Castor looked around slowly. Bodies of Night elves, elf knights, and Argles littered the landscape. Theuses wiped his brow this he hand. "Is everyone alright?" Castor gritted his teeth and pointed to the knife in his shoulder. Ilvnag cringed.

"You there," He said pointing to one of his shamans. "Help him with that."

Theuses nodded. "Good. Everyone else okay?"

"No." L'arch answered. "I want to know what would make Ormas turn like that. It didn't seem like him."

Ilvnag sheathed his sword. "What I want to know is who this Ormas is, that you all supposedly knew."

"He is my cousin," Theuses answered, "and fourth in line for the throne after myself, L'arch, and Aeran. He appears to have his own miniature army. For now I do not think he is a problem, but if some think the same as him, others will too."

"Especially after they hear about your alliance with us," Ilvnag added.

"That too," Theuses said wearily.

"Can't we just finish him off?" Castor asked. "I mean, if he has the potential to be such a problem, why don't we just finish him before he can?"

"Impossible." Theuses said. "Someone would report it to the kingdom and the people would up-rise. They would not understand the dilemma unless Ormas did a public act against the crown."

As Castor thought through the conversation with Ormas, a question popped up in his mind. "Is what Ormas said true? Did your ancestors really steal the throne? And if they did, why did you not restore it to the rightful heir?"

Theuses sighed slowly, but it was L'arch who answered. "It would be a lie to say Ormas wasn't telling the truth, but saying he's right isn't true either."

Theuses cleared his throat. "I'll take it from here. Castor, do you remember the battle where the elf king, I'smer, died?"

"Of course. Every person in my kingdom knows of his strength and valor. He is something of a legend among my people."

"Well yes, but what isn't often spoken of is that his son also died. It was several days after I'smer fell. His son, Feldor, was commanding the army at one of the many crucial points of the battle. In a moment where the tide could have turned in both directions, Feldor lead a massive retaliatory attack and pushed back the Urki lines. Except, in the process, he was slain. Both of them were from Ormas's line.

"After the battle an elfish arrow was found in his back. The arrow was crafted by my blood line. Each kind of arrow is designated from its pattern and arrowhead and the arrow was clearly recognizable. Feldor had no son or daughter and had no other direct heir, only a nephew. According to our law, if there is no direct heir the counsel of our elders vote on who they would like as king. Usually it is their bloodline descendant, but in this case they chose my great grandfather. However, Feldor's nephew had it in his mind that the counsel had been wishing for the seat of power to change hands even before the battle. He thought that the elders had organized the attack on Feldor. Whether the king was killed by a stray shot or an aimed arrow was never found out." Castor was silent for a moment.

Ilvnag broke the awkward quiet that settled. "Well that's all fine and dandy, but we need to get moving."

"Right. We have a deadline to uphold. Bantu said sundown on the third day, right?" Castor pointed out. "Well, it's been two. We have one day to find Tarnagh and stop him before he goes to the pass and our chances of stopping Morgorath drop to an almost impossible low.

"That's another thing. Don't you think that Bantu dropped that little fact too causally? It's almost like he wanted us to go to Argonil. And on the third day. Did you notice how he said it? It was very precise."

"I noticed that too," L'arch said.

"I know, but what can we do?" Theuses asked. "If we don't go than we will have almost no chance against Morgorath. Even if it is a trap, we have to do it."

"Yes," Castor agreed, "but we need to be more careful. They will be ready and waiting for us. We will need to be on our guard."

"Like we won't be already?" L'arch asked.

"Point noted, but we need to be even more careful. Bantu will have men waiting for us at every turn, so we need to be ready for him." Castor turned to Ilvnag who was checking his horse. "Is your offer for back-up still on the table?"

Ilvnag looked at him sternly. "After this? You're darn right it is. My men will not have fallen for nothing."

~ ~ ~

Tarris watched as the soldiers marched into the Saber Pass, platoon at a time. Beside him, Bantu also looked over the operation.

"The soldiers number more than twelve-thousand sir."

"That is more than enough. I expect them to have an army that numbers five-thousand at the greatest. Now I have another important job for you Tarris."

"Name it my lord."

"I have already sent a strong guard of humans and the Dark Guards over the city of Argonil, but I wish you to be there also to command them. My forces messed up many too many times. Hopefully your presence with install confidence on them."

An Argle warrior climbed up the rock pathway to their position. "Sire." He said, addressing Bantu. He then turned to Tarris. "My lord, a messenger wishes to speak to you."

Tarris could think of no messages that he should be expecting, but he followed the Argle anyway. At the foot of the rock overhang, a hooded figure sat.

"Well?" Tarris prompted after waiting a moment.

The figure looked up. "Ah yes. I have a message for you from the Night elves."

"Night elves? Well go on!"

"They say," The removed his cloak, "that your time is up." The figure plunged a dagger into Tarris's chest. Tarris cried out in agony and slashed is razor claws across the Night elf's face, before falling face-first into the dust. The Night elf also fell, hitting his head on a rock and lying motionless. Bantu shouted orders to the Argles, Urki, and slaves. Tarris's body was taken to the command tent and laid on a silk couch.

"Find a healer! Now," Bantu yelled.

The entire camp was searched until a healer was found. The Argle knelt next to Tarris and examined the wound. He slowly took herbs and laid them on the cut, before standing up.
"I have done all I can. Have you recovered the knife? I must see it."

A slave brought it from the attack scene. The Argle closely examined it. He drew his finger across the blade and brought it to his mouth. Quickly spitting, he handed the blade to Bantu. "That knife was soaked in rare venom. The venom was then mixed with some kind of magic substance before being transferred to the blade. Judging by the material, dragon bone, the venom, and the magic substance, it will be practically impossible to heal. The Night elves went to great cost to make sure Tarris was killed. This is a magic wound and I know little magic. You will need a healer with great experience." The Argle left the tent.

Under his breath, Bantu swore an oath, "Nifernate armay rasmin ure. Li witri veerim rem hulv." The Night elves will regret this. The will pay with lives.

_֟-