Path of Glory: Book One of Boundary's Fall

He muttered a curse, scolding himself for the inappropriateness of his thoughts. These are men of war, not men of art. Their profession is battle, not aesthetics. He could not hate them for being what they were; for he, as much as any, was responsible for their necessity.

The Mage pulled back his perceptions. He looked at all three camps together, comparing and contrasting them. So much can be learned from a people by the way they organize themselves, he observed. The way the Races think is obvious even in the layout of these camps. They show our differences, and yet ironically, they show how alike we are.

Though to the naked eye these camps appeared quite different from one another, under the surface they all served the same purpose. They were camps of war, dedicated to preserving the peace and protecting Madryn from the Darklord. So too, did the Races themselves appear different on the surface, but, despite their differences, the Mage believed the four Races were very much alike. Perhaps more alike than they were willing to admit. He wished fervently that their camaraderie would continue throughout the winters to come.

We have been at war so long. Please let this peace be a lasting one! The Mage made this request of no one in particular. It was a plea to man as much as a prayer to gods.

The camps below were celebrating their great victory over the Darklord Lorthas, though one would not have thought so if watching the silent encampment of the Elves. The festivities had been continuous, in varying degree, for the last ten days. Things had not yet returned to normal, though the revelry had lessened since those first, frantic days immediately following the victory. Despite the work remaining to be done, the Mage was reluctant to stop the celebration. These men deserve some happiness, some respite from the last few seasons. From the last few centuries.

The Mage watched the Guardsmen carousing through the camps. He listened to the snippets of song that drifted to him on the winds. Though the Humans and Garun'ah often congregated in separate groups, and the Elves remained all but invisible, the Mage knew more than one friendship had been forged among the Four Races during the long winters of war. If only those friendships last!

Some movements below did not belong to the celebration. Though they had won a great victory, these were still camps of war, and certain duties must be performed. The Mage saw the slow, graceful movements of soldiers; the faster, sporadic dashes of messengers; the frantic parries and slashes of trainees. More than everything else, the steady, weary plodding of refugees caught the Mage's eye. And rent his heart.

Refugees had streamed into the camp from all directions, except north, since the Boundary was raised two score days past. Though Aemon and the Magi counseled them to leave, these bedraggled people insisted they had nowhere else to go. They believed this collection of tents was the safest place in all of Madryn. The Mage was not so sure he agreed with them.

So many people. Where do they come from? How did they get here so fast?

North of the encampments stood a small collection of tents, which served as the command post for the allied armies. Eventually, those tents would become the mighty fortress of Portal. For now, broken piles of rock covered the plains, rock with which they would construct a great citadel. Piles of timber arrived daily, cut from the nearby forests.

Engineers worked tirelessly to design the massive stronghold and its battlements. Even now they prepared to start full scale construction, nearly half a season ahead of schedule. The Mage watched as masons, carpenters, and laborers began to lay the foundation for the greatest fortification in Alrendria-in all of Madryn. The Mage turned his eyes to the Boundary.

In the distance, the mountains trembled.

After forty days-forty long days-the mountains still move.

The Mage spared a glance east, toward the tiny dust cloud of the departing Aelvin army. No one expected the alliance to hold forever, but many-especially the Mage-had hoped a greater peace would emerge. In his heart, the Mage had hoped for a better understanding between the Races. Is that so much to ask? he wondered, casting his eyes to the heavens.