The Tomb of the Dark Paladin Read Free

a distant corner of the planet Llars, a castle stood atop a high peak surrounded by a most unusual city. The city was Alfheym, capital of the magical and mysterious realm of the Crimson Elves. Alfheym was a place few outsiders were ever privileged enough to visit. At the very end of the Northern Continent, its remoteness and its legendary magic were powerful deterrents to potential foes. So powerful were the race of red-skinned elves that even the infamous Frost Elves were loath to fight them, and hadn't for nearly a thousand years.
    Crimson Palace was a brilliant beacon of the power of the elves, its bricks of reddish gold and beams of fireore glowed with the power of the Tides that never left those favored of Zuhr, the true god of Llars. This day a council was in session deep within the confines of the brilliant Crimson Palace. It was the Council of Princes, the leaders of each of the tribes of Alfheym, and their meeting today was of dire portent.
    The chamber in which the council now met was at the top of the tallest tower in the massive palace. The chamber was round and took the entire top level of the tower. One massive window overlooked the city of Alfheym and the port in which ships from all points of Llars, and even beyond the terrestrial boundaries of the world, drifted lazily in the sea.
    Prince Llew stood on the balcony, his black and gold cloak rippled softly in the breeze. A number of flowering plants and vines decorated the stone pillars within the chamber and on the balcony; the flowers gave off a perfume unlike any other on Llars.
    "Prince Llew," came a whisper from the Council Guard. "The Council is present."
    The red-haired prince nodded gravely and exhaled. He turned and entered the council chamber. The five gathered princes stood in respect for their elder as he stopped at the head of the council table.
    "It is by the graces of the Great Father that we are able to meet here on this dire occasion. We give Zuhr thanks and pray that we are in time. Please, sit."
    The princes of the realms of Alfheym sat, each garbed in their chosen military attire with shirts of blood-colored firemail.
    "War is soon to be upon us, gentlemen. And so it is that I call on you to raise your armies and awaken our ancient allies. I fear it may be the last time we do so."
    "What is the threat we face, Prince Llew?" asked Prince Glandyr of the Drayk Tribe. His eyes burned with intensity and the air about his body shifted ominously as the Tides flowed through him, Sigils emblazoned on his sleeves flared with an intensity to match.
    "Has the time come for the Tides to return to Llars?" asked Prince Owyn of the Red Wyrm Tribe.
    "The heavens are in turmoil. The children of Zuhr have begun a war that even now stretches across the lands of Llars. Yerkses has given himself the title of Steel Emperor and has begun moving into the Cklathlands. The army of Ilian Nah has surged across the Northern Continent, none that have faced its might have survived. The Arnathian Empire is on the brink of disaster, civil war has erupted in a number its provinces and Hybrand has been liberated in a bloody coup."
    "Surely the demise of Arnathia is good news for us, Prince Llew," remarked Princess Dalfrija, standing in for her husband the Prince of the Smok Tribe.
    "Under different circumstances, Princess, I would agree. Yet the vacuum of power that had been created in Hybrand was filled by agents of Ilian Nah, or Umber as we know him. What will happen in the rest of the provinces of Arnathia? We know that Yerkses has rejected Zuhr and embraced his wayward son, Q'raz. Now the Steel Emperor has designs on far-reaching conquest, perhaps even reaching down into the Arnathian provinces. Where better to conquer than countries already embroiled in turmoil?"
    "Arnathia has always been devoted to Q'raz. Why would Yerkses move against them?"
    "‘Fortune favors the strong’; it is the cornerstone belief of those dedicated to Q'raz, Prince Lohik-Arme of the Flame Tribe.