“Elves are truly remarkable. Just look at that tower. It’s fluid and seamless as if growing right out of the rock. How elegant. How perfect. It fits into the landscape like a thing of nature, a natural wonder, only it isn’t. They created it using skills and techniques that our best masons couldn’t begin to understand. Just imagine how glorious their cities must be! What wonders those forests across the river must hold.”
“So you have never crossed the river?” Royce asked.
“No man ever has, and no man is ever likely to. The moment a man touches that far shore, he will likely fall dead. The thread by which the fate of man hangs is a thin one indeed.”
“How’s that?”
Esrahaddon only smiled. “Did you know that no human army ever won a battle against the elves before the arrival of Novron? At that time, elves were our demons. The Great Library of Percepliquis had reams on it. Once we even thought they were gods. Their life span is so long that no one noticed them aging. Their death rites are so secret no human has ever seen an elven corpse.
“They were the firstborn, the Children of Ferrol, great and powerful. In combat, they were feared above all things. Sickness could be treated. Bears and wolves could be hunted and trapped. Storms and droughts prepared for—but nothing, nothing could stand before the elves. Their blades broke ours, their arrows pierced our armor, their shields were impenetrable, and, of course, they knew The Art. Imagine a sky darkened with a host of Gilarabrywn. And they are only one of their weapons. Even without all that, without The Art, their speed, eyesight, hearing, balance, and ancient skills are all beyond the abilities of man.”
“If that’s true how come they’re over there and we’re sitting here?”
“It is all because of Novron. He showed us their weaknesses. He taught mankind how to fight, how to defend, and he taught us the art of magic. Without it we were naked and helpless against them.”
“I still don’t see how we won,” Royce challenged. “Even with that knowledge, they still seem to have the advantage.”
“True, and in an even fight we would have lost, but it wasn’t even. You see, elves live for a very long time. I don’t think any human actually knows how long, but they live for many centuries at least. There may be elves right now watching us that remember what Novron looked like. But no people can live that long and reproduce quickly. Elves have few children and a birth for them is quite significant. Birth and death in the elven world are rare and holy things.
“You can imagine the devastation and misery it must have been during the wars. No matter how many battles they won against us, each time their numbers were fewer afterwards than before. While we humans recovered our losses in a generation, it would take a millennium for the elves. They were consumed, drowned if you will, in a flooding sea of humanity.” Esrahaddon paused then added, “Only now Novron is gone. There will be no savior this time.”
“This time?”
“What do you think keeps them over there? These are their lands. To us it seems eons ago, but to them it is just yesterday when they walked this side of the river. By now, their numbers have likely recovered.”
“What keeps them on that side of the river then?”
“What keeps anyone from what they want? Fear. Fear of annihilation, fear that we would destroy them utterly, but Novron is dead.”
“You mentioned that,” Royce pointed out.
“I told you before that mankind has squandered the legacy of Novron, and it has done so at its own peril. Novron brought magic to man, but Novron is gone and the magic forgotten. We sit here like children, naked and unarmed. Mankind is inviting the wrath of a race so far beyond us they won’t even hear our cries. The elves’ ignorance of our weakness and this fragile agreement between the Erivan Empire and a dead emperor is all that remains of humanity’s defense.”
“It’s a good thing they don’t know then.”
“That’s just it,” the wizard told him, “they are learning.”
“The Gilarabrywn?”
Esrahaddon nodded. “According to Novron’s decree, the banks of the river Nidwalden are ryin contita.”
“Off limits to everyone,” Royce roughly translated, garnering a faint smile from the wizard. “I can read and write too.”
“Ah, a truly educated man. So as I was saying, the banks of the river Nidwalden are ryin contita.”
A look of realization washed the thief’s face. “Dahlgren is in violation of the treaty.”
“Exactly. The decree also stipulates that elves are forbidden to take human lives, except should they cross the river. It says nothing about humans killed through benign actions. If I release a boulder it could roll anywhere, but odds are it will roll down hill. If houses and people are downhill it may destroy them, but it isn’t me that is killing them, it is the boulder and the unfortunate fact they live downhill from it.”
“And they are watching what we do, how we deal with it. They are sizing up our strengths and weaknesses. Much like you are doing with me.”
Esrahaddon smiled. “Perhaps,” he said. “There is no way to be certain if they are responsible for the beast’s presence, but one thing is certain, they are watching. When they see we are helpless against one Gilarabrywn, if they feel the treaty is broken, or when it runs out, fear will no longer be a deterrent.”
“Is that why you are really here?”
“No,” the wizard shook his head. “It plays a part, but the war between the elves and man will come despite any action I can take. I am merely trying to lessen the blow and give humanity a fighting chance.”
“You might begin by teaching some others to do what you did last night.”
The wizard looked at the thief. “What do you mean?”
“Coy doesn’t suit you,” Royce told him.
“No, I suppose not.”
“I thought you couldn’t do your art without your hands?”
“It is very hard and takes a great deal of time and it isn’t very accurate. Imagine trying to write your name with your toes. I began working on that spell before you arrived here, thinking it would come in handy at some point. As it was, the flame wall nearly consumed you two. It was suppose to be several yards farther away, and last for hours instead of minutes. With hands I could have…” he trailed off. “No sense going there I suppose.”
“Were you really that powerful before?”
Esrahaddon showed him a wicked smile. “Oh my dear boy, you couldn’t begin to imagine.”
———
Word of Thrace’s recovery quickly spread through the village. She was still a little groggy, but remarkably sound. She could see clearly, all her teeth were in her head, and she had an appetite. By midmorning, she was sitting up eating soup. That day there was a decidedly different look in the villagers’ eyes. The unspoken thought in every mind was the same—the beast had attacked and no one had died.