Gulamendis turned and experienced a shock close to a physical blow. Tomas, Warleader of Elvandar, stood behind him wearing a suit of white and gold armour. The golden dragon on his tabard captured the Demon Master’s eyes, and when he finally looked Tomas in the face, he saw behind his eyes something he had not seen at the Queen’s Council. Within this being resided an ancient power and now he let it show through.
The Demon Master trembled; instincts long stilled in his people awoke and he found himself terrified and in awe of another being for the first time in his life. Generations of arrogance and superiority fell away. His experience with the Demon Legion had given him doubts about his people’s supremacy, but one look at this being, this avatar of an ancient power, humbled him.
Almost whispering, Gulamendis said, ‘Ancient One . . . .’
Tomas held up his hand and the Demon Master fell silent. ‘Let us cut to the heart of the matter, Gulamendis.’
‘Master,’ whispered the taredhel. Even though he stood nearly six inches taller than Tomas, the Demon Master felt dwarfed by the presence of this icon of the ancient race that ruled over all elves.
Tomas said, ‘This is the Holy Grove. This is the heart of Elvandar and the fundamental essence of your race springs from here.’
Gulamendis turned to regard the young trees and then he realized that this grove was where the sapling Stars were tended and nurtured. He had seen the majestic boles of the mature trees, but this was the first time he had seen them cultivated. He was certain that his ancestors had uprooted the Seven Stars from this place before carrying them to Andcardia.
‘Yes,’ said the Demon Master.
‘This is where the edhel began,’ said Tomas.
‘Yes,’ repeated Gulamendis.
‘It is time for plain speaking. Why are you here?’
The taredhel looked away from Tomas and back to the grove. He said, ‘I have reasons for what I do, Lord Tomas.’ As he spoke, his feeling of being overwhelmed by the presence of the man in ancient armour diminished, though it never fully left. He took a deep breath. ‘We are fleeing a horde of demons who have swept across every world we have colonized.’ He looked at Tomas. ‘How many live here?’
Tomas thought for a moment and said, ‘Within the heart of Elvandar, at least ten thousand.’
‘And throughout the world?’
Tomas said, ‘We can only guess, but the moredhel to the north are likely to number more, perhaps twice our count.’
‘Are there others?’
‘Across the sea, perhaps four or five thousand ocedhel; in Baranor, another thousand, most of whom migrated from here.’
‘There are fifty thousand among the scattered tribes of the edhel,’ said Gulamendis. He reached out and gripped Tomas’s tabard as if needing to hang on to something. Hoarse with emotion, he said, ‘We were millions! We were the eldar! We were; but we made ourselves so much more than you can imagine, Dragon Lord.’
He let go of Tomas and turned away. There was moisture in his eyes as he looked around. At last he said, ‘This is like looking into the past for me.’ He turned, hands outstretched. ‘We can never be this again.’ He made a sweeping gesture. ‘We can never return to living in trees.’ Tears ran down Gulamendis’s face. ‘No matter how beautiful, or venerated those trees are. We have become something else.’
Looking directly into Tomas’s eyes, he said, ‘We will never wander into this wood to ask to be taken in, to be "returned". The moredhel were the least of us; we call them the Forgotten, for they were the servants who were permitted to serve us, the eldar! They envied us, their betters. You remember!’
Tomas nodded. Since donning the white and gold armour of a long-dead Valheru, memories came unbidden, sometimes triggered by certain circumstances or a word, other times at random. His memories of the long-dead Ashen-Shugar were not complete, but he knew many of the things Gulamendis said were true.
Gulamendis made a sweeping gesture with his hand. ‘You permitted this, Lord; you and your brethren. This was where the elves arose to serve the Valheru! Without this, we are nothing.’ He turned and again looked directly at Tomas, his expression defiant. ‘We took this with us! We uprooted seven saplings from this grove, bound their roots as a mother wraps a child, and we carried them across a bridge to another world.
‘That journey became the foundation of our history. Before that—’ he again waved at the grove, ‘—may as well be myth, lor we arrived on Andcardia with what we carried: seven saplings, a few tools and our knowledge.
‘We planted those seven trees, our Stars, and we built our home around them. The first were hovels made of wood and animal hide, but we mastered our new world, and now our cities make those of any other world look like rude huts. We are a prideful race, Lord, but we have earned that pride.’
Tomas nodded, ‘I take no issue with who you are, Gulamendis. I need only know your purpose in coming here. If it is not to take refuge from the Demon Horde, what is it?’
‘To find a way to save what is left of the Clans of the Seven Stars.’
‘Explain,’ said Tomas, crossing his arms.
‘We cannot survive if the Demon Legion follows us to Midkemia. None of us.’