The keep looked empty. It felt alone, unprotected, without him. The population of humans, elves, and animals moved tensely. The largest guilds had left long ago. Only the stupid Wolves kept attacking, but that was no surprise. They always gave the impression of receiving new merchandise from their employers. Most of their warriors were mere social scum who, for a promise of massacre and power, ventured into the forests. Most said it was because they had nowhere else to go. They were not powerful enough to enter the societies facing the undead. Not belonging to those who had joined the elves, they were not embarked on the pursuit of my lord either. He had been gone for almost two years. At first, I thought like everyone that his departure would leave us in a bad state. But just as he left, the dangerous enemy forces departed. Suddenly, the cemeteries protected by my power were enough to face the threats of the Chaos Mark and the Lich's servants. The forest inhabitants—among them my own forces—spoke of an exodus. Half were going to the elven treasury, I supposed to try to recover their masters' possessions—the same ones who had nearly eliminated my lord and recently our newest and most curious ally.
"I was barely organizing the new defenses. The Dark Lord insisted on leaving to train and adjust to his new eyes. He had been going out of the forest, but only to areas where enemies would not overpower him. Yet at times I saw him facing the Wolves' elite soldiers. Even though Chapatrueno offered him more effective protections—plate armor or at least chainmail—he still wore his traveler's clothes, a very rare leather that no one recognized. So only rumors filtered of a 'Death Knight' who roamed the forests, attacking each regiment's elites before fleeing without killing anyone. The elves learned quickly; they already had some mid-level sorcerers and continued working to learn everything contained in the keep. Yet the incursions were very frequent. My troops had made thirty percent of each invasion desert, but we could not prevent casualties. While attending to a huge wolf with its side torn open, I saw him arrive. The whole hall turned from an infirmary into a mere backdrop for him. He knelt before the wolf, without a trace of weakness. His face softened. He placed his hand over the wound, and it began to steam. At no moment did I see the wolf try to attack him—it only whimpered. When he withdrew his hand, where the wound had exposed part of its entrails, there was only a black area in the shape of a hand. Then he stroked its fur, and the animal fell asleep. When I accompanied him to the study hall, just beside his chambers, I realized we were being followed. A tall, somewhat elderly man with abundant wounds and bandages, a blood-damp cigarette hanging from his lips, extinguished. He looked completely finished—except for his eyes. Those looked at me with frank mischief more than desire."
There I met the Whitecap envoy—a quite tricky mage who, despite his knowledge and power, had been stranded by the politics of magical structures. Now that his faction had fractured, he came to ask about us. But they did not make it easy for him. The Blood Elves had placed a strong mercenary device that pursued him for months through forests and ravines. When he finally reached the forest's edge, he was surrounded by resident Glacier Wolves who guarded the northern part and were more apathetic than anything. They took what they were given month by month and went to my bars to spend it—without resentment or remorse. But this time, there was a prize of a thousand gold... That was an impressive amount, considering they asked for twenty pairs of Dark Elf ears for fifty gold, the bastards. I imagine several of them had fallen before they could take his staff. This man was slippery. According to my lord, he rescued him when they were about to cut off his head. I still remember his face when I told him he did not have to thank me—it was my lord he should thank. He looked for him with his eyes, sure that we represented the greatest power. That was when the Dark Lord told him he was no knight, and the only one he knew was going to save his own kind. Despite that, he recovered quite easily. He asked to speak with him alone, but my master refused.
"We are here because we chose to be here. No one was forced, so no one is forced to leave," he said.
So with a half-smile, the mage spoke. The next morning, the Overlord left for the elf king's palace, and this mage stayed as my assistant.
Seeing a mage, a Whitecap, here was difficult. But for most humans, it was reassuring. Even among the deserters, they were glad to have someone they knew had dedicated his life to improving human life. The first thing I taught him, however, was to improve his control over the magical field. He was talented, I must say. In return, he helped me enhance my abilities. The curse I carried, I developed as a weapon—solid illusions, voices, digging into everyone's imagination. There were no limits to how the mind could be deceived. We were both limited to human magic, so the many elven books were forbidden to us. Not so the books he brought. Yet none of the white magic books served me. They sought well-being; unconsciously, I did not understand the term, so white magic definitely did not work within me. But he brought several neutral magic scrolls—they were fun when added to what I knew when I served Phaladine's bastards. Between this and the defense plans, the months passed. The conversation we had still suffocated me, but once you knew where the stone came from, you could think of how not to be there. Yet I needed to take that hit if we wanted to advance further in our plans.
Today, the orcs visited us again—a strange race, over two meters tall with large muscles. They lived on the eastern side of the continent, nomadic groups of great physical power. They arrived a month ago. Day by day, they came and threatened, instigated, begged to eliminate the Dark Elves, Blood Elves, Forest Elves, and Sacred Elves. I did not blame them. If what the Whitecap human told me was true, they were a race created by the elves to have someone to fight. For millennia, they gathered forces, attacked the palace, and died by the thousands. Then they withdrew, reproduced, and attacked again. This time, they thought that if we all went together, we could expel humans, elves, and all other races equally. Among their ranks, I had seen more differences than they wanted to show—especially between two of the three orc factions.
Here I sat, listening to them speak. The warriors wanted the blood of those who had killed their kind for generations. The hunters sought only to face those who threatened their tribe. And the shamans—mages of natural elements and fierce warriors—opined that it was time to end this nomadic wandering. There was a tolerant civilization in the Dark Forests; it was time to fight for something other than past resentments. All shouted and fought among themselves. I had already seen the warriors—who used no magic but had great resistance to it—kill the elder shamans and the younger hunters. Their forest area had been devastated to provide raw materials for their forges and workshops. Just then, one of the Dark Elves arrived, tears in his eyes. He told me they had killed an entire village of humans and Forest Elves—the few who had agreed to establish joint villages to learn from one another. When I asked who, the orc warrior, leader of his people, laughed heartily.
"Of course it was us," he said. "They were weak. They allied with the enemy. I have endured your evasions for too long, human! Give me the authority to massacre these vermin, and I will set out for the rest. My sword and my people's will be covered in their blood. We will face them and send them to a tomb in the sea."
But I was not listening. I had fought hard to establish that place—a meeting ground and starting point for forging an elf-human alliance, to lose fear through coexistence. And it was gone.
I shouted that they were damned, that in their blood they carried the seed of destruction, but not all embraced it. My magical field hardened, became heavy. All present felt its power in its entirety for the first time. No one had seen me enraged—not since I eliminated an entire village and a bastard high priest. I stood and walked until I stood before him. That proud orc warrior still tried to raise his weapon. The others did not dare even breathe. I felt everyone's fear. It nourished me. Their hatred strengthened me. But I felt the curious gaze of the Whitecap. He was not thinking of intervening, but he was certainly taking note of everything. Very carefully, I placed my hand on his face. He writhed, but I did not let go. He was much larger than me, but at this moment, not even a dragon would dare approach. When I withdrew my hand, his skin was black. A burn mark on his dark tone told him it was not wise to challenge me. Everyone retreated as I lessened my field's intensity.
"All who attack my allies for stupid reasons will be marked!" I told them. "My hand on your face will let you know you are no longer welcome here. Those who seek to be more than a killing machine may stay. Those who seek to stop this invasion of death and chaos are welcome. If I discover that someone dies because of your decision, many will accompany you to eternal rest."
All left. The rumor would spread. They knew some orcs would remain, as would some who sought vengeance. But I had hundreds of Night Elves in the trees—they would watch until they left. I needed no more. This alliance would be made with those who sought peace. Was this what you wanted, Dark Lord? Now I needed to speak with the Whitecap, to find out how to mold my field into something like that.