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“It feels so long since I last saw trees,” Selinde sighed from her perch high in the crow’s nest. Her elvish was melodic and light, tinged with wistful happiness as she scanned the horizon once again just to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. The monotonous flatness of deep azure in three of the cardinal directions, the same old sea that had greeted her eyes every day for the past fortnight… and the welcome sight of solid land on the fourth. No, the ranger told herself exultantly, she wasn’t imagining things.

“I know what you mean,” Glorfindel echoed from the wooden platform half a mast’s length below her, his voice remarkably gentle and pensive. He too was engrossed with staring at the land ahead, although unlike her he wasn’t quite as interested in the verdant green trees that encroached upon the thin line of rocky cliffs and sandy beach. His gaze was instead fixed upon the low-hanging haze of mountains in the distance… and at the ancient city, a mere speck even to his keen eyes, nestled against them. Anebrilith, the bladesinger whispered to himself, suddenly relieved and apprehensive in equal measures. There was no smoke rising from the city, which was a good sign… but how could he know that it hadn’t already fallen against the nightmarish undead hordes of Xem’zund, as the human enclave of Trenyce, the fortress of Valinatal, and even the outer rings of Eluriand had already done?

Glorfindel shook his head briefly before returning his gaze to his homeland. He had to believe, for his own sake as well as for the sake of all who travelled with him.

The Warspite fairly skimmed the tops of the waves as she dashed pell-mell for the inviting harbour, the wind full in her sails and the ocean crashing harmlessly upon her hull. The sky was a beautiful light blue above, another fine day to mark their progress from Scara Brae, and fluffy white clouds threatened to outrun the ship as they scuttled towards the opposite horizon. Around the two elves was the constant activity of trained seamen at work, tightening the halyards and setting the topgallants as they primed their intrepid little carrack to milk the fair breeze for all she was worth.

“Ingwe!” Selinde called down to the bow, where a young human warrior-mage was also staring intently at their destination in the distance. “Why don’t you join us up here? The view… it’s grand!”

There was no mistaking the mirthful tease in her voice, and neither did the elves miss the pale blanch that gave their companion away as he looked up to reply.

“No thanks,” Ingwe shouted, trying – and failing – to keep the tremulous note out of his voice. The very thought of climbing the unsteady rope ladders to join them in their precarious perch was enough to sap the strength from his limbs. “I’m fine where I am, thank you!”

A reproving snicker from the gyrfalcon on his forearm, clearly audible to the keen ears of both elves, was reciprocated by a distinctly cold glare from Ingwe. The scholarly Nipponese had been subject to much light-hearted mockery from both his fellow adventurers and the crew of the Warspite regarding his fear of heights, and though he took it in his stride as he always did, having his familiar join in was just a small step too far. Hayate averted his eyes nonchalantly from the withering look; note also that both Selinde and Glorfindel were by now stifling their own laughter at the sight.

Not that it really mattered to Ingwe. He knew that the constant ribbing was only one way of masking their uncertainty over the turbulent trials that had yet to come, and that what didn’t hurt him could hardly cause him any harm. So he played along like a good little boy, willing to take the hits for the sake of a few morale-boosting laughs.

Certain that he’d glared enough figurative daggers at the unrepentant Hayate, he transferred his gaze to the sea once more, briefly allowing a small subconscious smile of his own to touch his lips. The salty breeze ruffled his untidy hair and tugged at his heavy cloak; a mist of spray from the daintily bobbing prow cast itself upon his spectacles, creating a blob of blurry vision that he chose to ignore by peering over the top of the rims like some shortsighted owl.

Aft of the Warspite, the other two ships in their flotilla maintained loose formation, the galleon Spirit of Scara Brae and the slightly larger carrack Thunderchild. With an expertise gained from two weeks of sea travel and exhaustive battles against the elements Ingwe checked their trim lines and the fullness of their immaculately spotless sails, making to himself a small sound of satisfaction. On the forecastle of the larger ship he noticed Lord Arminas doing the same to the Warspite; their eyes met, and when Ingwe bowed slightly in a gesture of respect, the commander of the expedition returned the greeting with a thoughtful nod.

The time is nigh.

For not the first time that day, Ingwe turned to contemplate the dangerously inviting land to their fore, the faint chatter of the two elves in the rigging above floating through the air in the background. It was amazing, really, the sense of speed he experienced as the wind took them closer, ever closer to their landbound destination. Out on the open seas, with no steady reference point to guide them, it was difficult to feel the same wonder.

Now they had closed sufficiently for him to make out the scattered rocks in the harbour mouth, navigational hazards that meant they would soon be forced to reef in sail and travel more cautiously in their approach. To his right was a rocky promontory that jutted protectively out into the sea; a cliff-lined arm of headland with only a thin strip of beach to the seaward, crowned with the heavy forests that had so attracted Selinde’s attention. To his left was a sweeping expanse of low-lying farmland, punctuated now and again by thick copses of trees, and the faintest hint of crimson red on the horizon. That was the Red Forest, he knew, the infamous Lindequalme… ancestral home to Xem’zund and all his evil minions. The odd stir of movement amongst the blighted crops reminded him that the necromancer’s influence reached far beyond their borders now.

It was directly to his fore, though, that the most magnificent vista reigned. The distance was dominated by the steely visage of the Emyn Naug, the low mountains masking the desolation of the Black Desert Tel Moranfauglir beyond. And against their feet was the sprawling port city of Anebrilith, numerous villages and hamlets extending it far beyond the limits of its gleaming white walls. A section of said walls stretched down from the city proper to the harbour; these seemed to shine less brightly than the rest, and in one or two places were in bad need of urgent attention.

Attention, Ingwe realised, that the undead hordes that surrounded the city would be unlikely to allow. For Anebrilith was a city under desperate siege, and the lack of fishing boats in the harbour, the untended farmlands to the south, and the limp tattered war banners flying from the walls were visible signs of that fact even from a relatively safe distance.

Hayate caught the sudden chill that ran through Ingwe’s body, one not of fear but of trepidation. The snowy white gyrfalcon crooned gently, an unnaturally warm sound from the fiercely proud bird of prey. Its purpose was served, however, when Ingwe once again caught his familiar’s eye; this time, the warrior-mage smiled and nodded his determination.

“Go,” he whispered, holding his arm aloft as Hayate spread his wings to catch the breeze. “You must miss firm ground more than anybody else aboard this ship.” Even more than the dwarves, Ingwe chuckled to himself, knowing that the bird hated to be restricted to a mere circle or two above the mainmast each day and was chafing to be free.

“Let me know what you see,” he finished gently, and as he did so, Hayate launched himself upwards. Powerful rhythmic strokes of the gyrfalcon’s mighty chest muscles soon saw him safely clear into the crisp, clean skies; every effortless beat carried him higher and higher towards the encouragement of the warm sun overhead.

Ingwe watched fondly as Hayate did his customary circle above the Warspite, bidding the ships farewell before turning to ride the tailwind towards the mainland. Hand held over his eyes to shield them against the midday sun, the warrior-mage tracked the gyrfalcon’s steady progress across the skies, for a fleeting instant wishing that he too had the ability to fly through air open and free. How magnificent it must be!

It was then that he first noticed the dark, low-lying cloud above the southern outskirts of the city. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, he realised, his heart beginning to pound in his chest as his sharp mind suddenly smelled a rat. It took him but a moment to consciously work out what had seemed so out of place to his instincts.

The only mass of grey in an otherwise peerlessly fair sky, the cloud was moving swiftly towards them… against the wind.

Hayate’s cry of warning barely reached his ears, but by then Ingwe was already dashing for the ship’s bell.