Tomas’s eyes snapped open. He found Galain standing a short way off, near the edge of the clearing. “Shall I return later?”
Tomas rose slowly from where he had sat dreaming. His voice was rough and tired. “No, what is it?”
“Dolgan’s dwarven band has reached the outer forest and waits for you near the winding brook. The dwarves struck an outworld enclave as they crossed the river.” There was a merry smile upon the young elf’s face. “They have finally captured prisoners.”
A strange look of mixed delight and fury passed over Tomas’s face. Galain felt strange emotions as he regarded the reaction of the warrior in white and gold to this news. As if listening to a distant call, Tomas spoke distractedly. “Go to the dwarven camp. I will join you there presently.”
Galain withdrew, and Tomas listened. A distant voice grew louder.
“Have I erred?”
The hall echoed with the words, for now it was vacant, the servants having slipped away. Ashen-Shugar brooded upon his throne. He spoke to shadows. “Have I erred?”
Now you know doubt, answered the ever-present voice.
“This strange quietness within, what is it?”
It is death approaching.
Ashen-Shugar closed his eyes. “I thought as much. So few of my kind lived beyond battle. It was a rare thing. I am the last. Still, I would like to fly Shuruga once more.”
He is gone. Dead, ages past.
“But I flew him this morning.”
It was a dream. As is this.
“Am I then also mad?”
You are but a memory. This is but a dream.
“Then I will do what is planned. I accept the inevitable. Another will come to take my place.”
So it has happened already, for I am the one who came, and I have taken up your sword and put upon your mantle; your cause is now mine I stand against those who would plunder this world.
“Then am I content to die.”
Opening his eyes, he took one last look at his hall now cloaked in ancient dust. Closing them for the last time, the Ruler of the Eagles’ Reaches cast his final spell. His waning powers, still unmatched upon this world by any save the new gods, flowed from his tired body, infusing his armor. Smoky wisps wafted upward from where his body had rested, and soon only the golden armor, white tabard, shield, and sword of white and gold remained.
I am Ashen-Shugar; I am Tomas.
Tomas’s eyes opened, and for a moment he was confused to find himself in the glade. A strange passion grew within as he felt a new strength flowing throughout his being. In his mind rang a clarion call: I am Ashen-Shugar, the Valheru. I will destroy all who seek to plunder my world.
With a terrible resolve he left the glade, to find the place the dwarves had brought his enemies.
“It is good to see you again, friend Longbow,” said Dolgan, puffing away on his pipe. They had not seen each other since a chance meeting several years before when the dwarves passed through the forest east of Crydee on their way to Elvandar.
Martin, Calin, and a few elves had come to see the dwarves’ prisoners, who were still bound. They waited in a group in a corner of the clearing, glaring at their captors. Galain entered the clearing and said, “Tomas is coming soon.”
Martin said, “How is it, Dolgan, after all these years, you managed to capture prisoners, and an entire enclave at that?”
Behind the eight bound warriors stood a fearful group of Tsurani slaves, unbound but huddled together, uncertain of their fate Dolgan gave an offhanded wave. “Usually we’re raiding across the river, and prisoners tend to slow things down during a withdrawal, being either unconscious or uncooperative. This time we had little choice in the matter, as we needed to cross the river Crydee. In past years we’d wait to sneak across in darkness, but this year they’re as close as nettles in a thicket everywhere along the river.
“We found this band in a relatively isolated spot, with only these eight to guard the slaves. They were repairing an earthwork, one that I judge was overrun a short while ago during an elven sortie. We slipped around them, then a few of the lads climbed into the trees—though they liked it little. We dropped down upon the three outer guards, silencing them before they could shout the alert. The other five were napping, the lazy louts. We slipped into camp, and after a few well-placed strokes with our hammers, we bound them. These others”—he indicated the slaves—”were too timid to make a sound. When it was clear we had not alarmed the nearby enclaves, we thought to bring them along. Seemed a waste to leave them behind. Thought we might learn something useful.” Dolgan tried to keep an impassive expression, but pride over his company’s work shone through like a beacon in the night.