The Chasm of Zhufbar, where the Dwarfs had built a mighty city into the rock behind a great waterfall as their base of operations for all things concerning smelting Gromril. The sound of thousands of grinding water wheels, wheezing bellows and pounding drop hammers echoes off nearby peaks – a never-ceasing tumult of industry powered by the waterfall. The Dwarfs here lived safe in the knowledge that no force could ever successfully invade this place, not so long as it contained the jewel of the Dwarfen airfleet at least. However, deep below at the bottom of the chasm, where undiscovered tunnels and caves a plenty dwelt, existed a secret threat to the city – the Wood Elves.

For just as they had destroyed Karak Izor not so long ago, Durthu the Tree Ancient, Scarloc the Waystalker, Prince Oreon the half-blind bowman and their collection of vengeful scouts, waystalkers and treekin including a group known as the Ashenhawks now planned their attack on the Dwarfs’ centre of industry, safe in the knowledge they would never be found by the Dwarfs thanks to the labyrith of dark caves in which they reside.

Scarloc and Oreon huddled round a map, making plans to invade Zhufbar through the tunnels below when suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching.

Scarloc, Oreon and a handful of archers drew their bows yet just as they were about to loose, an ephemeral blue arrow flew past their heads and planted itself in the ceiling, lighting up the whole cave.

The Everqueen of Avelorn, Alarielle, and her chief handmaiden entered the cave and Alarielle proceeded to speak. “Thank you Lirazel, how our woodland kin are able to skulk in the darkness without any matter of light is honestly beyond me.”

Oreon stepped forward, maintaining the draw of his bow. “Were you followed?”

Alarielle turned to her handmaiden. “Were we followed?”

“No your majesty. I don’t see how Dwarfs could even follow a pair of Great Eagles.” Lirazel replied.

“Well, I think that response should suffice. Oh do lower those bows already, you’ll only strain your forearms.” Alarielle remarked.

As the Everqueen stepped forward and the archers lowered their bows they noticed that it wasn’t a mere trick of the light from the arrow above, Alarielle looked strange, fay almost.

“The Everqueen is with child.” Lirazel commented upon noticing their gaze as Alarielle stepped past.

“I have come to speak to the Tree Ancient.” Alarielle stated.

“I’m afraid Oakheart sleeps, it’s what he tends to do between battles these days. On many occasions our Treekin have had to carry him through the World Roots just to prevent him from being captured.” Scarloc informed the Everqueen as she made her way to the back of the cave in which Durthu laid against a stone pillar, his amber leaves shedding like snakeskin. “Are you his friend or-?” Scarloc began to ask.

“Oh, we’ve met just the once. But he saved my grandmother once and…well, you could say my entire bloodline owe him for it.” Alarielle replied. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m so sorry. I thought you may be able to tell what with being a mage… Oakheart is dying.”

“Of what?”

“Old age. The one ailment our spellweavers never fully learnt to cure and without the Oak of Ages we have no way to nourish him. We’re helping him on this mission of his but truth be said, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Each time we take a settlement and he rips out the routes beneath it takes a toll on his body more and more – all I want is for that suffering to have been worthwhile. Durthu – He’s tens of thousands of years old, some say even older than the Lustrians or the Zoats though that must be impossible.” Scarloc replied.

“I’m not sure about that. I’ve always rather enjoyed tales of the impossible.” Alarielle responded with a brief glint in her eye as she knelt down by Durthu’s roots, laid her palm on his vines and attempted a soothing spell. “I’m here. I know I look a little different but I promise it’s me, It’s Alarielle.”

---

As Alarielle comforted the exhausted tree ancient Lirazel turned to Scarloc. “So you’re that scout Naieth is always rattling on about? May Hoeth grant me the wisdom to understand what she sees in you.”

“Naieth? She’s alive?” Scarloc wondered.

“Oh yes. She, Adanhu, the refugees – they all made it to Avelorn, you can thank the Bretonnians for that. They’re safe Scarloc. We’ve made the Dwarfs promise they won’t follow them. More than that, I hear the Prince of Caledor intends to cleanse the Island of Sartosa to make way for a new home for them with help from the Dwarfs.”

“Then perhaps there is some hope for our people.” Scarloc cried.

“There’s hope for you too. Come home with us, abandon this forsaken death-wish you all seem to have.” Lirazel pleaded.

“There’s no place for me in paradise. I tread where Oakheart treads, I breathe his air, I slay his foes, I die by his side, just as he would die for our people.” Scarloc stated firmly.

“I can faintly hear him singing. In his mind that is.” Alarielle interjected.

“He does that. He shares them with us sometimes, songs so old even the treekin can’t fully decipher them. With Coeddil dead and Adanhu so far away, I fear they will remain undiscovered. There are all manner of myths around him and his brothers. Stories and legends which may never come true. One story around Durthu says that upon his death, once the world has grown old, his essence will flow into someone else like him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lirazel interjected.

“The tale speaks of a mother, a mother embroiled in rage and beset by grief, a mother in unbearable pain. A mother whose wrath will avenge them both.”

As Durthu’s mind sang in its sleep, Alarielle cast a spell. Green energy flowed through Durthu’s roots, mending broken branches and even regrowing a few leaves. Her restoration paled in comparison to the wilting Durthu had suffered, scarcely covering a quarter of the damage he had taken over the last few months but it was all she knew how to muster. Hopefully, it would delay his passing for now. Durthu remained sleeping though, needing to recall as much energy as possible.

Upon completing her spell, Alarielle stood up and turned to Scarloc and Oreon. “I don’t agree with anything you have done since Athel Loren. Stoking war with the Dwarfs won’t bring those who died back. Furthermore, my ever being here needs to remain confidential. If the Dwarfs know I spoke to you, they will tear up our treaty and Naieth, Adanhu, all of Ulthuan for that matter could find themselves endangered.” Alarielle pointed over toward Durthu’s sleeping body. “If he ever sees sense, if any of you do for that matter. I implore you come home. You won’t find what you’re looking for with further bloodshed.”

“We have no home to go to and with respect, that depends on what it is we are looking for. Still, I thank you for your offer. May you journey home in safety, Everqueen. Know that we will not endanger those you have agreed to protect.” Scarloc concluded.

The Everqueen and her handmaiden left the cave, mounted atop their Great Eagles and flew off back to the Barak Varr from whence they would prepare to sail home.