Swift clouds moved across a capricious sky as growing winds and the portents of a coming storm marked the new day. Royce sat on the rock ledge where the cliff met the river and the spray of the falls dampened the stone. His feet and legs were soaked from a morning spent trekking through the damp forest underbrush. His eyes stared out across the ridgeline of the falls at the promontory rock and the towering citadel that sat tantalizingly upon it. He thought that perhaps there might be a tunnel running under the river. He looked for an access in the trees but found nothing. He was getting nowhere.
After almost two days, he was no closer to his goal. The tower still lay out of reach. Unless he could learn to swim the current, walk on water, or fly, he had no chance of traversing the gulf that lay between.
“They’re over there right now, you know,” Esrahaddon said.
Royce had forgotten about the wizard. He had arrived some time earlier, mentioning only that Thrace had survived, was awake, and looked to make a full recovery. After that, he took a seat on a rock and spent the next hour or so staring across the river much as Royce had done all day.
“Who?”
“The elves. They’re on their side of the river looking back at us. They can see us, I suspect, even at this range. They are surprising like that. Most humans consider them inferior—lazy, filthy, uneducated creatures—but the fact is they are superior to humans in nearly every way. I suppose that’s why humans are so quick to denounce them; they are unwilling to concede that they may be second best.
“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 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.
“Imagine the devastation and misery it must have been for them during the wars. No matter how many battles they won against us, each time their numbers were fewer 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?”