the mouth of the harbor may postpone their landing. Or force them to anchor their vessels at the headland. But it would be a delay of only an hour at best.

And beyond them…. Looming upon the horizon were the dark spires of a Black Ark. Once it arrived, no chain on earth would be able to stop its passage. Fueled by sorcery and demon slaves the mountain fortress would simply snap the massive chain as if it were twine, and ram its way upon the shore itself, becoming an instant fortress and sally port for the thousands of warriors within.

“Ok. And then what?” the ever diplomatic Palin’Tanith snarled out.

“And….and,” the Steward said in a fluster and a sweat. “And then… then we must close the gates!”

“Closing the gates is always a good idea,” Flynn said with a smile. Then with a glance at Tanith he added in a calm, encouraging voice, “Perhaps my lord, it would be in the best interest of the dominion that I take command of the defenses. While you busy yourself with….ummmm, communication and logistics!”

Looking relieved the bald steward replied. “Yes. Yes. Lord Aerion. I concur….. So, what shall we do?”

“First my lord, I need to know what resources we have.”

“The Keeps guard. There are fifty spears. And….”

“A milita?” Flynn prompted.

“Yes! Perhaps. We could call up the bowmen of the villages!”

Flynn nodded to two nearby red and white cloaked soldiers. “See that it is so.” Then turning back to the Steward, already dreading the answer, “Are there any magus in the Keep, my lord?”

“No, not now,” the Steward answered looking dejected. “The apprentice that was here was sent as navigator last month to the City of Spires. Our replacement has yet to arrive.”

Casting about the room, Flynn’s eyes settled on Lady Aifana. “My dearest Lady, surely as a Saphery noble you would certainly be willing to contribute to the defense of the Phoenix’s dominions.”

Aifana blinked at him a few times, looking pale. “I…I study plants, Captain Flynn,” she finally managed.

Tanith grunted. “OK. Then you can do that spell where the vines come up from the ground and choke the Druchii bastards. That’s always a good one.”

“No. I mean, I’m a horticulturist. A botanist,” Aifana responded, paling even further. “I experiment with different breeds. And crossbreeds! I once was able to mix the properties of a glowworm and a Tiranoc radish. A glowing radish! It was quite a success at the Tower….”

Flynn and Tanith shared a look. “This is going to be a long one,” Flynn mumbled.

The Steward’s wife, her head not shaven and thus obviously not of the scribe-cast, and thus a rare union, stood next to her husband trying to comfort two children under her arms.

“Is there no hope, Lord Aerion?” she pleaded.

Flynn, flashing his most confident smile, threw himself into the formal Lothern bow and flourish. “My Lady! Don’t you see that you speak to Shadow Warriors?! For them killing Druchii is not just a hobby! It’s a lifestyle!”

***

“Do you think it’s a hydra?” Flynn asked. When Tanith made no reply, he continued. “I think it’s a hydra. Every Druchii army has two nowadays. I don’t know how they breed them so fast. Though I imagine it must be quite the spectacle.”

The main courtyard gate was shivering under a staccato rhythm of blows to it. Beyond it they could hear the sounds of a terrifying beast, and the war cries of the Druchii raiders. The archers on the wall were firing their bows as fast as the relief crews could run fresh quivers to them. Yet, the black barbs coming from beyond the wall were flying so thick that already a half dozen of the defenders were down.

Flynn had acquired a light set of Sea Guard armor and now wore the familiar mail and cuirass over his loose white robes. He tied the captains peaked helm into place, and then adjusted the weight of the quiver at his hip. A short Eatainian bow rested at his side, propped upon the spear there stabbed into the earth.

Glancing to his side he could see the serried ranks of the sea guard detachment, all ready with bows drawn. The first rank on its knee, spears leveled at the gate. Not for the first time he wished that the faces were the familiar ones from the Harvest Moon. But he had to make do, and impressed upon Lady Aifana the dire need of their circumstances. Accordingly the marines and crew of The Quintessence had been pressed into service, equipped, and placed under his immediate command.

“If it is a hydra,” Tanith growled. “You let me and the lads deal with it.” The Shadow Warriors and Tanith had a bucket of burning pitch set up before them. The spear Tanith held was already blazing at its cloth-wrapped point.

“What? You aren’t going to tell me to ‘aim for its soft spots’?” Flynn quipped. “You really should be careful what you tell Narrin’Tim. Everyone with half a brain knows that hydras don’t have soft spots. And if they do, they just grow back! Yet that boy believes everything you tell him. He’s equal parts gullible, and loveable!”

Tanith just grunted.

“I certainly hope that he has finally bedded the delightful Anna’lis,” he continued, conversationally. Tanith made no reply. “I’m just saying that I’m getting tired of mopping all the angst out of the Moon’s nest….”

Then the gate collapsed in a din of noise and smoke, and there was no more time for banter.

Huh, it is a hydra afterall….

***

Flynn’s arm was bleeding. It was a deep cut; he didn’t want to look. The Druchii hatchet had split the chain link sleeve like it was cloth, and hadn’t stopped until he heard the crunch of bone. The arm was useless now, covered in oozing red gore.

At least it was his left. He could still bare his saber in his right. But his head was starting to grow woozy from the blood loss.

He looked about him. They were within the Keep, in one of the upper floors. Wooden beams and partitions all about. The mat weave floor stained black in spots. Beyond the open balconies he could hear the sounds of fighting, and see the occasional exchange of missiles. Far below he could see that the Druchii ships had finally forced the chains; both were within the harbor now, ramps upon the quay. The Black Ark was drawing close, like a dark maw, just beyond the headlands.

Nearby Tanith was kneeling tending to one of the Shadow Warriors. The boy had caught a bolt to the belly. That was always bad. Usually fatally so. Even though his face was wracked with pain, he made no cry. Only when Tanith cut the bolt and forced it out did he finally scream, then collapse into unconsciousness.

It was no longer a battle. Now it was just a chaotic melee within the halls and rooms of the keep, as the Asur fought foot by foot, room by room, forcing the Druchii to pay with blood for every corridor claimed. No time for orders or tactics. It was a whirlwind of killing the foe in front of you, and trying not to cut the brother to your side. Soon it would not even be that. Soon, as the overwhelming numbers of raiders began to make their presence felt on the exhausted defenders, it would be a slaughter.

“Tanith,” Flynn said, not trying to keep the weariness from his voice. “You should go to the Steward’s room. You must get him and his family from the Keep and to the forest beyond. There must be an escape way.”

Tanith shook his head. “I’ll kill Druchii here.” He stood and raised his heavy falchion, eyes upon the barricaded door.

“I’m afraid, old friend,” Flynn winced. “That I’m making that an order. They must be taken to safety. You are the best to do so, and ensure their survival in the forest.” He finished, “Think of the children.”

Tanith paused and stared hard at him. “Damn you Flynn!” he then cursed. Then with one last glare, ran and disappeared up the central stairs.

Flynn looked back to the door. Any moment….

It shattered in blue witchfire. And the Druchii were through with shrieking war cries. The first came at Flynn flinging a knife. Flynn dropped, bending his knees. The knife sailed overhead. Then as the warrior raised his heavy cutlass, Flynn lunged, burying his saber in the corsair’s heart.

Then there was a crack, and a red line bathed in flame swept through the room. A heavy oaken pillar was severed neatly as the thin line passed through it. Two of the Sea Guard nearby stood for a moment, before collapsing, heads tumbling from shoulders.

Flynn could see the witch now. Her long white braids flying behind her, she strode into the room with a sneer upon her lips and bloodlust in her eyes. The flaming red whip held confidently in her hand, with another crack it leapt across the room, tearing spear, then arm from yet another Asur warrior. The elf cried in agony. Another crack, and he was silent.

The witch’s eyes fell upon Flynn. He rolled behind one of the pillars as the whip snaked out. The heat of the line passed close to his face; once, twice, and then the pillar was collapsing above him. He tossed himself to the side.

Another crack and his saber was in two. He rolled over on his back and could see the witch walking towards him, feral smile still splitting her lips. He looked around frantically at the room, looking for a weapon. Anything. He was alone. His eyes fixed on the balcony. Too far to jump. But….

He took a deep breath. Relaxing, he looked back to the witch, and flashed her his most dazzling smile.

“Well, my lady. It seems that you have me cornered.”

The witch strode closer, flame whip in one hand, serrated knife in the other.

“But, before we do anything hasty.” Flynn raised up his one good hand. “There is a saying in Lothern.” He continued to smile. “Actually, there are a lot of sayings. We are a rather garrulous people afterall. The most famous is of course, ‘Never drink with dwarfs.’”

The witch was standing over him now. She put the heel of her boot onto his bloodsoaked hand and pressed downward. Flynn screamed in agony.

Blinking past the tears of pain, he stammered onwards. “But…but there is another. Only slightly less well known.” He dropped all mirth from his face. “’Never anger the Nagarathi’.” Nodding towards the window he finished, “And you my lady, have pissed off a whole Host of them!”

The witch glanced to the open balcony. There it could be seen the harbor far below, and the two Druchii ships at anchor. One was in flames! The other a whirlwind of activity as black cloak boarders swept the decks clear with a savagery! Beyond that could be seen the Harvest Moon, the hawkship’s twin repeaters firing repeatedly into the throngs of Dark Elves upon the shore! And further out to sea, fast approaching upon the Black Ark, a pair of mighty eagleships bearing the red, white and gold of the City of Spires. Each one twice the size of a hawkship; the mighty battleships were already releasing multiple volleys of flaming bolts upon the sorcerous mountain. But behind them, even of more massive a scale, was the awesome might of Dragonship dreadnaught! Rows upon rows of eagleclaw boltthrowers were being pushed into place. Its magically hardened ram, pointed at the Ark’s waterline, came on with ferocious speed for a ship of such a size. And above it, floating as a long streamer in the breeze, in gold and blue, the Rising Phoenix! Symbol of the Royal Navy.

The witch was hissing and shouting. And then! In a flurry of black armor and gleaming blades, Shadow Warriors began to swing across the balcony edge! The witch raised her magical whip….

There was a whirring noise; spinning through the air came six feet of Nagarathi silver-steel! A mighty claymore collided with the witch, picking her up off her feet and slamming her with terrible force into the wall beyond! Pinned against the wood, the Druchii squirmed weakly, then was still.

“My Prince,” Flynn greeted. “Your timing is, as always, impeccable.”

The Shadow Prince reclaimed the claymore, Spite.

“Where is Tanith?”

***

Lili fought alongside the Prince and his Shadow Warriors, moving from room to room in a whirlwind of swinging blades, deeper into the Keep. In moments, they had followed a trail of corpses and found themselves upon an open balcony. Here just a scant week ago had been the moonlight reception.

But now it was a scene of battle. Tanith was there at the far corner of the room. Behind him was the Steward, a woman, and two small children, cowering. And all about, over a half score of Druchii warriors circled. Two of them already lay dead or dying at Tanith’s feet. But now a one-eyed, massive brute came towards the old Shadow Warrior, a cutlass in each hand. There was a pass; black steel upon Nagarathi silver steel. Sparks flew. It was too quick for the eye to follow. The big corsair’s attacks were ferocious and unrelenting. And then…. A swipe! And a streamer of blood flew from Tanith’s chest. The ancient elf warrior spun about with the force of the blow. And then the Druchii stepped smoothly forward, ramming the cutlass through the back of his opponent. In sprung neatly out of Tanith’s chest.

“No!!!!” she heard someone scream in the most pitiable voice, and she was surprised to realize it was her own.

But that was nothing compared to the roar of rage and anguish that escaped from beside her!! The Shadow Prince charged into the room, his features a depiction of Khaine’s utter fury!

Six Druchii moved to intercept him, while the Captain stood beyond, a confidant smile on his face.

The first two came at the Prince, sabers in hand. A flicker of light, and a spin, saw heads fly from shoulders. The next came with an overhead blow from a crushing mace! Only to have the greatblade swing up and out, thrusting through his center and sending both blade and Druchii flying upwards with the force of the blow.

The Shadow Prince, unarmed, continued forward. Lili and his warriors followed trading blows with the corsairs.

The corsair captain was no longer smiling. He watched his foe come with a wary gaze.

Another Druchii came at the Prince, with knife in hand. Not even glancing in is direction, the Prince turned the Dark Elf’s arm, and then seized the his head. With a violent twist, the neck was broken.

The Captain stepped back….

Then two Druchii interceded themselves, lances in hand. They struck out. With a spin the Prince pulled the pike from one. It snapped across his knee. A roll, and then he came up in a sprint, burying the bladed tip into the belly of one, and the splintered end into the throat of another.

The Captain came at him, both blades blood soaked and nicked from battle. They wove a furious path in the air. The Shadow Prince stepped in, ducking one blow, and pinning the arm and blade of his foe at his side. But the other blade was still free; the Captain with his greater mass and height brought it up and down in a crushing blow towards his foe.

At the last second, the Shadow Lord tilted his head and took the blade upon the metal shoulder guard of his ancient black and gold armor. Even so, the force of the blow was terrific. There was a hideous clang of metal on metal.

But then, bare-fisted, the Shadow Prince threw his knuckles into the Corsair’s face. Once. Twice. In a flurry of blows, the nose broke. Teeth shattered. Blood flew in the air. And the captain toppled.

Yet such was the Prince’s fury he went down with him, kneeling over his fallen foe. Raining blow after bare-knuckled blow into head and face. Blood pooled upon the stone, and the legs convulsed and twitched. Then finally, went still.

As the last of the Druchii raiders fell before them. Lili ran to the supine form of her father. Turning him, she gently cradled his head in her lap. The ancient elf’s eyes were dim. He looked up at her with a faint smile on his bloodstained lips.

“Lileath. Sweet Lileath. Forgive me….”

And then the light was gone from his eyes.

Lili bowed her head and wept.

***




So sad now....

Curse these filthy colonies and the price they have exacted from Nagarythe!!!!

Sigh. Well perhaps at least now when a certain green Dutchman feels the urge to mock Nagarythe, he will remember the fate of Seth'Tarkan, and still his tongue!

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Palin’Tanith is dead? This is not how I wanted to start work today =(
[Edit] No mention of the dragonblades on the dragonship? They are the only weapon capable of threatening a black ark.

[Headshot]

Epilogue

Narrin’Tim continued along the rise until he reached its endpoint, and the land fell some hundred feet to the lapping seas below. He sat down, his feet dangling over the edge. Behind him at some distance was the Keep, aglow with bonfires and workmen’s lamps. Even though night had fallen the sound of hammers and saws continued to reach his ears, sure signs that the dominion elves were still at their repairs of the seat of government of the Talons. To his left the rise continued until it narrowed into a ridge that formed the western wall to the harbor, and her cluster of ships. And before him, the soft blues of the sea. In the distance were the looming shadows of the remainder of the Dragon Isles. From here the flickering red glow of their fire mountains were clearly visible. It was an eerie spectacle of light. Fire on the horizon; below the shimmering and sparking luminescence of tropical waters. Above the silver thin glow of the moon, amid a backdrop of strange constellations.

They had arrived nearly too late. The last of the Druchii had rallied around their beastmasters in the village. The fearsome power of a hydra as their shield, they had fought a determined withdrawal towards the forest. Until Telmar had arrived in a gout of flame. With a roar he had leapt upon the Hydra and torn it into pieces, then consumed those in white hot flame. The Druchii had broken, and Tim along with the rest of the Nagarathi had pursued. No mercy was shown. And in a few minutes the last of the Druchii rested upon his knees, until a Nagarathi blade was drawn across his throat. And upon the seas the two Druchii raiders burned while the Black Ark fled to the west, with the Asur fleet baying at its heels.

And then the real work had begun. Fires were put out. The wounded and dying found and cared for. The already dead counted. The grisly work of aftermath. Even in ‘victory’ it turned Tim’s stomach. But there was one moment he remembered amongst the mourning and gritty labor: the sight of the Shadow Prince greeting the Prince of Spires upon the quay. The two ancient elf lords exuded a since of calm and continuity amongst the chaos and suffering as they silently shook hands.

The Prince of Spires had remained through the funerals that followed. His warriors acting as honor guard to the militia and Host soldiers as they were laid to rest upon pyres. Then he had rejoined his eagleships to continue the scouring of the surrounding waters just in case any of the Druchii remained. With him went Lady Aifana, to face tribunal for violating the laws of Crown and Dominion. Though there was some talk of mercy in light of her actions in the Battle of the Keep. One of her pet crossbreeds, a cacti with long flailing arms, had managed to keep an entire cohort of Druchii busy when they had tried to gain entrance to her rooms. Flynn had said it was quite a sight; Druchii being tossed into the air by long spiny tendrils.

But it was in the aftermath of the battle that Narrin’Tim had learned the full cost to the Host. For after the Prince of Spires departed, there was a private service for only the Shadow Prince, Lili and he. They took a sea canoe out beyond the harbor entrance to where the sapphire blue waters faded to indigo, and then in silence placed their wrapped canvas burden, laden with heavy stones, into the waiting waters. Lili did not weep. Her eyes were red and her face was as stone; there was nothing left to give. Tim felt her anguish, and his own. And the Shadow Prince, a single tear falling down his cheek, whispered, “Goodbye, old friend. I was not in time. Forgive me.”

Tim couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t talk to anyone. Didn’t want to see anyone. Not even Anna’lis…. After the ceremony, as the sun had set, he had trudged alone to the rise.

Tanith gone! It was like a space had opened up in his chest. Tanith had always been there! Always! He had survived…everything! The North. Countless battles. And he had been there from Tim’s first day. His presence like a constant North Star in the years with the Host. His dry humor, and surly laugh. Gods, how he missed him!

And the anguish was so acute because of the shame he now felt. He should’ve been there! He should’ve guarded him. Stayed with the Host! Protected his brother! And the sense of failure and betrayal was as a knife prodding Tim in his belly…..

And…and his hopes. His dreams. All were as ash in his mouth. He saw Anna’lis in his mind’s eye. Felt the love swell in his breast. And knew….knew that it couldn’t be. He had failed Tanith. Failed the Host. How could he think of his happiness now? How could he think of a life with her, haunted by this despair? The Shadow Prince would need him now, more than ever. His brothers would need him….

Without saying, or doing anything, he saw the dreams of a life in Saphery. The rolling green hills, and tranquil surface of the Inner Sea. The pleasant warm summers, and warm inland breezes. The White Tower, and its flock of Great Eagles, in the distance wherever you stood. He saw it. And he knew it not to be. Just as if a malicious sorcerer had conjured the vision in front of him, writ it on the very stars of the heavens above, and then dissipated it with a wave of a hand, like smoke before the wind.

He couldn’t go to Saphery. He was Nagarathi. And more than that. He was Shadow Warrior.

But the pain. Gods the pain! Anna’lis. He loved her more than life, more than sun and star. But he couldn’t leave his brothers. Not now.

Thoughts of Nagarythe flooded his mind. He saw his father. He was a little boy again. His father hooking up his elbow, as Tim sighted down at the little flap of leather that they used to use as a target when he was just a boy. And there, his mother, the scar upon her brow from the Druchii blow from her own childhood. She was seated upon a fallen log, smiling at him, watching him with pride. He saw his village then. The tiny cluster of buildings clinging to the skystone. There at the sacred clearing at the peak of the stone…. Where only the elder trees were allowed to grow…. They would gather for the spring festivals. And there beneath the hanging lanterns, he saw the first maiden he had ever kissed….

Nagarythe! He could not leave her. And a wave of homesickness washed over him like the frigid waters of the North, bringing with it a cold certainty. It had been so long since the western hills and home. Always marching and fighting in the Host. Doing his duty. Without a word from his family or friends, with years passing.

There was a soft tread behind him. The Shadow Lord settled down upon the cliff at his side. The ancient elf lord was staring out at the glow of the distant isles.

“Soon it will be autumn in Nagarythe,” he said softly. “The clans will start hunting the white hart. The horns will bray. The hounds will be released. The southern woods will be thick with it.”

Tim nodded. “Yes, my prince. My people don’t usually go. But I went once. The year before my rite.”

The Prince smiled. “You wanted to claim the white hart as your rite trophy.”

“I wasn’t successful, my lord,” Tim said ruefully.

“No, few are. Some believe that since the sundering the hart has left Nagarythe. Disappeared into the wild depths of Avelorn. But still, a few times, a lone hunter claims to see the stag….”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then the Prince said, “Once. Long ago. In another life. Two hunters went into the wilds near Anlec in search of the white hart. They were fresh returned from war in the north. Both having never expected to see Nagarythe and its heath and hills never again. With a solemn gratitude in their hearts they wanted to spend every waking moment once again walking the ancient glens….”

The voice trailed off. “And so these two warriors left their families at home, found the best bowyers amongst the clans, and had special longbows cut and carved for each. For the hunt. The wood was cut from the body of a black yew, felled by lightning the same month that they had sailed to the North together. They were of perfect match in length and strength. The pull was fearsome. And these young warriors swore upon their bows that they would climb into the forested heights beyond Anlec, and not return until they had claimed the white hart!”

Tim waited a little then asked, “Were they successful, my lord?”

The Shadow Prince chuckled ruefully. “No. They never even saw the beast. One of the mighty hunters was of the sea people. He knew nothing of stags or hunting in the hills. The other had recently returned from too many years at the Tower, and long hours spent in libraries with dusty books. He spent all his time in dreams of gardens with wildflowers brought from exotic locales. Gardens that one day he would plant in frosty Nagarathi soil.” The Prince shook his head. “But for two weeks those two wandered the forests. Going along streams. Climbing hills. They talked. They sat in silence. They lit fires. They sheltered beneath pines when the rain came. They did not hunt.”

Then the Prince took a deep breath. “At the end of the fortnight. They grew thirsty, and returned to the villages of the lowlands, and a tavern built at the side of a stream. They drank and ate, and forgot about the hart and the hunt. But they kept the black bows, and promised to remember…. To remember that they were brothers forever.” The Prince took a quick breath. “Then they went their separate ways. One to the north and the sea. The other to his travels in the east. Not to meet again for many an age.”

The Shadow Prince sat silently for a few moments more, and then stood up. Tim could see that next to the greatsword, Spite, upon his back was a long black bow, worn and nicked with age and use. The Prince turned and as he did so the moonlight glistened off the ancient black and gold armor. Rents and tears, old scars from battles fought long ago by other Shadow Princes, were clearly visible. The weight of the armor. The past of it. Seemed so great. Like the blackness between the stars….

Tim looked up at that stony profile, and felt something stir within him. “My lord,” he began. “Do you ever feel lonely?”

The Shadow Prince turned his gaze upon him and the fearsome features of the dread elf lord softened into a kind smile. He said,

“I am Nagarythe. Why should I ever be lonely?”

***



And that's it for me. I must once again disappear into the shadows as the burdens of this world claim me. I want to thank everyone who came by and shared some time with Tim and company. As always, if the stories were able to cause a smile, a chuckle or two, on some long train ride or some rainy day somewhere, then I have done good and it was all worth it.

And of course, for all my brothers and sisters of the heart, those that choose to spend their time wandering the hidden glens and staring at the sheltered coves of Ulthuan in the faerie realm of the imagination, let me just say-

"Never fear. The Nagarathi have got your back!"



Headshot

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Do tears count? For I'm sure to get asked 'what's wrong?' at work...

[Aicanor]

Many train rides really. Good hunt then, and safe return! I will be looking out for you from the tower of my sandcastle. And if you by chance stumble upon the white hart, don't shoot.

[Elithmar]

Well I'm not as soft as Ele but tears were certainly a possibility. Tanith dead? You're so mean. I wish we could go back to the days when the Host went for merry holidays to Athel Loren and all Tim was worried about was if Annalyth would find out about him and Tarabeth.

You really are a powerful writer. One of the best I've ever read the works of, and I'm not joking.

Good bye then, come back soon! I miss your stories.

I'm going to have to watch some Blackadder now to cheer me up, that part really saddened me.

Bis balt!

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Oh, I'm very soft.

[sulannar]

I must admit headshot, everytime I read some of your stories of bat reps I am inspired to carry on with my own HE project. Thank you for another great story!!

[Larose]

Aye, great story as always I think I've grown rather fond of the Nagarathi and that's coming from a Caledorian

[Prince of Spires]

Tanith got a good death. The best a Nagarathi could ask for realy. Defending the innocent and taking as many Druchii with him as possible.

Some great action from the Shadow lord along the way. He is one fearsome spectacle once he gets roused.

I do feel sorry for Tim and Anna'lis. They deserved a quite life Saphery. But who knows, perhaps they got "lucky" on the first try and we'll have mini Tim's running around during the next story. That would be funny to watch

It was great to read that the prince of Spires has quite an army at his command. Maybe a bit on the late side perhaps. But that's not realy his fault... And don't worry, they wont forget the Nagarathi and their sacrifice. I'll still mock them of course. It's what you do to those you count on. It's what family is for. Besides, being from the colonies means I get mocked almost as much as a Nagarathi.

Don't think Lady Aifana will get off too easily. Self preservation is not the same as doing a service for the crow. The guilty must be punished and all that.

As a reward, I'll incorporate a unit of shadow warriors in my army every now and then. Think of it as a kind of exchange program for when they want to relax on the beach a bit and enjoy those elf maidens in bikini's. I'm sure even they don't mind a break from the bad weather in Nagarithe sometimes. Just for a decade or so... Besides, the host could use some well trained warriors from the spires to back them. And we're rich enough to aford sending them (those bikini holidays are a hit I tell you).

Although, thinking of it. It all started when those Nagarathi arived. Coincidence?

One last thing:

What is a citizen from Saphery called anyways? I keep wanting to say 'Sapphic'. But I think that might just be wishful thinking on my part....

They are called "Funny in the head"...

Don't be too much of a stranger, headshot. Remember, you can spend time here without having to write complete stories.

Rod

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

One last thing:

What is a citizen from Saphery called anyways? I keep wanting to say 'Sapphic'. But I think that might just be wishful thinking on my part....

They are called "Funny in the head"...

Rod

I was going to say colourful ^^

[Aicanor]

I think I can live with 'colourful'.

[Elithmar]

I think I can live with 'colourful'.

I'm sure the Mad Hatter makes you look normal.

[Mast Sworder]

Brilliant write up. Shame that Tanith dies. He was an incredibly good character.

Can't wait for the next story arc