Chapter 1
“Alaquonde must not fall,” shouted the Lord Regent of the city. “I will not have it, not after six-hundred years of peace.” The Lord Regent, a middle-aged man with short gray hair and a thick white mustache, pounded his fist on a circular stone table. Around the stone table were gathered ten ministers, each sitting upon a leather-bound chair.
“My Lord Regent,” said one of the ministers, a fair young man with long dark hair and blue-green eyes. “We must request aid from Rule. The Emperor must send his troops.”
“This state of Alaquonde has been neutral for hundreds of years,” said the Lord Regent. “I cannot allow Imperial Troops to march into the capital city.”
“But, My Lord,” said the young minister, his blue-green eyes narrowing on the regent. “We have no choice.”
“That is enough, Minister,” shouted the Lord Regent. He leaned back on his throne, and diverted his gaze from the ministers.
There was a sudden knock on the door of the Lord Regent’s counsel room. The ministers faced the door. The counsel door opened, and a young man with a flushed face rushed up to the regent’s table. He placed a parchment on the center of the table. “My Lord Regent,” he said. “The dwarves have taken Ebregail.”
The Lord Regent placed his hand upon his brow. He did not look at the messenger as he breathed a deep sigh.
“Now nothing stands in their way to Alaquonde,” said the fair young minister.
The Lord Regent turned back to the table. He looked at each minister in turn, peering into each man’s eyes. The ministers neither spoke nor tuned away. “Call for the troops,” said the Lord Regent. “You’re dismissed.”
The ministers rose from their seats. All bowed to the Lord Regent before stepping away from the table and departing, all except one. The Lord Regent grasped the shoulders of his throne and turned to the fire burning in the hearth of the counsel room. Of the ten ministers, only the young fair minister remained. He was standing at the table with his arms at his sides. “It is the right thing to do, My Lord,” he said.
“Minister Trik” said the Lord Regent.
“Yes, My Lord,” said Trik.
The Lord Regent faced him. “When the dwarves besiege the city, will you fight?” His eyes narrowed on the elf. “Or will you flee?”
“I will fight, My Lord,” said Trik, “until the last.”
The Lord Regent nodded. “Until the last,” he said, and his expression hardened. “Let us hope it is not.”
