Divided Allegiance

Prologue

Long ago, before the elder folk were driven from the lands south of the Hakkenarsk, the elves who dwelt in those heights had found a valley more lovely than any other. The shape of its rock and the clarity of its water brought joy to all who saw it. There for a time the elves lived, and built as they rarely build, while the greatest among them sang to the taig of that place, and wakened it to its own power. Over long years they shaped it, singing one song of beauty after another, and the taig responded, willing itself to flourish as the elves suggested. Very dear was this valley to all who could sense the taigin, both elder and younger folk, and it was known as the elfane taig, the holy place and a living banner of the elves and their powers.

Then troubles came: the tales are lost that tell who brought them, or how those who fled sought refuge far away. Even to the elfane taig the evil came, and the elves fled, driven out by a power they could not resist for all their songs. The taig remained, crippled in its resistance to that evil by corruption placed at its heart, no longer truly elfane but banast, or wounded. Most of its great strength was spent in containing that corruption. The taig could not attack the embodied evil without loosing the worse danger, the periapt which would leave it permanently defiled.

Few travelers went that way at first, for its hazards were well known. The elves, when they were asked, warned all. No dwarf would venture so near the Ladysforest, and humans, for the most part, preferred the easier pass at Valdaire, or the shorter one over Dwarfwatch. So for long years the contending powers in the valley had only each other to feed on. A stray orc here, a wolfpack there—these nourished the conflict ill. And of the travelers that passed, not all were apt for use. Some, when the visions came, woke quickly and fled, leaving packs and animals behind. Others, greedy for treasure, stormed into the ruins without sense, and fell to the first of the traps and creatures, ending as servants of evil, or its food.

But ages passed, and time dulled human memories, and every the contending powers sought lives and souls to serve them, to war in their long and bitter strife. As elven influence waned in Lyonya, the nearest settled land, few asked elves for advice; fewer still obeyed. Bold explorers, half brigand, wandered the northern slopes. From time to time an entire band disappeared below the valley’s ruins, to live in the eternal light of the old halls, and fight for whichever power could enchant each separate soul. There they died, for none came alive from the banast taig. So the treasure accumulated, over the years: most of it the weaponry and armor of wandering mercenaries or brigands, but also odd bits of magical equipment, scholars’ scrolls—whatever a lost traveler might be carrying.

Then two more travelers entered the valley.