Talel threw another knife. It slid its way through the armor of the Draesen, the enchanted edge slicing through the steel mail like it was paper. It stopped halfway into the grey-skin’s neck. Dark blood erupted as he slid off of his horse, landing near the first scout Talel had killed, a human.
The elf looked over his shoulder and nodded. Mardrel padded up, his sword drawn. He was followed by the rest of the scouts, who bore bows and crossbows.
“So far, so good,” Talel said to the captain.
Mardrel peered around the boulder, taking in the steep slope up to the enemy palisade, tracing the wooden fortifica-tions with his eyes until they disappeared into the night.
“Do you think we can remain hidden?”
Talel nodded. “Well enough to get close, yes. The problem will be getting away.”

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Darathel stepped up to the door and held forth his hand. The darkness rippled like water, then faded, revealing a sun-lit room filled with furnishings. Darathel and Faedra stepped in. The dark curtain formed behind them. When it did, the room grew darker as well. A halo of light surrounded a bed on the far wall. As if seeing it for the first time, Darathel flinched, then walked toward it.
On the bed lay an elf, breathing slowly. His eyes were open, and he wore a grim expression, though he stared at nothing. Bedsheets covered him to his chest, but he wore no shirt. His head reclined on a pillow, and on his golden hair sat a detailed circlet of golden-white metal that glowed with its own light, illuminating the dark space.
“Can you hear me, father?” Darathel said.
The elf blinked, then looked at Darathel. His voice was clear and slow. “My son. It is good to see you. How long has it been?”
“A day.”
“So little time. It felt like years.”
“It might have been longer to you, King Pelanel,” Faedra said.

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