Part One:
"Why we follow our dreams."

Tilear dismounted and took a knee by the edge of a ravine; he looked out upon the road to Lara, stretched below him as far as the eye could see. The road ran through a small open area between the trees on either side. The flowering trees for which Lara was famous grew only sparsely this high up and the forest consisted mostly of small pines dusted lightly with the morning's snow.

The road stretched to the top of a high peak, and just beyond it, out of sight in the warm woods of the lowlands was Lara. The nameless hill always struck him as a sad place.
It was a hill every traveler cursed, the last before the end of a long day’s walk or the first of the days trials to come, endured only grudgingly and unloved. The sparse melting snow gave it an ugly look: Patches of white mixed with mud, it looked like a sorry place to be...

It was also his destination...

He called his mind back to the present. He was for all intensive purposes in command. The "leader" of his squadron was a local Constable by the name of Buckly and more of a bureaucrat than a fighter. Tilear could see him reloading his crossbow from horseback now, and his form was poor at best. He also could see that the other men knew this, and that at least gave him some solace.

Being a Westen immigrant Tilear had little enough in common with the men to begin with. They were Imperial citizens and the idea that they would have to take orders from a "Westen", orders from some one from the "lesser country" was one which they were not accustomed. The knowledge that there were some things they could relate to, even if it was just a mutual disrespect for "observers", was comforting.

He took in the situation and stood up. The squad of ten men was in a clearing near the edge of a valley about thirty yards from the road. They were mounted, armed with repeater cross bows, swords and shields, and each wore a breastplate. Their scout had not yet returned from the wood below, and at this height it could not be determined what if anything was waiting there.

Travelers had been disappearing in this area for some time now, and five people of noble blood had been killed in the past weeks in the Woods around Lara. A mage from Dun had been asked to help and after a week of divining in solitude he spoke privately with the Baron of Lara.

The Baron asked for a "Common knight" (a knight with out noble blood or a claim to court, given the title through courageous service) and Tilear was summoned. The Baron had sent him to this road to look for the murderers, and granted him a squad of Centorens and an observer to aid in the endeavor.

Tilear called out to his men: "OK listen up, our illustrious scout Mr. Jobar is now over an hour late by my mark, and I gather by that, that he has gotten him fool self into trouble." He pulled his crossbow from his back and loaded it in a single motion as he had been trained to do in the Imperial Army.

He noted the look on the men’s faces, it was one of confidence, for they now knew that Tilear had been trained by the Empire just like them, he was a fellow Centoren, and that meant they could trust him.

He loaded a magazine into his crossbow and continued speaking, "Mr. Jobar however has aided us in some small way however as we now know that there is indeed something amiss down in those woods."

"So here is what were going to do: were going to mount up and ride to that rise over there and move out "Comrade" down along the ridge to the east and search those woods." He vaulted up to his horse, and turned to Buckly: "that is if that is all right with you sir?"

Buckly looked half-surprised at being addressed "oh... um, yes that will do fine Sir Tilear" he said. Tilear smiled along with some of the younger members of squad. He had taken a gamble in assuming that Buckly had never been on Champaign, and he had guessed right.

"Moving out Comrade" was a practice done in situations where an ambush was highly probable. The men would prepare themselves for battle and conceal their crossbows beneath their shields to appear as if they only had swords and an expendable officer (whom was usually left out of the loop) would be treated as if in command.

That way when the ambush came the men would have bows ready to loose on the ambushes and lose only expendable men in the initial attack. Tilear never liked to do a thing like this to any one but things could quickly go bad with only 10 men under his command and this was the best option.

"I want bows strung and shields ready, lets go..."

The men saddled up and loaded their weapons, Tilear moved to the head of the group and beckoned Buckly to follow. They moved down the ridge and into the valley below as a light snow began to fall all about them. He waited till they were at a perfect choke point he had gazed upon from the cliff above before giving the command to stop.

The woods came close to the trail here and rose up on either side a good six feet into heavy undergrowth, a small stream broke from the wood in the east and ran parallel to the trail for about twenty yards and then cut back into the wood cascading down a few large rocks.

It was a small lonely place, where the woods seemed to close in like walls...

He hopped down from his horse holding his cross bow at his side and bent down low beside the stream as if noting some marking or track. He then stood up and walked a few paces towards Buckly. He delivered a salute while Buckly was looking the other direction and called out to him: "Sir, there is something you should see over here."

Buckly looked a bit surprised at being referred to as Sir, but as he did technically out rank Tilear he dismissed it as over politeness. Tilear noticed himself sweating, and wiped his brow. As Buckly clumsily dismounted, Tilear moved his cross bow to his left had and focused on his surroundings.

He had heard something off to his left as he was looking at the stream and now kept the area of brush firmly in his peripheral vision as he walked with Buckly to stream. "You will see here, Sir,” said Tilear concentrating on his surroundings and speaking clearly and with no small volume.

"These markings are from some one or something cross-". A sudden movement and the sound of a bowstring loosed came from Tilear's left, but he was waiting for it and with move of his right arm deflected the first of three arrows loosed at Buckly.

At the same moment he threw himself into Buckly knocking him into the stream and clear of the second arrow, the third loosed from some where behind Tilear caught the shocked observer in the side and smote with enough force to pierce his breast plate but its passage was slowed enough that it only wounded him lightly.

Tilear's quick action was doubly helpful to himself he noted as an arrow that’s mark was his head buzzed passed him, a second struck his aged breast plate and bounced of harmlessly.
A half a score of arrows fell among the men but only two found their mark, they had prepared themselves well and responded with a flight of Bolts from their crossbows.

Tilear Dropped to one knee and fought to keep from sliding down the steep muddy bank of the stream. Another arrow buzzed past him and he fired in return. He hit his mark but only winged it he saw what he thought was a man fall from a tree and crawl quickly into the underbrush.

"Skirmish charge west and around" He cried standing and looking for another mark.

The men responded instantly and charged their horses up the small steep hill to the west and struck at the enemy as the went wheeling about as individuals about ten yards into the woods then, coming back down the hill and up the other side, skillfully bending and weaving through the trees each man taking his own path. Some firing their cross bows from the saddle some wielding short sword and leaning far in the saddle to slash their foes. This mounted terror was the might of the Imperials at work...

Tilear sidestepped his way to his horse firing the rest of his bolts into the forest, many arrows fell about him in return but his breast plate kept them from hitting home, the ancient armor he wore had been his families for generations and none of his line had ever perished to an arrow while they wore it.

Even a veteran bowman's shaft would curve away like a sparrow at last moment, or the wearer would receive warning as if from nowhere to move himself and a fatal shot would miss him by inches.

Tilear put foot in stirrup as the Centorens came crashing down the west hill across the road and through the stream. As he wheeled about and followed he could see the enemy breaking and fleeing in all directions, he followed the men into the wood and they saw at least six enemy leap from trees and flee but they lost them in the underbrush almost at once.

Tilear guessed that something more was at work and called the men back to the road. Once there they gathered up three of the ambushes (two corpses and one unconscious) and a wet and dumbfounded Buckly and moved quickly to defensive terrain some hundred yards away. Tilear took stalk of the men.

One had perished an arrow in his back, two had taken an arrow in their side, and three horses also bore shafts. All the men had small cuts and bruises from the undergrowth and one Centoren's horse had fallen and hurt its leg. The animal could still carry a rider but not at a great speed or over anything other than open ground.

Buckly's wound was tended and he lay down by the other wounded men, he still seemed shocked and said nothing for a great while. Tilear then took stock of their foes. He pulled back their cloaks to reveal what he already had guessed. They were Elves. All of them bore bows and had hair of Green.

Their clothing seemed to match it surroundings well regardless of where they were their color something that was hard to surmise as it seemed to change ever so slightly just when one thought one had discerned it. Their other possessions did little to aid in determining where they came from.

Each had a dwarven blade, and coin from Westa Proper. One had halflings pipe, the other a small book of old lettering which none of them could decipher. Tilear had the corpses striped and hidden beside the road so they could be buried later. The captive he had bound and gagged. He then sent the wounded, Buckly and two other men to head to town and collect reinforcements.

The other Centorens loaded their bows and dismounted and they moved quietly onto the woods in search of the fleeing enemy. They moved north first till they reached the cliff then turned and with the cliff towering to their left moved quickly along the small strip of open ground between the cliff and the woods.

After about three hundred yards of this they crept southeast into the forest in hopes of finding their enemies camp from an unexpected angle. They stopped at a small rocky outcropping some three hundred paces into the wood.

Tilear and another Centoren then put on the cloaks of the Elves hoping that their color would grant them some aid, and went ahead crouching low all the way, almost on all fours they moved with cunning into the tangled wood ahead.

At length they heard voices in the wood beyond speaking frantically in the Elvish tongue and sounds people rushing about. They slowed their pace and came in short time to a clearing in the wood where once a small tower probably twenty paces in height had stood. The tower now was a ruin and many tents had been set about it and canvass stretched over the open roof of the ivy-covered structure to make it worthy of habitation.

Elves could be seen running about it in all directions gathering all manner of objects and making ready to depart. Tilear and his men hid beneath a fir some thirty yards from the structure and took stock of the enemy. They seemed to have been here for some time yet from the way in which they packed their belongings it was obvious they were accustomed to travel.

They addressed each other by name and with out formality. Their camp had many snares and defenses and most were not obvious to the eye, Tilear only saw some of them because of years of experience.

Two guard towers had been built from scaffolding on either end of the tower but they had no guards. This last detail worried Tilear, that troops trained such, as these in the defense of their camp would leave no guard when guards were needed most.

He and the other soldier began to move back to the rest of the Centorens while he thought deeper on this. By the time they had reached the rest of the men he had decided what to do. He threw back his cloak and addressed his men.

"All right, it seems as if a trap has been prepared for us. We will approach from the west where they will not expect us. I want three of you to find cover on each side of the clearing ahead and I want two men going in with me, Volunteers?"

Callman the Sergeant of the squad a tall older man of fine imperial lineage spoke up "I'll go with you, Sir". Tilear could tell he had seen a few battles by the scares the man bore. The Centoren whom had accompanied him to scout the enemies’ camp also agreed to go.
Kemour (for that was his name) was quick on the draw and young, there was a hint of anger in him at all times.

Tilear nodded in agreement to both and the Centorens moved out as quietly as they could. Tilear helping each man into position individually before moving in himself with Callman and Kemour at his back. The three of them moved up slowly till they could no longer stay hidden if they moved further and then they lay quietly for some time to size up their task.

There were maybe, ten Elves at least, a score at most it was hard to count them; they moved about gracefully but quickly like small birds flying about a lake at sunset. The snow had also gotten heavy and a cold wind from the west was blowing it about the wood. After a short time a leader of some sort appeared.

He was old as Elves are; not in body but in spirit he seemed to be somber and stoic and though he stepped with the same grace his feet seemed heavy and his springs were not as light. He spoke a few words that were inaudible in the wind and then returned to the tower from which he came.

He reappeared moments later with a young Elven girl, Tilear guessed her to be maybe fifty or sixty, but he was not good at telling the years of Elves. Kemour (whom had dwelt some time in Fenawick City in the house of an Elf) marked her at about 100 or 13 by human standards.

She looked about with striking green eyes and the wind caught her short purple hair and sent it flying about. The others bowed before her when she looked at them and she said one word when they all had taken knee. "Bayglirel" or in the language of men "oppressors".

The Elves looked up in confusion, the comment was unmistakably directed at them. The Girl paid them no heed; instead she turned and walked down a steep stair to the bottom of the tower. The snow seemed to dance about her and reflect her mood, one of a dignitary insulted.

The older Elven man followed her no more then a pace behind. The Girl once she had reached the ground turned back into the tower and the Older Elf followed. Pausing for only a moment at the canvas that was hung as a door.

He glanced about and his gaze fell right at the spot where Tilear lay for a good 6 seconds, then he entered the tower with no change in his manner apparent. This worried Tilear further, why didn't the elf cry out? He must have seen them he looked Tilear right in the eye.

After a moments pause he decided that it was not to be worried about. The older elf seemed to owe some allegiance to the Elfen girl and she seemed to have no love for the other Elves.
He unsheathed his broadsword "Bearalm" named after the deceased brother of the emperor and quietly un-slung his shield from his back. The shield of a scout; 2' in diameter and circular and made both ready.

He looked over to his men to see they too had made themselves ready. Callmen had his shield out; the cavalry mans shield three feet by two and domed open at either end so that if on foot the Centorian could make a "turtle shell" with his fellows and fight as if armored footmen.
He had also his short sword drawn and set beside him and was now sniffing a hand full of dirt as was the custom of old soldiers to make peace with Sheal god of conflict.

Kemour had his crossbow ready and was tightening the strap of his shield so that he would still have free use of his hand to aid in loading his repeater. They nodded to each other and silently moved out into the clearing.

Tilear was about ten yards from the tower when someone called out a cry of alarm. "Tiro!" Tiro me'lon!" But even as the words left the elves lips a bolt caught him in the back and he fell to the ground shrieking.

The first bolt was followed by the other Centoren's shots only one of which hit its mark. Callmen cut in front of Tilear as the Elves began to grab bows and return a flight against the unseen imperials. Tilear leaped over a small pit and began to sprint faster; he was abreast with Callmen as they fell screaming upon the Elves.

The murderous sprites were ill prepared for the might of them and fell to their blades like thrushes to a reapers scythe. An arrow flew past Tilear and the Elf who's bow had sent it was smitten by two bolts from Kemour whom was but a few paces behind Tilear taking aim for a second foe.

Tilear leaped up to the staircase and ran quickly to the second level with Callmen in tow. Suddenly an Elf appeared from the highest place in the tower and called out loudly in some arcane tongue. Kemour let out a wail as the snow all about him suddenly rose up in the image of a man and struck out at him. The Centorens witnessed the massive thing in a state of shock as it rose up to its full height of nearly fifteen feet.

The Creature seemed to be made of snow and ice with rocks adorning it like armor. Its body was the shape of a man in full plate if his hands were mauls and feet were the feet of a great cat, this cat like resemblance continuing up to about its hips.

The thing hunched low like a panther ready to strike and pawed at Kemour like he was a rat. Callmen sprang from the second story and landed hard upon the beasts back knocking it off balance and Kemour leapt nimbly to one side to avoid the bizarre angry creatures stumbling form and fired twice into its side. but his bolts seemed to have no effect as did the bolts of his fellows flung from the woods. Tilear tore his eyes away from the sight the only thing he could think to do against this foe was destroy its source. He stumbled up the stairs fighting against a strong wind that had come from nowhere and reached the third floor.

Two of the Elves stood ready to repel him one with foil drawn and the second with a spear. The spearman lunged for him but he steeped aside turning the foil aside with his shield as he did so, with the well-measured skill of years of warfare. He forced his shield upon the Elf with the foil and bore him over charging the spearman whom was ill prepared for Tilear's brash attack.

The Elf's spear fell from his hands as the blade Bearalm smote him. The sprite crumpled and Tilear turned to the Elf with the Foil to see him already standing and armed! The quickness of the Elf's recovery distracted him only for a moment but it was long enough for the nimble foe to spring forward and attack.

The rapier found an ancient chink in Tilear's armor; a place where the frame had stopped the spear of a charging Orc three score years before and the weakened spot did not hold. Pain threatened to shroud his eyes as the crewel Mithral shaft buried itself in his side, and Tilear cried out but did not submit.

He brought down his sword arm and trapped the blade bringing his shield up to the elf's wrist and forced the rapier (at great pain to himself) from the his grasp. He then lowered his shoulder and charged into the elf to knock him from the tower.

But the elf was quick and leapt away and down the stairs crying for aid to slay the imperial. Tilear cast the rapier aside and though pain clouded eyes saw a way to the next floor.
He climbed the stairs with heavy steps and came to the top of the tower.

The elf that had called forth the beast of ice and rock was before him, taller than his companions and baring armor of mithral. The wind was strong here and threatened to toss Tilear from the heights at any moment and as the Elf looked up and met his gaze it seemed to take on a much colder menacing quality.

The sprite raised his hand and Tilear felt a veritable wall of wind push him backwards to the stairs. He rose his shield and pushed against it, but the wind was stronger and sent him toppling down the staircase.

He stopped himself halfway down and stayed there a moment while the pain raged over him. Then casting his shield aside he sprang up the stairs with all the energy he could muster and faced the Elf again and again as if unseen hands the wind sent him down the stairs.

He lay here a moment and listen to the battle incapable of further action due to the waves and eddies of pain that possessed him. He could Kemour wailing for aid, the young Centoren had taken one of the creatures blows and had been sent flying across the clearing.

Callman and another Centoren now faced the beast in a chaotic melee while their third brother in arms traded arrows with the Elves. Blackness consumed him for a moment and suddenly he perceived a voice not of his men but of an unknown woman spurring him on to get up and try again.

Doing as the voice beckoned Tilear opened his eyes and took his feet. He labored up the stairs to find the Elf again waiting for him. The wind howled and Tilear stood against it with all his strength, and then he slowly advanced on his opponent, step by labored step.

He knew his strength would hold out only a few paces more but he drove onward. There was a sudden cry from below that took the Elf's attention and a look of fear leapt to his face as the snow beast lurched backwards and burst apart as if a mighty blow had smote it.

Callman and the other Centoren's stared in amazement and wonder at this turn of events but quickly regained their senses and charged the tower. This momentary distraction had caused the Elf Tilear faced to take his attention of him and that mistake cost him dearly.

The wind lessened and Tilear sprang forward and brought his blade down upon the Elf, and Bearalm stuck him dead. The wind stopped suddenly and Tilear fell to his knees...

He perceived in the moment that followed as he regained his senses the Elven girl they had seen earlier and her companion slipping quietly into the clearing and then the woods. She stopped at the tree line and turned back catching Tilear's gaze and holding it.

She nodded in thanks and he nodded in return, he knew (though he knew not how) that she had destroyed the ice beast. He knew her also to be the voice that had spurred him to his feet. He sent no man after her and told none of her in his report.

This was all she wanted in return and he fulfilled it. The other Elves, once their leader had been felled flew for the woods. Few made it away, as the Centorens again took up their crossbows.
Tilear sat upon the tower for some time and watched the snow fall on the woods all about him. The Girl still held his mind, and where she was bound. He decided then and there to follow her.
But with that thought he was borne by a sudden new pain seemingly manifesting itself from the ether. And it bore him into the dreamless sleep.

* * *

He did not awake for some time, but when he did he it was with a whisper of her voice from far away, something that did not fit in this time, or in this place, or in his mind. A single sentence, both question and statement, echoed in the silence of his thoughts, in that dreamless sleep...

"Why..." she said. "Why is it that we follow our dreams." She paused but a moment and a darkness filled her voice "And why is it that we must kill so many to find them?"

And Tilear opened his eyes to see his men carring him to their camp. He had not rested well and did not sleep that night, for that darkness haunted him and gnawed at him deeper than his wounds. That darkness in her voice, that darkness in her words...

That darkness is what he must find...