Rides A Dread Legion. Raymond E. Feist

      ‘No dishonour,’ agreed the Regent Lord. Killing a prisoner would only be dishonourable if they were of the People or of a race considered equal.

      ‘The Forgotten war against the ones most like us, who abide in a forest grove they call Elvandar.’

      At the utterance of that word, the Regent Lord’s eyes shone with emotion. He said the name softly, ‘Elvandar.’ It meant ‘Home of the People,’ but echoed with deeper meaning.

      In ages past, the People had served another race, the dreadful Valheru, and had endured slavery and degradation. Then came a great upheaval, a war in which the very fabric of time and space was rent and chaos reigned.

      The ancestors of the taredhel, called edhel in their own tongue, were among the mightiest of the servants of the Valheru. They were the spellweavers, the masters of the groves, the keepers of the land, and the librarians of their masters’ power. Many of those who had served with their masters had perished on other worlds, though it was thought that a few had escaped and found refuge. It was the faint hope that there were others like them, out among the stars, that had driven a band of edhel to escape the Valheru through one of the tears in space and time.

      To Andcardia they had come, a band of no more than two thousand magic users, hunters, and their families. It was a harsh land, but eventually they made it their own. As centuries passed, they prospered and eventually numbered in millions.

      In the past few centuries, they had learned the secrets of translocation magic, tearing the fabric of the universe. No fewer than a dozen magic users had died mastering the art, but they could now stabilize the rifts and explore new worlds; some were inhospitable, others barely able to support life. A few had showed promise and upon them the Clans of the Seven Stars had established colonies. Some of those colonies had grown and were even flourishing.

      The People had thrived, and when they encountered other races, they tolerated them as long as they did not oppose their will. If they did not comply, the other races were crushed. All had been glorious, until they found the world of demons.

      ‘Those in Elvandar serve a Queen…’ continued the Conjurer.

      The Regent Lord’s eyes went wide. ‘She dares!’

      ‘She outlived her king,’ said the Conjurer, quickly. ‘He … may have been of the line.’

      The remark hit the Regent Lord like a physical blow. His eyes filled with even more emotion. Among the most ancient, sacred lore of the taredhel was the story of the first king and queen of the People, a couple who had shepherded them safely through the early chaos of the war that had driven the eldar from Home.

      Little was known about them, save their deeds and names, which would never be mentioned aloud, lest their spirits be disturbed; but they had been recorded in the annals, and read by every lorekeeper and regent lord. ‘Her name?’

      ‘They say it is Aglaranna.’

      ‘The Gift,’ said the Regent Lord.

      The Conjurer said, ‘It also means “Bright Moon,” for the largest of the three moons on that world is known by that name, the Gift.’

      The Regent Lord shouted, ‘Send for the Loremaster!’ To the Conjurer, he said, ‘Continue, but do not speak of this or the Forgotten until I summon the Meeting.

      ‘What of these humans who thrive like mice? Have they a ruler?’

      ‘The humans live in many nations, with many rulers. They war amongst themselves on a regular basis, it seems.’

      ‘That is good,’ said the Regent Lord calmly. ‘What else?’

      ‘The dwarves live at peace with their neighbours and are content to do so as long as they remain untroubled. There are also goblins and other such creatures.’

      ‘Goblins?’

      ‘Lea Orcha,’ said Laromendis.

      Shaking his head in near disbelief, he said, ‘My father raised me to be a pious man, like all of our line, yet I will confess to have been guilty of doubt.’ Lea Orcha, or goblins, were nightmare creatures, conjured as bedtime stories to frighten children into being obedient.

      ‘They worship dark, ancient gods and spill blood in sacrifice. They consort with trolls and other inferior races.’

      ‘Goblins … how have they never been exterminated?’

      The magic user shrugged, a human gesture he had picked up and which caused the Regent Lord to frown. ‘I don’t know,’ he said softly. ‘There is so much discord and warfare among the human tribes, they hardly seem to have time to deal with goblins.’

      The Regent Lord indicated he should continue.

      ‘This world is known by several names in different tongues, but most commonly it is called Midkemia: a human word.’

      ‘The land I showed you in my vision is a valley in the mountains called the Grey Towers. This valley was once home to the Forgotten. A human tribe called the Tsurani drove them northward, and they have never returned. To the south live dwarves, but there are natural barriers between the valley and the dwarves’ territory. Some ancient mines still link them, but they have been abandoned and are easily defended. To the north there are paths and trails leading where our evil kin abide.

      ‘Once established in this valley we may range far and wide. To the east live humans in a federation called the Free Cities. They are poorly organized and ripe for conquest.

      ‘The danger lies to the west, for there lies the outpost region of perhaps the mightiest human nation—’ He stopped speaking as the Regent Lord raised his hand.

      An elderly male dressed in flowing robes entered the room carrying an ancient tome, inside which the history of the People had been recorded since the Time Before. His eyes were dim with age and behind him strode a younger male, his heir, who when not assisting the Loremaster studied, preparing himself for the day he would assume the responsibility of that office.

      Both bowed before the Regent Lord, who said, ‘Midkemia. Do we know that world?’

      The Loremaster paused for a moment as his assistant leaned over to whisper something. ‘Speak aloud!’ demanded the Regent Lord. ‘No one hides a word from me in my court.’

      The younger elf looked abashed, and said, ‘I beg my lord’s forgiveness. I meant no slight. It is just that I have studied some of the earlier passages more recently and recall seeing that name.’

      The Loremaster waved away his apprentice’s apology. ‘His name is Tandarae, Regent Lord; he is young, and perhaps a little rash, but his memory is as keen as mine was in my prime.’ The older historian’s face was wan and his eyes watered. ‘Soon this office shall be his, and I recommend him to you.’

      The younger historian bowed low before his master and the Regent Lord.

      ‘Very well,’ he said to Tandarae. ‘What do you know of this world?’

      ‘In the time before time,’ began the younger historian reciting the ritualized words of the most ancient of myths, ‘before fleeing the Wrath, the People abided.

      ‘Slaves were we in our Home, ruled by cruel masters, the Lords of Power, the Dragonriders.

      ‘Then came the Wrath and the skies were torn, and the Dragonriders rose to contest a great war. Many of the People perished and many were lost among the stars, left behind when our masters returned to the Home to struggle with the Wrath. As the war continued,’ said the young Loremaster closing his eyes as if he read from the ancient text in his mind, ‘many lesser beings, Dakan Shoketa, Dena Orcha, and Dostan Shuli, came to Home across a golden bridge, feeling the Wrath as it descended on the world.’

      He stopped and said, ‘Midkemia is a word used by the Dakan Soketa, my lord, the ancient word of our People for humans. The humans called our home world, “Midkemia”.’

      The