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“These Elves didn’t even lock their gates,” Shade hissed as the Tyrans crept towards the wooden gate of the Elven villag
e.
“They are making this easy for us!”
He suddenly threw out a hand and the Tyrans stopped marching. Fireflies jumped through the air as the warriors silently flattened themselves against the wall. They could hear the
Elves nearby, hundreds of voices laughing and chattering, and merry music playing.
Villid’s heart beat faster and faster with each step they took towards the village, feeling more and more determined to sneak away as fast as he could and somehow find the E
lf Seer; but Shade didn’t seem to want Villid out of his sight. Reluctantly Villid kept behind Shade as they crept through the gate, finally entering the village, which was lit by lamps and decorated with ribbons and strips of coloured material. Ahead were stone steps leading up to where the
Elves were celebrating.
“Making it easy for us,” Shade smirked again, sniffing. He turned to the Tyrans. “This is where we attack,” he said greedily. “Let us surround this festival of theirs. We will draw in close, surrounding them all. They will be stuck on the inside, unable to escape. There, we can crush them. The fools probably don’t even have a weapon on them.”
An uncomfortable shiver ran through the crowd of Tyrans. “They have no weapons?” Swift repeated. “And... it is the festival we are attacking? There will be women and children there.”
“Your point, six-one-twenty-six?” Shade growled.
“This isn’t fair,” said Villid. “Not a battle, but a slaughter. There is no glory in this.”
“Have you forgotten your place?” Shade cried. “One more word out of you, Tyran, and I’ll throw your worthless corpse in the river with the
Elves!”
Shade turned and pointed at small paths around the steps, where he ordered groups of six or seven to make their way round.
“You,” Shade snarled, pointing his dirty fingernail at Villid. “
You
are coming with me.”
They turned a sharp left and sneaked towards the nearby wooden huts, avoiding the stone steps where the Elves would see them coming. They kept low to the ground, avoiding where any light from the lanterns would give them away. The Tyrans could see light and hear voices coming from what seemed to be ahead of the steps. Villid and four other Tyrans followed Shade, Villid biting his own tongue to stop himself striking Shade where he stood.
“Don’t look so miserable, Tyran,” whispered the Tyran behind Villid. “We are here for battle!”
“Some battle,” Villid muttered to himself. Fixing his gaze ahead, he concentrated on his plan – to somehow be the
first to reach the dark-haired girl he had seen in the vision. His heart pounded under his armour and he clenched his weapons tightly.
The space between the wooden houses was narrow, and the Tyrans had to slow to crawling speed to get through some of the narrow gaps. The sound of the
E
lves’ celebration got steadily louder as they sneaked through the gap, like silent wolves surrounding their prey. Eventually, the row of houses ended and they came to a small hill separating them from the square. The soldiers silently crept up it, crouching near the top and spying down at the
Elves.
The E
lves had all gathered on several long tables, eating a huge feast, talking and laughing so loudly that they hadn’t noticed the army of Tyrans surrounding them. Villid could see where his fellow warriors were by a glint of a sword or a small movement – they had now fully surrounded the
Elves from every angle; just one signal from Shade would bring terror and destruction on the unknowing Elves’ heads.
“None of them can escape us,” said Shade smugly.
A small, brightly lit platform was in the middle of the square, where young and older E
lves alike played merry music. It wasn’t long before the lanterns surrounding the platform suddenly dimmed, and the
E
lves went quiet. Villid held his breath. The Tyrans around him looked slightly alarmed. But all the
Elves’ attention was on an old Elf woman, who had come onto the stage.
She announced something to the listening Elves, and several young E
lf women rose from the table and approached the platform. They were all dressed in different brightly coloured robes that flowed behind them as they approached the stage. One
Elf, dressed all in green, wore a white crown on her head. Villid’s heart jumped to his throat as he watched her walk to the stage, her long, thick black hair rippling down her back past her waist and her robes floating behind her like green waves on the ocean. There was no doubt in his mind – that was the girl he saw in the water. That was the Seer.

Aya approached the middle of the stage, going over her dance routine again and again in her head. Six other
E
lf women stood around her, each dressed in identical robes of a different bright colour. Brightly-lit lanterns surrounded their stage. Hundreds of
Elves stared up at them as the dancers stood, deathly still, and waited for the music to guide them through their story.
The first note of a flute played, and soft, mysterious, almost haunting notes began to play. Aya, and the six
Elves around her, began to dance.
The music was soft and calm; violins joined in, and then the soft strumming of stringed instruments, beating of soft drums and sharper, shorter whistles from flutes. Aya stretched out her arms and danced, letting the music take control. Flashes of red, blue, pink, orange, yellow and purple streaked past Aya as she spun, stretched, bounded and leapt, the delicate music running through her body... she felt wonderful, like the music was the only thing that mattered, and this dance wasn’t just a dance, it was what she was born to do...

“Women,” whispered Shade, licking his lips as he stared at a stage where the Elf girls danced. “What a fine sight.”
Villid’s heart pummelled inside his chest. If he could reach the Seer girl before Shade could…
“Although,” Shade smirked. “Their taste in music is rather weak.”
The dancers on the stage danced so quickly that they were just a blur of colours. Villid kept his eye on the girl in green, who danced in the middle of the others, her long, slender arms outstretched, her eyes closed as she moved perfectly to the music.
“You like that one?” Shade suddenly hissed. “The one in green? You want her, do you, Tyran?”
Villid didn’t respond. He glanced round. The Tyrans had now completely surrounded the square, well-hidden in the shadows, waiting for the order to attack. Here and there he thought he saw the hilt of a sword, or a movement from one of the soldiers. The
Elves round the tables, however, were oblivious to their hunters. Villid could see women and children sitting, eating, clapping and smiling at the beautiful dancers in the middle. He didn’t like this at all. Battles and arenas were one thing, but the slaughtering of the innocent?
The music had reached its climax and was starting to slow down, and then the dancers were entwined round each other, their arms outstretched, still and silent, smiling down at the crowd. All too soon their performance had ended. Villid knew it – the moment would come any second.
“Shade,” he whispered desperately. “We... we shouldn’t...”
“I tire of this,” Shade interrupted, as several of the E
lves started to get to their feet and applaud the dancers. “This
is it. So what was the one you wanted, six-one-twenty-seven? That one in green?” and he took aim with a long, sharp dagger from his belt.
It was like an instinct. Villid slammed as hard as he could into Shade’s shoulder, throwing him off his aim. The blade cut through the air as fast as lightning...

Aya jumped and twisted in the air; she landed perfectly in the middle of the dancers, her chest heaving, exhausted from her dance. She stood with her arms raised, where the seven
E
lves posed, smiling at everyone, who clapped and cheered. Aya saw her father, Dorran, smiling proudly, and several
Elves stood up to applaud the dancers.
Then it was in a split second that the atmosphere suddenly transformed; the cheers and laughter suddenly died and panic-stricken screams pierced the air like knives. From the shadows leapt huge warriors in armour, roaring and charging towards the
Elves, waving axes and swords above their heads. Everybody jumped to their feet, screaming as the giant creatures galloped towards them, and panic and chaos erupted. Everybody scattered... the dancers around Aya gasped in shock and started to run in terror, and Aya suddenly felt something warm and wet drench her back...
Above the screams she could hear an odd, choking noise behind her. She whipped round, and the dancer dressed in blue robes fell slowly to her knees, her small hands scrabbling at her throat as blood gushed from her mouth. A long, rusty dagger was half-buried in her neck, her skin
was turning white as blood covered her mouth and ran down her neck into her robes, her eyes wide in terror and pain. She tried to say something, and her hands found Aya’s robes; blood poured onto the floor as she tried to speak, but coughed and spluttered, the ground around her a puddle of crimson.
“Neecrid,” Aya whispered, terror rising in her chest. Her best friend...
She knelt beside the dying Elf girl, horrified tears prickling her eyes. Neecrid coughed and blood spurted from her lips, and
her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she slumped lifelessly to the ground.
Aya felt as if her heart was ripping in two as she stared into Neecrid’s lifeless eyes. There was blood everywhere, blurred figures swarmed past her and the screams around her seemed to be blocked out by her own terrified cries. “Neecrid,” she whispered again, staring numbly at her best friend’s lifeless face, her scarlet lips parted, her eyes wide with panic, and Aya’s screams joined the panicked crowd around her...
“Aya!” a voice bellowed, and someone’s hand grabbed hers and pulled her to her feet; it was Flint, her brother, dragging her off the stage and pushing roughly through the crowds of Elves, who were scrambling to escape the attackers.
“Don’t you dare look back!” he shouted. Aya tightened her grip on Flint’s hand, terror ripping at her heart, blinded by
tears. She could hear choking screams behind her and the thump of bodies hitting the floor as the warriors swarmed them, merciless, unforgiving.
As Villid slammed into Shade, the Tyran warriors emerged from their hiding places and pounced on the unsuspecting E
lves. They charged in their glinting armour, their faces dirty, their eyes cold, their mouths wide open in triumphant battle cries, each one of them hungry for blood. Shade slowly drew his long, curved swords from their sheaths behind his back, sprung to his feet and threw his head back, as if savouring the moment of glory. Shooting Villid a nasty grin, he galloped down the hill towards the square, where panicked
Elves were scrambling up from the tables and scattering in all directions, desperate, panicking screams echoing through the night.
Villid’s heart felt heavy as he drew his axe and his sword. Some of his fellow warriors had caught up to the fleeing
Elves effortlessly, piercing them with their long weapons, laughing cruelly as the helpless fell to the ground, limbs sliced from their bodies...
The Tyrans slashed at them viciously, cutting the E
lves to pieces as they tried to run away. Blood spattered everywhere; the warriors were merciless, covered in blood, huge weapons raised high above their heads, armour shining in the light of the lanterns. Someone had set fire to some of the
Elf houses, and choking black smoke rose into the air once again. Elves ran deeper into the village in a huge crowd. The elderly were left behind, the ones who had fallen were being trampled, as the Tyrans cut through them with strong sweeps of swords and axes...
The girl in the green robes had been swept into the crowd of fleeing E
lves and had disappeared from sight. Small groups of
Elven men suddenly started coming back, pushing through the throng, clutching small daggers and bows.
“Ha!” Shade laughed. “Now they want to fight!” he ran towards them, swords in his hands, roaring at the terrified
Elves.
The smell of burning wood stung Villid’s nostrils, warriors battled around him and the screams of the Elves echoed around the square. He looked round desperately at the mayhem, which only moments ago had been harmless celebration.
“Glorious battle!” Shade yelled, effortlessly cutting down two or three E
lf men who ran at him, desperately flailing their weapons. They groaned and fell, red spattering the ground, limbs rolling away from them, watching their own guts spill out to the floor. Shade stood triumphantly above them, as if loving every second of their pain and torment. He glanced greedily at one of the nearby
Elven houses.
“The men fight, but where are the women?” he smirked. Slowly he approached one of the houses that weren’t yet on fire, and Villid made to follow him – this was too much, he
had to be stopped. But he was bombarded by five more
E
lves, looking terrified, clutching small swords. Villid tried to dodge them, but he felt a blade catch his arm and yelled in pain. Anger rising in him, he slammed his battle axe into the offender’s face and with a sickening crack, and the young man fell backwards. Swinging his weapons madly, he crossed his sword and axe and sliced an
E
lf warrior in two; he turned and cut the arm off another, and he ducked and took the legs off the last. They all collapsed, almost simultaneously – the
Elf with no arm screamed in anguish and stared up at Villid, falling to his knees. Villid could feel adrenaline pumping through his body, the fierce triumph raging in his heart, covered in the blood of his victims...
But then horror hit him. What was he doing? There was no glory in this...
The Elf boy stared up at him, his cheeks wet, clutching the bloody stump where his arm had been sliced off his body, his hair sticking to his forehead. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Villid felt shame bubbling inside him – something he had never felt before...
Then a sword swiped through the air and the E
lf was dead. Swift grinned at Villid. “Playing with your food before you eat it?” he said tauntingly. Villid glared at him. Shade licked his lips again and gestured towards the
E
lf houses. “Plenty of lovely
Elf women,” he said greedily.
With great difficulty Villid tore his gaze away from the Elf corpses and Shade’s gloating face, and forced himself to run through the battle and towards the towers up ahead. His heavy boots pounded on the white pave stones, which were rapidly turning scarlet as more Elves hit the floor, crying in anguish and screaming for mercy that would never come.
This battle was completely different from anything Villid had experienced before. He felt no excitement, no glory, no satisfaction, just cold, shameful dread. The Tyrans were dooming themselves to the mercy of the Darkma, and for what? Slaughtering these
Elves as if they were animals?
He could see a stone tower ahead. Most of the
Elves that hadn’t been caught by the Tyrans had disappeared from sight, running into buildings or towers that weren’t on fire. Tyrans battled either side of him as he sprinted towards the nearest tower, knowing now that without saving the Seer girl, the whole point of the battle would be lost to him.
“Stay here,” Flint growled, pushing Aya into the south tower. “Go to the top. Protect the Seer. Don’t come out until father and I have come for you,”
“Flint, no,” Aya cried, clutching Flint’s sleeve. “Come with us... you’re no fighter...”
“I can fight,” said Flint, not looking at her. He pulled a sword from the wall, where daggers and arrows hung in rows. He placed his shaking hand on Aya’s shoulder. “I must go and find our father. Keep the Seer safe. Lock this door when I go. If the worst comes, use the escape
passageway. It leads to the forest.”
Aya forced back tears as Flint swiftly kissed Aya on the forehead and ran towards the door, clutching the heavy sword in his hand. Wiping her face on her robes, Aya made herself run up the spiral staircase, her heart hammering harder with each step, screams and clashing of swords echoing from outside and the smell of smoke almost choking her.
At the top of the tower, Llyliana and four of the servant girls sat on the floor. They all jumped when Aya burst in.
“Aya!” Llyliana sobbed as the Elf approached her. “What’s happening? Are we going to die?”
“Not yet,” said Aya gravely. She knew she must be brave, for the Seer. The last servant girls were crying quietly, their arms wrapped around each other. They were at the top of the south tower now, no safer than anyone else. The creatures that had attacked them could easily set the place on fire, or worse.
“Where’s Neecrid?” asked the princess. “Is she...?”
There was a silence, where Aya nodded slowly. Neecrid’s terrified, blood covered face flashed before her eyes and she clutched her fists tightly to stop herself from crying. One of the servant girls suddenly wailed. “I don’t want to die!” she cried.
“Quiet,” Aya said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Let’s remain calm. We have to lock these doors. Help me!” she snapped, and the servants jumped to their feet, the crying
one trembling with fright. Llyliana’s shimmering white robes were stained with blood and dirt. She stood near her hammock, tears spilling down her cheeks, nursing a wound on her arm as the servants helped Aya block the door with the little furniture they had. Aya ripped the loose sleeves from her own robes and wrapped them tightly around the princess’s wound. Llyliana sniffed and nodded in thanks.
There was a single window on the east side of the room. Aya glanced outside, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
The sight was terrible. The street was covered in dismembered bodies of women and men, at least fifty E
lf corpses to one body of the grotesque, beast-like creatures who had ambushed them. Countless
Elf houses were on fire, E
lves who had not died were screaming for help, or trying to crawl to somewhere safe. The air was thick with smoke and stank of blood. They heard the distant triumphant cries of the attackers, the clashing of weapons, and the screams of helpless
Elves. Aya turned from the window, feeling sick. How could it have been that only a few hours ago, the very same street was so lively with happiness and celebration? Would this ever stop?