THE LEGACY OF THE VAERITH

The evening had already begun to settle over the land when the clan made camp.

They had arrived at the edge of the woodland before sunset, following the same ancient trail their people had traveled for generations. Their journey was never governed by a single home or a fixed piece of land, for the clan belonged to the seasons more than it belonged to any kingdom. When the warmth of spring returned, they would travel toward the green valleys where the rivers ran clear and the grass grew high enough to feed their animals. When summer faded into autumn, they would follow the old roads toward the eastern hills, where the nights were cooler and the forests offered shelter from the changing winds. When winter came, they would return to places like this one, where their ancestors had once gathered around the same fires beneath the same stars.

That night, however, the sky was unusually dark.

The last light of the sun had disappeared behind the distant mountains, leaving only a faint crimson glow upon the horizon. Smoke rose lazily from the cooking fires while the adults moved between the tents, preparing the evening meal, checking the horses and settling the younger children before the cold became too deep. Beyond the circle of firelight, the forest stood silent beneath the night, its tall trees swaying gently whenever the wind passed through their branches.

The children had gathered around the largest fire.

They had finished their supper, but none of them seemed interested in leaving. They sat close together beneath thick blankets, some with their knees pulled against their chests while others leaned against the older members of the clan. Their attention was fixed upon the oldest woman among them.

Eldara Veyrin sat beside the fire with her hands folded over the top of her walking staff. Her silver hair had been braided loosely down her back, and the firelight reflected softly against the lines that age had carved into her face. She had traveled with the clan for longer than most of the children could remember, and there were few evenings when she did not have a story to tell.

One of the youngest children glanced toward the mountains in the distance.

"Grandmother Eldara," he asked, "is it true that Blackspire is beyond those hills?"

Eldara lifted her eyes from the fire.

For several moments, she said nothing.

The other children followed the boy's gaze, and suddenly the conversation around the fire became quieter. Far beyond the trees, several dark peaks rose against the night sky. Even from that distance, one mountain appeared taller and more severe than the others, its summit hidden beneath a veil of cloud.

Blackspire.

Eldara slowly turned back toward the flames.

"Yes," she answered. "It is."

The boy's eyes widened with curiosity.

"Have you ever been there?"

A faint smile touched Eldara's lips, although there was little joy in it.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because there are places in this world that a wise person does not visit simply because curiosity tells them to."

The children exchanged uncertain glances.

One of the older girls leaned closer to the fire. "Is Blackspire really cursed?"

Eldara's fingers tightened slightly around her walking staff.

"That," she said quietly, "is what the old stories tell us."

"Stories about what?"

Eldara looked at each of them before answering. She seemed to be deciding whether they were old enough to hear what she had heard so many years ago.

"About a kingdom that no longer exists."

The children became completely silent.

Even some of the adults nearby slowed their movements as they heard her words.

Eldara looked into the fire.

"My grandmother used to tell me this story when I was a child. She said that it had been passed to her by her grandmother, and before that, by those who came before her. I cannot tell you whether every part of it is true, because I was not there when it happened, and neither was she. Some details have probably been lost to time, while others may have changed each time the story was told."

She paused, watching a small ember rise from the fire before disappearing into the darkness.

"But this is the story that survived."

The youngest children drew closer.

Eldara took a slow breath.

"Long ago, before any of us were born and before many of the kingdoms you know today had raised their first walls, there stood a great kingdom called Ravathor Elsinvar."

The name seemed to settle over the gathering like something ancient.

"It was said to be a beautiful kingdom," Eldara continued. "Its towers could be seen from miles away, its fields stretched beyond the sight of travelers, and its forests were filled with creatures that had never known fear of mankind. The people lived beneath the rule of a king named Vorakhen Dravaryn."

"Was he a good king?" one of the children asked.

Eldara smiled faintly.

"That depends on which story you choose to believe."

The children laughed softly, but Eldara did not.

"Vorakhen was very young when he became king. His father had died not long before, leaving the crown upon the head of a son who had inherited a kingdom before he had truly learned what it meant to carry one."

She leaned closer to the flames.

"His father had told him many stories before his death, and among those stories was one about a crystal pendant said to possess a power unlike anything else in the world."

A child frowned.

"What kind of power?"

"No one truly knows," Eldara replied. "That is part of the mystery. Some say it could preserve life. Others say it could command forces that belonged to the oldest magic. Still others believed the power was never meant for mortals at all."

"Then why did the king want it?"

Eldara's eyes became distant.

"Greed."

The word came quietly, but it carried enough weight to silence the children again.

"Vorakhen had heard about the pendant so many times that eventually he could think of little else. He wanted the power his father had spoken about. Perhaps he believed it would make him a greater king. Perhaps he wanted to prove that he was worthy of the throne. Or perhaps he simply wanted something that had been forbidden to him."

She shook her head slowly.

"Whatever the reason, the young king became obsessed with finding it."

The fire crackled.

"And there was one name connected to the pendant that even kings were afraid to speak."

Several children looked at one another.

Eldara lowered her voice.

"Zhaerion Veyl."

A cold wind passed through the camp.

The children instinctively moved closer together.

Eldara watched the flames.

"He was a mage unlike any other, or so the stories say. His name was spoken quietly, and sometimes not at all. People said that his knowledge reached far beyond the magic taught in royal courts, and that there were things he had learned which no living person should have known."

"Was he evil?" a girl asked.

Eldara looked at her.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I only know what the story says."

She returned her gaze to the fire.

"Zhaerion lived away from the kingdoms, in a secluded place near Blackspire Mountains. There, he guarded many things that the rest of the world knew nothing about. Among them was the crystal pendant."

Eldara paused.

"And within that pendant was sacred water."

The children stared at her.

"Sacred water?"

"Yes. The pendant was said to have been sealed long before the kingdom of Ravathor Elsinvar existed. A sacred scroll was attached to it, carrying words whose meaning few people understood. Whether Vorakhen knew what the scroll contained, I cannot say."

She looked toward the dark mountains.

"But the king wanted the pendant."

"So he went there himself?" the boy asked.

"No."

Eldara shook her head.

"That would have required courage he did not possess."

A few of the older children laughed.

Instead, she explained, Vorakhen secretly ordered several of his most trusted knights to steal the pendant from Zhaerion's dwelling. Under cover of darkness, they traveled toward the mountains and entered the mage's hut while he was away."

"Did they fight him?"

"No."

"Did they kill him?"

"No."

Eldara's expression became solemn.

"They took what they came for and fled."

She allowed the silence to linger.

"At first, they believed they had succeeded."

The fire suddenly collapsed inward, sending sparks into the air.

"But they had not understood what they had taken."

The children waited.

"On their journey back to Ravathor Elsinvar, something happened. The stories differ about exactly how it occurred. Some say the horses panicked. Others say the earth shook beneath them. Another version claims one of the knights dropped the pendant while crossing a rocky path."

Eldara raised one finger.

"But every version agrees on what happened next."

She leaned closer.

"The crystal struck the ground."

No one moved.

"It cracked."

The wind seemed to grow colder.

"The sacred water spilled across the earth."

Eldara's voice dropped almost to a whisper.

"And the sky answered."

A distant rumble rolled across the night.

The children turned instinctively toward the mountains.

Eldara continued before anyone could speak.

"Lightning came down from the heavens and struck the land surrounding Ravathor Elsinvar. The people did not understand what was happening. They looked toward the sky and saw darkness spreading across the clouds. The forests trembled. The ground shook beneath their feet. Animals fled into the wilderness, while others remained frozen where they stood."

She swallowed.

"Then the people began to change."

One of the children whispered, "Into Orcs?"

Eldara nodded slowly.

"So the story says."

She looked into the fire again.

"Men who had once walked the streets of Ravathor Elsinvar found their bodies changing before their eyes. Women cried out as their forms twisted beneath the curse. Soldiers dropped their weapons because they no longer recognized their own hands. Children screamed for their parents, and parents could do nothing to stop what was happening to their children."

The firelight flickered across the children's frightened faces.

"But the curse did not stop with the people."

Eldara's eyes moved toward the forest surrounding the camp.

"It spread into the land."

The trees beyond the fire seemed suddenly darker.

"The forests surrounding Ravathor Elsinvar changed. The leaves became blackened, the roots twisted beneath the soil, and creatures that had once lived peacefully among the trees were changed by the darkness. Some became violent. Some became monstrous. Others simply disappeared into the deeper parts of the forest, where no traveler dared follow."

"What happened to the kingdom?" the older girl asked.

Eldara's expression became sad.

"It died."

She paused.

"Or perhaps it became something else."

No one spoke.

"That is where Zhaerion Veyl enters the story."

The old woman looked once more toward Blackspire.

"They say he stood upon the highest reaches of Blackspire Mountain and looked down upon Ravathor Elsinvar while the curse spread through the kingdom. No army marched against the city. No siege engines stood outside its walls. There was no battle between kingdoms."

Her voice became almost a whisper.

"There was only a mage standing upon a mountain and a kingdom beneath him."

The children listened without blinking.

"And from Blackspire, Zhaerion Veyl cursed King Vorakhen Dravaryn and all who belonged to his kingdom."

Eldara fell silent.

The only sound was the crackling of the fire.

"What did he say?" someone finally asked.

Eldara shook her head.

"No one knows."

She looked at the child.

"That part of the story was lost long ago."

She folded her hands over her staff again.

"But whatever words Zhaerion spoke, the curse remained."

"The kingdom became dark. The forests became darker still. The creatures changed. The people who survived the transformation became the first Orcs."

She looked at the children.

"And from them came generations upon generations of Orcs."

The youngest boy frowned.

"Are they still there?"

Eldara did not answer immediately.

Beyond the camp, the wind moved through the trees.

"Yes," she finally said.

A shiver passed through the children.

"Ravathor Elsinvar still stands, or so the stories say. The old kingdom lies somewhere beyond those mountains, hidden beneath the shadow of Blackspire. The forests around it are said to be filled with creatures born from the curse, and the Orcs who live there have multiplied for generations."

"Why doesn't anyone go there?"

Eldara looked directly into the fire.

"Because no one who knows the story willingly walks toward a place where an entire kingdom was swallowed by darkness."

One of the children whispered, "But if the story is so old, how do we know the Orcs are still there?"

The old woman smiled faintly.

"Perhaps we don't."

She lifted her eyes toward the stars.

"That is the trouble with old stories. Sometimes they preserve the truth. Sometimes they preserve only the fear."

She slowly rose, using her staff for support.

"But there is one thing I have always believed."

The children looked up at her.

"Never mistake a story for the whole truth."

Eldara turned away from the fire and began walking toward her tent.

The children remained where they were, staring into the flames.

Far beyond the forest, beyond the valleys and the roads their clan would follow when the season changed, the dark silhouette of Blackspire Mountain remained beneath the night sky.

And somewhere beyond those distant peaks, where no traveler from the clan had dared to go for generations, the ruins of Ravathor Elsinvar waited beneath the darkness.

The story was old.

The curse was older still.

But neither, perhaps, was finished.