Path of Glory: Book One of Boundary's Fall

Remembrance

Even from here I can hear the mountains.

Looking down from his vantage point high on a distant hill, the Mage stared north across the plains of Alrendria, silent but for his thoughts. His gaze swept over the army encampment below him.

Three encampments, he amended with a frown, his eyes focusing on the nearest. The tight cluster of tents belonged to the Elves. Few remained, so few that the Mage doubted the remainder could still be considered an encampment. The Elves had all but disbanded their army, and the majority of the Aelvin forces had marched back to their secluded forests.

The remaining Aelvin tents lay huddled together in a small, tight circle. The coloring of the material varied, from the deep green of the forest to a muted brown to a more vibrant blue, but the tents all shared a common, natural hue. They did not clash with the landscape around them. On the contrary, they accentuated the land, highlighting its beauty. Yet for some reason the ring of tents stood out to the Mage, appearing out of place, like an isolated copse of trees in an inhospitable landscape. The Mage scratched his brown beard, now streaked with grey, as he pondered his observation.

The remaining Aelvin tents belonged exclusively to Ael Maulle. The Gifted. The greatest and most powerful Aelvin Magi. Yet the Mage knew with absolute certainty that even Ael Maulle would have withdrawn with their countrymen, fleeing for the protection of the Great Forest, if not for their promises to High Wizard Aemon.

The Mage took a deep breath and allowed his perceptions to flow through the Aelvin camp. The Elves showed little motion within their tents, few signs of merriment. No figures ran from tent to tent; no musicians trumpeted victory; no soldiers sang songs of glory. Despite the lack of festivities, the Mage believed the Elves were celebrating. They had yearned for an end to this war as much as any.

The Elves can be so very reserved, mused the Mage, so annoyingly controlled. They have such trouble letting go of their self-discipline and arrogance. He wondered briefly if their sense of propriety was what made relating to the other Races so difficult for Elves.

The Mage directed his gaze north, to the next encampment. The stillness of the Aelvin camp contrasted nicely with that of the Garun'ah. Even without extending his perceptions, the Mage could see the large warriors running among their tents arm in arm, sometimes accompanied by Human soldiers, though more often than not among only their own race. Other Tribesmen lounged around huge bonfires, sharing tales of personal triumphs and trying to outdrink their companions.

Even without the aid of his Gift, the Mage heard the wild songs of the Garun'ah on the winds. Birds of prey circled above the camp, while bears and wolves walked carefree through the tents, their bodies silhouetted in the bright afternoon light. The Garun'ah certainly know how to celebrate a victory! he said to himself. We could all learn a lesson or two from them.

The tents of the Garun'ah, like those of the Elves, had a range of shades, from earthy browns and greens to vibrant reds and warm yellows. Though the Aelvin tents had a similar size and shape, the Garun'ah tents varied as much in form as in color, and while the Elves' tents lay clumped together, the Garun'ah arranged theirs in a seemingly haphazard way.

The Mage extended his perceptions through the maze of tents. Five tents clustered in one place. Another sitting alone. Six arranged in a cross surrounded by a circle of tents. Using his perceptions to travel the camp, the pattern seemed to make little sense. Only when he pulled his perceptions back and viewed the encampment from a distance did the reason for the randomness become apparent.

Taken as a whole, the encampment all but disappeared into the surrounding landscape, the tents arranged in perfect harmony with the land around them. To one unaware of its presence, the Garun'ah camp would be virtually invisible.