For the first time in his ten thousand years, Galad Hawks-heart was blind. The Song—Ellysetta Erimea’s Song, to which he had dedicated his entire life and sacrificed countless others—was singing, but he could not See its Verses clearly.

And so he submerged himself in the magical waters of his Mirror, and every chime of the day and night, he searched the Dance for the answers that eluded him.

A familiar sentience brushed his consciousness. Cool and ageless. He recognized her instantly, of course.

His sister, his twin, Illona Brighthand, the Lady of Silvermist. Queen and coruler of Elvia, though she had long ago left Navahele—and, with it, him. She had secluded herself in her palace in the cloud-forests of the Silvermist mountains, leaving the rule of all Elvia east of those mountains to him—along with all interaction in the world on behalf of the Dance. She had never spoken to him again after leaving.

And so they had lived the last two thousand years.

Until now.

Galad. She spoke his name, and her voice was like a crystal chime upon the wind. So pure, so beautiful. Gentle, yet so fiercely unyielding.

Sister. He included no warmth, no surprise, in the voice he sent soaring across time and space, but she would not be fooled. Of all creatures in the world, she knew him better than anyone, even Grandfather.

Erimea’s Song confounds you.

Of course she knew. She had her own Mirror in Silvermist. She left the interpretation of the Dance to him, but that did not mean she did not watch, as he did. She also knew how to follow the faint ethereal traces of his presence, to know which Verses of the Song he had Seen, which he had returned to time and time again.

Most of all, she knew which Verses should have been certain, fixed, unchangeable—and which, now, were not.

She is leinah thaniel. Illona’s cool voice whispered across his mind.

You don’t know that, he retorted. The Dark One may simply have chosen to play a different Verse. That was the one limitation of Elvish Sight. They could never See Shadow clearly except where there was Light. He could watch his cousin Elfeya’s torture in Eld because she was of the Light, but Eld activities that involved only other Shadowfolk appeared only sporadically, and then only as murky, constantly-shifting possibilities instead of certainties. Past events were easier to see, but to Shadow-Sung futures, he remained dangerously blind.

You know I am right.

Bayas.

All the denial in the world won’t change the truth, Galad. She is what she is. Bayas, he denied.

Anio. She is leinah thaniel. The Elves must go to war. No matter the cost, we cannot let Shadow win.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Eld ~ Boura Fell

“Master Maur!” Primage Vargus stood at attention as the High Mage strode into the war room in a swirl of purple silk and visible purpose. “Your orders, Most High?”

“It is time. Tell the generals to prepare their men. They attack on my signal.”

“Yes, Most High. I’ll contact them immediately.”

Vadim leaned against the map table, with its glowing vertical display of the armies and battlefields stretched across Celieria’s northern border. “And tell Horan to release his pets.”

Celieria ~ Orest

“Lord Teleos!” The armored soldier raced from the battlements of Upper Orest into what had once been a lush conservatory overlooking the magnificent falls of Kierya’s Veil and Maiden’s Gate. The building now served as Lord Teleos’s command center, and the soaring glass walls and ceilings provided a perfect panoramic view of Upper Orest and the vast stretch of Eld and Celieria to the east, separated by the wide dark ribbon of the Heras River.

Devron Teleos looked up from the table where he and his generals were reviewing the defense plans for Upper Orest and the hastily rebuilt lower city. The look on the approaching soldier’s face brought Lord Teleos to his feet, his spine stiffening with a mix of dread and grim resolve. “What is it?”

“Something approaches in the skies to the north, my lord,” the soldier gasped.

Teleos headed to the glass walls of the conservatory. One of the Celierian generals was already there, spyglass raised and pointed north. “What in the Bright Lord’s name is that?”

Teleos followed the man’s gaze and saw tiny black specks on the horizon. What appeared to be a flock of dark birds was flying towards them across the forests of Eld. The Fey blood in Lord Teleos’s veins had blessed him with a variety of gifts, including the ability to see much greater distances than mortal eyes could. His eyes narrowed, bringing the distant shapes into closer focus. He saw the barbed and taloned wings, the long white fangs, the iridescent sheen of black scales, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

“Bright Lord save us,” he breathed. “Dragons. Dragons are coming.” To the gathered Celierian military leaders, he issued a spate of orders. “Captain Morrow, sound the alarm. Get the women and children to Maiden’s Gate. Order every able-bodied man and boy capable of wielding a bow to report to the armories. And light the signal fires. We’re going to need all the help we can get before this is over. General Arlon, tell the cannoneers to arm the bowcannon with ice shot.”

To the Fey general who had led his men to Dharsa to defend Orest from the Eld, Dev said, “General vel Shevahn, we’ll need every Fey you can spare on the wizard’s wall.”

The Fey bowed his head. “Already done, Lord Teleos. We’ll shield as much of the city as we can against dragon fire, but be aware that whatever we do to keep out the dragons will keep the tairen out, too. And we’ll have to lower the wall shields each time we fire, or the ice shot will be useless. “