*
The Regent Lord of the Clans of the Seven Stars sat quietly, trying to enjoy one moment of solitude and peace in a day dominated by violence and noise. The enemy battered the Barrier Wall every minute of every day, yet here, in the heart of the capital, he could indulge himself in the illusion that his city was as it had been since he was a boy. Deep within, he felt weak for longing for days by, gone beyond reclaim, but it calmed him and gave him hope that someday the People would find a haven as tranquil as this world once was.
Large open windows granted the sun, wind, and rain admittance into the room. The Regent Lord would always meet guests in the open, so that the People and the Spirits of Ancestors might witness it, such was the law. The only adornments to the room were the battle standards of the Host of the Clans hanging from the ceiling, providing a moving reminder of the People’s history as they stirred in the wind.
The tall warrior rested on a simple wooden chair that had been his nation’s seat of power since memory began.
The People, his race, were dying and there was nothing he could do to save them as long as they remained here.
Despite the heat of the day, Undalyn’s shoulders were covered in white fur, as a mark of his rank; it was the pelt of a snow bear he had killed during his manhood rite high in the mountains of Madrona. He rested his hand upon the hilt of his father’s sword, Shadowbane, absently caressing it.
Below his mantle of fur he wore a light tunic and trousers of a dark green cloth, simple but for the gold thread at the collar and cuffs; his feet were clad in fine brown leather boots, still covered in dust from his morning walk inspecting the city’s defences. The same dust covered his nearly-white hair, and he wished for time to bathe, but knew much needed to be accomplished before a relaxing bath was possible.
He looked out the window at the blue sky and felt the warmth of the sun on his arms and face, and felt the heat under his furry mantle; he welcomed the sensation, trying to drive out the cold that gripped his very soul.
Then a scout, his hair tied in a hunter’s queue, entered. ‘He’s here, m’lord.’
Waving away the courtier, Undalyn spoke in a deep, commanding voice, ‘Show yourself, Conjurer!’
The magic user strode into the throne room, his white robes bright and his staff aglow with power. He bowed and said, ‘I am here, my lord.’
‘Show me,’ ordered the Regent Lord.
Raising his staff, the magic user moved it slowly through the air, and as he did a scene appeared, as if painted on an invisible wall, but moving and alive. When the shimmering ceased, it looked as if a new window had been created by magic, but while the windows of the chamber overlooked the sun-baked tablelands of Andcardia, the magic window showed a completely different landscape.
The Regent Lord scanned the scene before him. It appeared they stood on a hill’s ridge, and it was late afternoon from the angle of the sun behind them. Across a vast valley he could see more peaks. Everywhere he looked he saw natural abundance. The trees were old, heavy with growth, and he could see two large meadows in the distance below. White clouds floated above, pregnant with rain, and the wind carried exotic scents mixed with those more familiar to him: balsam, pine, fir, and cedar. The forest sounded rich with game and in the trees birds sang without concern. ‘This seems a hospitable land,’ observed the Regent Lord. Fixing his gaze on the magic user, he asked, ‘Is it Home?’
Knowing his life, and his brother’s life, probably hung on this answer, Laromendis, Supreme Conjurer of the Circle of Light, hesitated, then said, ‘I must speak with the Loremasters m’lord.’ As the Regent Lord’s expression darkened, he hastily added, ‘I’m being cautious, but yes, I believe it is Home.’
The Regent Lord’s expression betrayed a tiny flicker of relief. If this was their ancestral homeland then there was still hope. ‘Tell me more of it, our ancient Home.’
‘It is a fair world, my lord, though not without problems.’ He moved the staff and the scene disappeared.
‘Problems,’ repeated the leader of the Clans of the Seven Stars. ‘Is there ever a day without problems, on any world?’
The Conjurer said nothing at the rhetoric.
‘Name them,’ said the Regent Lord just as another figure arrived through a portal, his hand on his sword. He was a warrior nearly equal in stature to the Regent Lord, and he seemed on the verge of speaking until he saw Undalyn raise a gauntleted hand, indicating that he wanted silence.
‘This world is rich in game, crops, and metals. But it is home to others.’
‘Others?’
‘Dwarves,’ he almost spat.