Nùormest of Nectar Glen

27 Fyrva 350BFD, 22 Ur

Years of scouting, spying, planning and preparation had led to this moment. While some understood how monumental it was, many were just hungry for more battles and conquest. King Senzàn-Fai had earlier watched as those who could still fight mended armour, sharpened weapons and fletched more arrows. Everything was going to plan, and soon they would have control of the major waterways in Nectar Glen. Furthermore, his army had only taken a few losses. That alone was a welcome surprise, given he and his fellow conquerors were ill-prepared to defend against arcane attacks. Thankfully, he had managed to recruit one Mage to their cause, who he had sent to aid the final assault. His forces needed every possible advantage. Not that the Mage had been easy to convince, but offering him a glorious battle and the establishment of his arts into the foundations of a new kingdom had managed to pursuade him, in the end.

The inhabitants of the lands had proved themselves cunning and resourceful but unable to withstand their constant onslaught.  Each stage of their conquest had, in the end, come down to who could be the most aggressive for the longest time. And his warriors were always going to win against the primitive and seemingly-timid natives.

As he mused on the final stage of establishing his new, independent nation, Senzàn's second-in-command, Vynai, entered his tent and gave the King a loose salute.

"My Lord, you asked to see me?"

The King nodded.

"I did, Vynai," he confirmed, "I need your summary of today's progress and also the plan for the final stage. It is essential to complete the task today before my people become too tired."

"Of course, my Lord," Vynai nodded, "if you would just grant me some seconds of patience, I will address those queries."

He took a few moments, wondering how best to phrase the destruction they had wreaked on the fields in the Glen.

"As my Lord knows, every village has been successfully taken on the way to our final staging ground. While my Lord believes only a handful of his own were defeated by the Aevyormii, upon reflection, this number is closer to forty. That still leaves our number at approximately three hundred and fifty trained warriors," he reported.

"They knew the risks, and we forced no one to join us," the King replied with a lazy flick of his wrist, "though we should honour them. What happened to their bodies? They need to be buried properly and granted dignity in death, as no life follows this one."

Vynai shifted his eyes from the King towards the ceremonial spear Senzàn always took on forays and conquest attempts. Two large white feathers were now attached to it, he noticed grimly.

"They are 'buried properly', my Lord," he replied, pausing briefly,  "the Aevyormii undertook that task."

The King frowned, a little perplexed.

"Why would they bury an enemy? Are you sure it was honourable and not ritualistic?"

Vynai nodded.

"I saw it happen with my own eyes. They carefully laid each person in a plot of their own and covered by soil and flowers. If there was any ritual, all they did was bow their head towards the mound. They then continued by burying another soldier or returned to their kin."

"So, is everything going smoothly?" the King asked, moving on to more pressing concerns, at least in his mind.

"Do you mean by results or by method, my Lord?" Vynai asked, his eyes narrowed but fully locked onto those of the King once more. He also did his best to hide his disdain at Senzàn skirting around the issue of their enemy showing more care and compassion of the dead than the King.

"Well, now that you have brought it up, you may as well report on both."

Vynai sighed.

"Very well," he accepted, taking a deep breath, "as results are the main thing my Lord judges the day on, I will begin with those. All that remains is to take control of the centre of Nectar Glen, which our earlier scouts identified as An'béz'el. Secure that location, and my Lord can begin to establish his nation."

"Do you have more to input?" Senzàn asked.

"As to the method," Vynai hesitated, "it is my personal opinion that we - not only my Lord - have become ruthless and cruel. The pastures we hoped to capture for the early production of food have been set alight by our own forces, and we killed many of the Aevyormii when it was not necessary."

Senzàn shrugged.

"Speaking of..." Vynai continued, suddenly aware of some downy, blue and white feathers at his feet, "I heard a delegation was coming to talk terms of peace."

Glancing around, he berated himself for not having seen them before. And for not having been present at the time.

"I guess the talks did not go well?" he asked carefully.

"They were here to talk peace, were they?", Senzàn asked with mild interest.

His Second-in-Command choked back his revulsion at what had likely played out, while he had been far away and trying to calm the King's people down.

"They were never even given time to state their business, were they?" he asked, rather more pointedly and less formally than the King expected.

"Is this a conquest for control of water and land or a weak attempt at living alongside a strange race? A vain hope of peacefully cohabiting with people wielding suspicious sorcery?" the King asked, snorting, to which his second-in-command remained silent.

Yet, he chose to recruit a Mage. Odd that he would utilise the very tool he hates, Vynai mused.

Senzàn huffed, "Precisely," he nodded, presuming to have read Vynai's silence correctly, "if they flee, we, in our great mercy, allow them to. If they stand their ground, they pay the price. That is how lands have been won and lost since the existence of the Paràntii of Savàni. I presume the assault on An'béz'el has begun as I ordered?"

Vynai nodded and bowed slightly, desperately wishing he were anywhere else.

"It has, my Lord. Though without clear leadership, I fear their hunger for victory may lead to undesirable outcomes even if we win the battle." he slowly explained.

"What 'undesirable outcomes'?" the King asked.

"I have already explained one to my Lord - the food supplies your people burned. But furthermore, your instruction to raze every dwelling in each village was carried out, more with fervour and less forward-planning. My Lord had considered the first months of our inhabitation of the Nectar Glen to be in tents, I presume?" he asked.

Try as he might, he could not hide his bitterness at the current state of the incursion.

"And he had planned that our hunters would have to travel great distances to trap creatures for food," he continued, "because, at the current rate, there will be little living in the land. Only my Lord's hungry people."

"All that matters to me right now is that we can call this land 'ours'. After that, we can work out shifts and roles."

Vynai winced.

If only I were strong enough to criticise Senzàn-Fai openly, he thought.

"Y-yes, my Lord. Finally, I presume you wish to know what stands between us and victory at An'bé'zel?"

The King waved his hand slightly to indicate that Vynai should continue.

"In short, a huge mystical shield over its very centre. It is holding everyone back. Every time we launch an attack against it, the ward repels it with unending success. My Lord may suggest we utilise sharper, heavier, larger or quicker weapons. Now, I would like to add, although these would usually be logical approaches, I wish him to know we have already attempted those things."

"Then what is the source of this shield?" the King asked, probing for a weakness, "how many Aevyormii are safely cowering inside of it?"

Vynai cleared his throat.

"I do not wish to question how my King sees the enemy. However, those of our number who still retain their composure report that the Aevyormii have never once cowered before us. Many have fled, true, but because they wished to protect those of their people who were younger or sick. Some remain inside, and there appears to be something there that the natives are protecting - an object we cannot see from the ward's boundary. As to the source of the shield, I have seen that it is the largest of the Aevyormii. She is likely to be their leader. With her wings and arms outstretched, while remaining suspended above ground level, She seems to be sustaining it with little effort."

"And what of those who were outside of the shield, but have not fled?" Senzàn asked.

"I have not been able to control your people, my Lord."

Vynai hung his head in equal shame and horror.

"It is carnage. Or it would be if you could count the dead, I mean. They vanish instead, thankfully. I tried to prevent wanton destruction, but you and I know my title is ceremonial. As do your forces, so my orders mean little. Will you be finally gracing the battlefield?"

"I will be there shortly to see the shield fall. Their leader cannot sustain it forever, and I hope our Mage friend will assist us in seeing it crack."

"So you won't be attending the fighting?" Vynai sighed, aware his question would not be answered, "So be it. As to your Mage 'friend', do not presume you can coerce everyone with your words and trinkets. This will be my final report. I will be returning to An'bé'zel to attempt a damage mitigation exercise, lest they destroy every useful implement and structure."

With that, he turned on his heels and departed the tent.

Who cares about a few feathered foes, anyway? the King wondered, sacrifices must always be made if success is to follow. In this case, their sacrifices and our success.

An'bé'zel

27 Fyrva, 23 Ur / Itsàun Daìfyn (Midnight)

"My Lady, we must withdraw," the voice insisted again.

She could no longer tell which of Her faithful Few addressed Her. Everywhere She looked, She saw fire. Not the natural kind that they could quell by bringing peace to the Sénakii. This was a destructive breed that was bent on their annihilation. And there were feathers everywhere. Never before had the Nectar Glen been covered in more plumes than blossoms. As She struggled to maintain Her focus, all She could think was at least the Aevyormii did not leave their bodies behind.

Their energy has returned to our Orb far before their time, She thought sadly.

Another flurry of bolts and boulders was caught mid-flight and dropped harmlessly to the ground. Another cut opened up, this time on Her arm, and She gasped for air through the rush of pain. She grimaced and willed Her arms to remain pointed outwards. Her desperate call on the most potent form of Kyl-Y-Ormà was their last hope against the ruthless, dishonourable murderers and thieves.

Whatever that cursing spell was, it has turned our only defence against us. Against me, She realised.

"While I am...alive...the shield will hold," She proclaimed through gritted teeth, "Let the injured flee Est, along with any...healers they need. Hùlàn, take everyone that's remaining!"

"But, my Lady...which is more honourable: to dissipate now in defending a place we are doomed to lose - or to return stronger to reclaim it?" the voice asked in desperation.

What is left to defend? She wondered, all our homes are gone, the Meeting Glade lies in ashes and many of our creature friends have been killed or captured.

Yet where She hovered was of great importance to the Aevyormi. This was An'bé'zel or The Angle in the coarse language of those who lived on the fringes of Savàni. She thought it was also the language of the invaders, from the little She had heard. But it was at An'béz'el they had first settled thousands of years before, and the first young had been blessed and recognised as an equal among their elders. In the centre of the angular stone ring was the sole physical relic that had any value to Her and Her people: the Crystal Tree. The Aevyormii had deemed the Tree a sign of blessing from the Elements and placed it on a small stack of stones. It was a monument to their peace with the Orb that sustained them. The Crystal Tree stood only waist-high, even on the tallest of Her people and its branches radiated colours akin to the Element they represented. Or, at least, it did until two Urs ago. Now it just glowed red, and that was blackening.

"We won't lose...while...I live!" She screamed as a lightning spark from the invaders' sole Mage fizzed and crackled along ward's edge. "Sorry," She panted, "that scream was not aimed at you!"

"I know but, but...my..." the voice stammered, which She had finally recognised as that of the Communer, the one who listened to the Elements the most keenly. She also discerned his distress moments before he broke down in tears.

"What he means is," the sterner, but calmer, voice of the Shield Wing interjected, "since their curse, every time we stall the attack, You are torn apart a little more. The summoning stone is attuned but it will not hold forever. It's past time we used it to retreat. We cannot lose You. We must not."

"Save...the Tree," She rasped, clinging onto what threads of concentration she had left.

The ground shook as a fiery bolt pierced the weakest area of the Shield and She of the Few clutched Her face in agony, willing herself to remain awake. It was then She heard the one sound none of the invaders would hear or care about - one like that of shattered ice.

"No!" Her mind screamed, unable to see clearly, yet knowing it would only confirm Her fears.

The Shield Wing buried her head on the shoulder of the Communer, a rare and brief sign of weakness, while he averted his gaze. The Crystal Tree was shattered. A symbol of their own tenuous, precarious position at that same moment.

"My Lady, look to your friends," the Communer whispered, knowing she would hear him above the commotion.

It was very rare for Her to be told what to do, rather than merely being advised on a course of action. But She knew why, and once She was able to do as instructed, She found Her vision slowly returning and She returned to the ground, drained from the exertion of maintaining the Shield. She was taken aback when the Communer reached out to dry Her tears and his hand returned blue.

Ousiivy'szil. Ajai.

It was stained in blood. Her blue blood.

"Why is this happening?" She moaned, "we are creatures of peace, not war. They could have been neighbours, not enemies. Is not Savàni large enough for all who are born of its bounty?"

For the first time since the Shield went up, She examined Herself. In horror, She noted the tears, lesions, bruises and cuts that seemed to cover Her whole body. Her wings were burned in places, some beyond the healing art's restorative powers. She had never once been physically struck for the whole invasion and yet now She felt pain like none She thought existed.

All of this purely from the Shield? Their curse caused me to bear all the scars of their attacks that failed to reach my people. A pity I could not save many. Be that as it may, I would sacrifice myself for my people, she thought, but now, that would not bring honour to them.

She bowed Her head in shame as the Shield above cracked like some parched ground in the heat of the sun. They only had a few urpìkii to spare - the choice between extinction and humiliation.

"I hope few stood with me, especially when I've taught us to think rationally," she mumbled, downcast.

The Communer, having regained his composure, flicked his tail nervously.

"Your people await You on Pìchous Island, so we may flee together," he replied, neither confirming nor refuting Her question, "She of the Few is needed and...loved."

"Please, just call me Naun'àn'èrd, my real name."

She shivered despite the heat of the surrounding fire, aware that, if they did not soon take action, She would dissipate before Her Lifewater, Her blue blood, drained away. Her head felt simultaneously light yet pierced as though a thousand desert-hog needles had passed through it.

"You did not need to be diplomatic...but I am glad you were," she continued in a mournful whisper, "I am spent - I ask that you both utter the invocation to carry us to Pìchous."

As the Communer and Shield Wing began chanting, the Shield splintered into a million Elemental Shards before vanishing with a hiss that was unheard under the din of the greedy, clanking clamour of the invaders waiting for their moment. At the ward's destruction, there was no scream from She of the Few, for She fell unconscious, barely caught in time by her two aides. Just as arrows, javelins and anything else the enemy could throw descended on their position, the incantation completed and they vanished from the burning fields.

"Gah, so close to finally capturing one or three of the fiends," the King spat, "for all we know, they're just hiding nearby, waiting to ambush us."

"The bloodstains on the ground tell me that's unlikely," the mage Y'kàndrà pointed out, kneeling to examine it further, "at least I think that's blood, though it seems blue even against the dark mud. I think you can cease pursuing them now. The land is yours."

"You're lucky I had you along for the battle and now you advise me?" the King shouted.

Y'kàndrà frowned, stood up and strode purposefully up to the King's position.

"Battle? What battle?" he growled, "this was not what you signed me up for. This was no battle, this was an avoidable massacre! You even killed those who were unarmed and wanted to speak with you before the attack. That's no way for any king to act, whether he rules over two or two million. How dare you tell me I was 'lucky'."

The King sneered.

"No visible weapon does not mean they were not combat-ready, as you well know. And besides, you're hardly innocent. Who was it who invoked that curse again?"

Having observed the link between the failed attacks on the shield and the expressions on the Aevyormi leader's face, Y'kàndrà had been forced to make a seemingly-impossible decision: to let the King's rampage continue for days on end, or to curse the leader in such a way that each time the shield was struck, She would suffer a minor injury. With Her concentration being focused on deflecting physical attacks - including that of fire - She had left the shield vulnerable to magicks. His spell had been designed only to distract Her from maintaining the shield, but it developed into a living nightmare for the Mage, who could only watch as his curse effectively tortured Her over and over, as he had grossly underestimated Her willpower. Dejected and shamed, he had had to leave the final shield-breaking incantation as late as possible to give Her time to flee, without making it obvious to his so-called allies.

Aikyl-ykaitsé Pékiberàunii.

The first time he had cursed a living being and, he hoped, the last. Three quick words to end the bloodshed and give him sufficient imagery to disturb his sleep for years.

"I had to curse them to save them, you imbecile! And you are not my king, so I'll call you whatsoever I wish," he ranted, "if I had not cursed them, it would have been an eternal stand-off, with you hounding them every waking and sleeping moment, just waiting to devour the people and claim the land that belonged to them. Yes! This land belonged to them."

The king opened his mouth which was swiftly punched by the irate mage, to his shock. He stumbled to the floor, stunned. Y'kàndrà took a moment to calm his breathing and heart rate.

"They were willing to share their land with you. But that wasn't enough was it?" the mage continued, through a clenched jaw, "Not enough for one bent on founding a glorious kingdom at the cost of the realms and lives of others. If you want to call today a victory, then remember, that victory was because of me and me alone. But you do not owe me anything, for never have I felt so hollow in victory."

He turned as the King hauled himself to his feet.

"Did your Majesty draw a sword in that 'battle'? No. Did he even issue any commands? No, except 'destroy everything'. Did he let his so-called army act like a pack of rabid wolves? Why yes, he did," Y'kàndrà shrugged, "Well, 'King', you have dead livestock, burned pastures, razed homes, smoke-filled air and a carpet of feathers to remind you of the lives you needlessly took today. Because of those things, your people have neither shelter nor food stores. Enjoy your little fire trap. It's the only reward you have earned today."

Shaking his head sadly, he pulled his brand out of his belt.

"Where do you think you are going?" the King asked angrily still rubbing his chin from being struck while fumbling around to grab his sword.

"To do what needs doing. You will not see me again, so you can cease trying to sound threatening. Do not seek me out, I want nothing more to do with you or this Qal'ath you intend on founding."

Muttering an invocation, he too vanished from the field, leaving the King to try and calm his people before they succumbed to the fires they had made.

"Sorcery," the King muttered, scowling, "it's nothing but trouble."

Except when it helps me get what I want, anyway, he thought.