The Blood Elves' meeting hall was chaos. The fortunate travelers—the conquerors of the keep—had not reported back. The possibility that they had failed, or worse, that they had kept everything for themselves, prompted the summoning of the mirror.
Crafted from materials as strange as pure silver, the mirror required a sacrifice. Six scrolls with golden edges were placed before this object from the old schools. Only the elite among the twenty wealthiest attended this meeting. Among them, the six important ones traced the activation runes. The six scrolls began to emit smoke—an unmistakable sign that time was short. The greedy mirror would consume the spells whether they asked or not.
"Show us the keep, Mirror of a Thousand Eyes."
The mirror did not use divination as such. It simply connected to any animal or person attuned to it, showing everything surrounding that structure. First, they saw a multifaceted image: flies showed a black surface. Then, closer, a fish surfaced from the water and showed the graves—mortuary sites on the bank of a river that had not been there before. A bird that had discovered this new source of food gave a panoramic view. In the distance, one of the tallest towers stood out in a sea of plates that concealed everything around it. Finally, a ground-level image showed the forest at a great distance—imposing and slightly larger than usual. At that moment, the last scroll burned away, and the mirror went blank again.
No one said a word. All waited for someone to speak. The fortunes invested by the first expeditionaries were not small. The one who had led them—one of those who would have been present here if he were not merely a pile of earth on the riverbank—had contributed at least a third of the wealth they had invested. That money had allowed them to purchase large quantities of minor magics and even one great magic—a gift from when that member had joined the select group. All looked at their hands. They knew there was power there; proof was that the mirror had visualized nothing inside the mysterious forest, which served as protection for anyone within. The question was not whether these were enemies—it was evident that whoever had taken the keep had defended it to the utmost.
The debate was opened by the representative of the elven maritime merchants. His contribution was limited to suggesting that more troops and more scrolls be sent. The six were not in agreement. They were too few. More than one hundred and twenty people could barely use those scrolls. Fifty had some healing or protection magic. These twenty possessed attack spells above level thirty. Only the six had area-of-effect weapons, and they did not intend to reveal them yet, which put any approach attempt at a disadvantage. But not all had bad ideas. The Minister of Internal Affairs of Bloody Coin suggested hiring mercenaries—cheap, abundant, and replaceable. Nearly no one could object to such an offering. They were paid to fight, and the more who died, the less there was to pay. All postponed the next expedition for two months to carry out the necessary hiring. Each was powerful in the city, always working, always scheming for the country's future behind the useless Redcap mage's back. But now they worked together for their own benefit, for the power housed there. None intended to let the opportunity slip away.
When fourteen left, the six remaining showed their disagreement.
"Indeed," they said, "mercenaries work when you pay them, but they are too enthusiastic, and you have to pay more to prevent them from turning against us. But we cannot ask for help from the peace forces here. Even though we control them, they will not want to leave the comfort of the magical field."
Until that moment, everyone murmured in agreement—except one. Someone who was always silent. Someone with a great past. The leader among them had changed his name from Silverleaf to Sunblood.
"Young ones, it is important to remember that we not only have wealth. We have the memories of those who came before us. In particular, there is one I would like you to recall—about the towns of the East. There exists an order there that is very valuable for our purposes. I only need one illusion spell and one teleportation spell. It is time for the species in our country to meet: the paladins."
Most smiled. It was a sly expression—the face of someone who knew they had done wrong but felt no regret. Immediately, some went to their chambers while the leader wrote in a rough, archaic form of the eastern tongue.
"Beloved deer of Phaladine,
In this dire hour, I bring you terrible news. The territories you control clearly respect the dictates of my faith, and for this, your god loves you. However, so fixated are you on eradicating sin on the east coast that you have left the eastern coast exposed. As is natural, sin has prevailed, for Phaladine cannot make people believe—it is his will whether you choose to grow. Therefore, I grant you divine blessing while I call upon the great paladin orders of the region—the powerful and just warriors of heavy armor, those who received death in the grand halls of an infinite feast. Bring priests as well. These are lands plagued by corruption, and any structure, animal, or person you could relieve would be greatly appreciated. We are particularly concerned about a city protected by a demonic forest. Phaladine himself asks you: liberate that ancestral site that once worshipped your god. If all die, they will be forgiven by Phaladine and may feast eternally.
Brothers of Phaladine, heed the call. The map is enclosed, along with travel funds. Bring your talismans, your weapons, and your will. Evil is out there. It is time to cleanse."
As the letter disappeared, the ancient elf smiled with satisfaction. Of course they would come. Honor compelled them. Two months were sufficient. Paladins were tough. They would attack the mercenary troops when the time came, and perhaps they would feast upon the Forest Elves, whom he remembered as helpless children. This war would be interesting.