Young Writers Society

An Elven chant seemed to overcome the gathered Men, Elves, Dwarves, and other races as they sat in one of the great halls beneath the mountains. Harnon knew the voice well enough, for it belonged to one with the cheerful voice of a lark. But the chant was long, and sad, and only a few lines of it are still remembered.

Deep beneath the ground they dwell,

the stout Dwarves born of ancient rock;

their forges burn with the fires of hell,

and are warmed by those of ancient rock.

The chant had, of course, belonged to Sílriel, for she had come with her father out of the Elven forests. The Elf maiden stood calmly to one side of the room, covered in shadows

The room itself was large, having been hewn from rock almost a century ago by the good Dwarves of Misty Halls. The walls were lined with murals and small shafts of colored light that all met at the heart of the room, where a sun dial sat on the ground. Along the walls, each guest had a chair with a small table next to it; on that table, all had a drink, for lunch had ended almost a half hour ago. At the far end of the hall, the fattest Dwarf sat-- Thondin the Dwarf Lord. His wide, snowy white beard reached down to his knees, and his ancient eyes gazed over the room.

"Once again," his deep voice said slowly. "Welcome and well met. Greetings to the Elf King, the Northern Chieftains, and the Southern Tribes."

A small chorus of unintelligible greetings in return and grunts of approval came from the Misericord chiefs, more than a dozen in total. In the middle of their line, heavy shoulders draped with an earthy red cloak, Aborine sat, leaning on his elbow, his keen blue gaze taking in all the room with a faint, confidant smile. One of his young messengers stood quietly beside him in dark colors, his hands behind his back-- the dark-haired, fair-skinned elf who had traveled with his tutor to Harnon's camp three days ago.

Harnon dipped his head to them. "For those of you that do not know me, I am Harnon Long-spear, son of Himlben, who was the great-great-great-grandson of the first Chieftain, Daethdr the Dragon-hearted. Our lands stretch from Misty Pass in the valley above us to the mountains of the East, and then North to the Sea, and West to the edges of the great cities of Men and other folk. These lands we do protect, and yours we seek to protect as well."

Aborine dipped his head a little as he watched Harnon. He removed his fingers from his chin and lip to reply, "Only to help us protect it ourselves, good Chief, and for that we all are grateful and in your debt."

"The debt is paid," Astoria interrupted. "So long as the people of the western cities are fed and we recieve two of your Dwarf smiths, it is paid."

"Dwarf smiths?" Thondin asked. "Were the talents of Misty Halls not to your liking?"

"Of course not, Lord," Harnon said. "I have already used some of your finest smiths to complete what I have in mind. But it shall take a bit of the gentleness and calmness that the southerners use in their own works to complete\e mine."

"And what is it that you are making?" Falembaifar asked.

"An heirloom," Harnon answered mystically.

"And we've brought you your craftsmen," Aborine put in with his faint smile. He looked off to his left as he lifted a calloused hand. Two dwarves, both with heavy arms and with the heat and soot of the forge worked into their faces, stepped forward from beside one of the chiefs and bowed their heads to Harnon. "Divor, son of Mamion of the far North, and Aindor, our master craftsman where all metals are concerned. They do work fitting for the most precious trinkets, they will please you." Aborine concluded with a satisfied nod and looked back to Harnon.

"You will be the safest Misericords in all the North," Harnon said. "Is there nothing else?

No reply.

"Well... Let us begin." Falembaifar said. He nodded to one of the servants near the Dwarf Lord. The servant pulled a lever, and the little light in the room disappeared. Suddenly, blue wisps appeared and pranced through the air. Part of the floor sank beneath the ground and made way for a great stone table that reached to all of those seated. On this table was a magical map, detailed with every tree, every person, and every bird on the continent. Miniature trees seemed to stand on the table. A young Dryad tried to touch them, but his hand went through them.

"This is the map created by one of our great allies," Falembaifar said. "She could not be here this day, for she was delayed, but this map is her creation. There is none other like it, and she has deemed it best not to create another."

Beside Aborine, the blue wisps and light of the map shone in the young elf's crystal blue eyes with awe. Across the room on either side of him, the Misericord chiefs stirred, some anxiously, as the floor sank and the spell-bound table placed itself in front of them. Even Aborine's cool demeanor changed as he took in this creation with a cautious gaze.

"It's no wonder that we've heard of magnificent things north of the mountains," one of the older chiefs said quietly as he studied a pair of farmers on a cart in the middle of a winding road in front of him.

These Southerners are so simple, Astoria thought.

Falembaifar studied his forest home while Harnon stood, taking a long stick that had been laying beside his seat. Pointing at the map, he said, "My current camp is here, just a few leagues north and west of the pass." A marker appeared there-- a wooden piece shaped like a horse's head. It took some of them a moment to realize it was a chess piece. "As you can see--" he made his stick point to various riders on the map-- "our messengers have already been sent out to gather our forces. We have also requested our allies, the White Wolves of Tolketh Nagrene help guard the Pass at all costs."

"What is this Tolketh Nagrene?" one of the Misericords asked. "I have not heard of it."

"It is a secret place deep within the mountains, where most cannot, will not, and dare not go," Harnon answered. "The snows there are dangerous, and the air is cold. That is why only the White Wolves live there and do not share it's location on any map."

The murmur continued around the table. Aborine sat staring in thought at the map with his fingers over his chin and lips again.

"If things go well, the eastern armies will not reach as far as the Pass," he said. He looked up again as he added, "Our first battle will be the and our greatest advantage. They will not be expecting it and won't be prepared in numbers, supplies, or mind."

"Agreed," said Falembaifar. "The armies of the Chieftains are the greatest the world as known in centuries, when my great-grandfather cast a great deal of darkness from our world." He stood and took Harnon's stick, placing it at the heart of the Elven realm. "From here, my armies will sail down the Great River in small barges and boats to meet the Dwarves of Misty Halls at the Pass. Harnon will take his feet and sail around the coast to reach the stretch of Shanosa closest to the Sea. Questions?"

"Why ?" an old Chieftainess at the end of the row wanted to know. "That is far west on the plains."

"We can crush them between our armies," a small fairy said in a high-pitched voice as she fluttered above her seat. "It is a great strategy that has worked historically, such as at the Battle of the Lair."

Harnon nodded. "As Deborah--"

"You're saying it wrong again," she snapped hastily. "Dee-bore-uh, not Deb-rah."

Harnon dipped his head. "As Deborah said, we can crush the easterners with this tactic. It's effective, and it drives them out more easily."

The Misericords around the table were quiet for a few moments. Aborine finally broke his furrowed gaze from the map and nodded thoughtfully as he looked back up. "They often come far enough into the plains that we should have little trouble cutting them off on the west side."

"Good. It's settled, then," said Harnon, the younger man said firmly. "We'll drive out these invaders, Master Wood. Misericord will be free soon enough,"

The chieftain nodded once, slowly. The soft glow of the enchanted map played off the weathered curves of his cheek and temple. Aborine's mouth turned up a little at the side.

And on his left, watching silently from close by and unnoticed, the young elf messenger looked across the room. He found the solemn face of his teacher against the shadowed wall, chin tipped down and eyes resting on the floor in front of his feet. The elf watched him a long moment before blinking and looking back to his chief. The man was smiling faintly with confidence as he looked across the table at Harnon and gave him a single nod.

Said Falembaifar, "Let it begin."