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Far to the north, in a dimly-lit room, a pair of individuals waited. The first, a tall, graceful elf woman in ornate armor, stood facing a wall of maps. Beneath her arm was her helmet, and on her face was a look of concern, impatience--and, most of all, anger. Seated at a large desk behind her was a nobleman. His face was a mask of deliberate composure, and his clothing was of the finest variety. In appearance and demeanor, he seemed as though he should be sitting in a royal court at the right hand of the king. In front of him were scattered countless sealed documents, military dispatches, coded messages, and royal declarations. His fingers were steepled in front of his face, and his eyes were locked on the door.
"Does he normally take this long?" the woman asked petulantly.
"Patience, General Teloran," replied the man.
The elf sighed and turned back to the map. It showed the whole of the continent, though there was no reason. The top third of the map, representing the Northern Alliance, was cluttered with figures and military patterns representing every aspect of the year's battles. Below that, a thin line representing the front was obscured almost completely by carefully recorded combat figures. The rest of the map, showing the enormous kingdom of Tressor, was virtually untouched. General Trigorah Teloran, formerly a key field commander, ran a finger over the map, tracing a faint line near the front. It had been ages since she'd seen the enemy, since she'd seen real combat.
"Have you retaken Orin Ridge?" she asked.
"That is not the matter at hand," the man wearily commented.
"With all due respect, sir, until it is won, the war is always the matter at hand," Trigorah replied. "We are too far from the front here. Even with Demont's methods, the information is cold when it reaches us. We never should have left Terital, General Bagu. We need--"
She was interrupted as the door flew open. Through it marched a rather slight man. He was dressed similarly to Bagu, through the exquisite garments seemed out of place on him. His were not the features of a nobleman. In place of implacable composure was a look of sharp determination, tempered with annoyance, as though he was perpetually being kept from far more fruitful endeavors. A gem-tipped staff of some kind was strapped to his back. The harness that held it was coarse, and clearly worn in complete dismissal of the regal bearing the vestments had been intended to represent. As for the staff, it had silvery metallic sheen to it, and the jewels of the tip gave any who observed them the nagging feeling of being watched. In his hands were a stack of papers.
"General Bagu . . ." he began, turning slowly to acknowledge the elf. "Teloran . . ."
There was no attempt to disguise the distaste with which he spoke the latter name.
"General Demont," she acknowledged.
"What have you to report, General?" Bagu asked levelly.
"There are some things which may be stated with certainty. The sword had been found, and it has been handled. The girl who found it has been apprehended, and is even now in route to General Epidime's . . . facility," Demont explained.
"And the sword? Is it in hand?" asked Bagu.
"It . . . is not. We've reason to believe that it is still in the hands of the assassin. The girl was not delivered by him either. She had to be gathered," Demont responded.
"It was to be expected. Assassins are not to be trusted," Trigorah stated, fury smoldering under her voice.
"Well then. General Teloran, gather half of your Elites. Your assignment is to find precisely where the sword was found and trace its path and that of the girl. Locate and identify any who might have come into contact with it. When you are certain that this task has been thoroughly and completely performed, find your way to the sword and bring it to Northern Capital," Bagu ordered.
"As you wish, sir," General Teloran replied.
"Then go. Demont, remain here," he said.
After collecting the pages containing the details of Demont's findings, Trigorah set off, purpose in her stride. She stepped through the door and into the massive entry hall of this, Verril Castle. At one end of the long, vaulted room was the throne, currently vacant as the King attended to the affairs of state. Opposite it were the massive doors that lead to the castle courtyard.
The General donned her helmet and marched toward them, drawing the images on Bagu's map to her mind. Slowly, meticulously, she envisioned what moves should be made. Foot soldiers here. Cavalry there. Siege weapons at the ready here and here. Yes. When these distractions were dealt with, when the Alliance proper was cleansed, then she would be at the front once more. And she would be ready.