Argonar, The Dominion of Sarnath
The Dark Elves liked the cold.
For many other, lesser races, the cold was an insidious thing. It crept up on you, stealthy and subtle, and by the time you noticed its presence, your fingers had turned blue and your breath came in ragged, frozen gasps. The cold was a killer that struck from behind, a thief in the night that stole your warmth, your strength, and ultimately your life.
But the Dark Elves were not lesser beings, and they had long ago made peace with the cold, embraced it, and turned it to their advantage. The frigid temperatures that would leave a human blue-lipped and shivering merely invigorated them, sharpened their senses, and made them more alert, more alive. The cold gave them focus, stripped away the distractions that plagued warmer climates, and separated the weak from the strong.
The Sar’Kadan, the Dark Elves, had ruled these northern reaches for over two millennia. In a time long forgotten, their great citadel-cities of black iron, obsidian, and enchanted ice had risen to dominate the frigid wastes. Architecture defined by soaring, psuedo-Gothic spires, narrow, needle-shaped towers, and vast domes gave their cities an ominous, sinister mien. This foreboding aspect was only increased by the gargoyles that perched on every corner, the winged wolves and twisted chimeras that adorned the buildings like grim sentinels, and the blood-red banners that fluttered from the battlements and towers, emblazoned with the symbol of the Sarnathi Dominion: a silver snowflake split by a lightning bolt, dripping three dots of snow.
Nyrena Arany’ar, standing at the icicle-laden balcony of the highest tower of her personal estate—which was less an estate and more a full-sized castle in its own right—looked out over the magnificence that was the Dark Elves’ capital city. The wind shrieked, lashing the tower with flurries of snow and ice, but the cold that might have sent a human scurrying for shelter was, to her, merely a familiar caress. Nyrena ran a pale hand through her ink-dark hair. Unlike humans, dark elf hair was often matte black when it wasn’t silver or white, and had no luster whatsoever. She brooded as she considered the news.
The Dark Elves prided themselves on being aloof from the goings-on of the wider world. To them, all other races were as children at best, and little better than animals at worst. They had no patience for the wearisome immaturity of lesser beings, no interest in their petty squabbles and territorial disputes. They were content to rule their frozen domain from afar, secure in their superiority and confident that the harsh climate and their own military and sorcerous might would keep the rabble at bay.
But troubling reports were beginning to reach the Sar’Kadan. Less than a moon’s turn ago, every sorcerer-lord and wizard in Sarnath had sensed a seismic, colossal disturbance in the magical currents that flowed across Loriath—a disruption in the ripples of power so violent and chaotic it had shattered scrying crystals in towers across the Dominion and left even the most experienced arcanists reeling with disorientation. It was the arcane equivalent of detecting a massive earthquake in a land far away—and even the Sar’Kadan could not afford to ignore it.
Nyrena frowned, her crimson eyes narrowing as she contemplated what it all meant. She had lived for centuries—though she was still young for one of her kind—and in all that time, she had never encountered a phenomenon quite like this. The greatest of the Dominion’s sorcerers were still investigating, but so far, no theory or explanation for the event had been put forward. It had many of the lords of Sarnath on edge. In fact, everyone was on edge—and it was no small achievement indeed to rattle the icy composure and cold, rational calm of the Sar’Kadan.
And now, even as the Dark Elves continued to scry for answers and delve into their deepest libraries of arcane lore, strange sightings and reports were starting to reach the borders of the Dominion. The Dark Elves had long sat astride a complex network of spies, informants, and intelligence gatherers—both willing and unwilling—that stretched across much of the known world, and through this web, they kept tabs on the activities of the various kingdoms, city-states, and empires of Loriath. It was a matter of practical necessity—even the most arrogant and self-assured civilization needed to know what those outside its borders were up to, if only to ensure that its neighbors weren't planning anything that might threaten the Dominion's interests or, in the case of the human realms, anything particularly stupid, suicidal, or both. Wars between human kingdoms, trade disputes among dwarf clans, the rise and fall of petty tyrants—all of it was catalogued, filed away, and largely ignored.
But since the Disturbance—as the Sar’Kadan had dubbed it—disturbing reports were beginning to filter back to the realm of the Dark Elves. Ships made entirely of metal, larger than any vessel ever constructed, had been spotted in distant waters. Claims of strange flying beasts in the skies that roared and spat fire like dragons but bore no resemblance to any creature of flesh and blood. Most unsettling of all were the reports of a vast new landmass somewhere to the far south—an entire continent that had appeared seemingly overnight, populated by strange peoples wielding weapons and technologies that defied comprehension and living in vast cities unlike any seen before.
The accounts were fragmentary, contradictory, and in some cases almost certainly exaggerated. But they were also deeply disturbing, and there were simply too many of them, from too many different sources, to dismiss them out of hand entirely. Something was happening out there in the wider world, something that might eventually reach even the frozen fastness of the Dominion, and the Sar’Kadan still didn’t know what it was.
Nyrena's frown deepened into a scowl. It all reeked of disorder. Chaos. Change.
The Dark Elves did not like change. Change was unpredictable. Change was volatile. Change was the enemy. Change brought unpredictability, and unpredictability brought weakness. The Sar'Kadan had built their empire on the foundation of absolute control—control over their environment, their subjects, their enemies, and most importantly, control over themselves. Their society was a perfectly ordered machine: each member within it knew their place, and all worked for the sustainment and advancement of the greater whole. For countless thousands of years, this system had worked flawlessly. It produced one of the most powerful civilizations in Loriath while maintaining the rigid hierarchies and cold discipline that kept Nyrena's people strong.
A soft footfall behind her jarred her from her brooding and announced the arrival of her seneschal, Vaelthys Mor'grim, before he even spoke. Like all Dark Elves, he moved with a fluid, predatory grace that made no more sound than a shadow falling across snow. His pale features were composed in the mask of polite deference that all servants of the noble houses wore, but Nyrena could sense the tension radiating from him like heat from a forge.
“My lady,” he said, inclining his head. “A thousand pardons for the disturbance, but there has been another report.”
Nyrena's composure didn’t waver. It almost never did. To the Dark Elves, emotional expression outside of, say, a slight crinkling of the eyes or quirk of the lips was anathema. To lose one’s cool was to reduce oneself to the level of lesser races—those childlike beings who were still slaves to their passions. She turned from the balcony to face him. The wind whipped at the fine sable-cloak she wore.
"Another report," she repeated, her voice carrying the particular inflection that suggested she was neither surprised nor pleased. "From which quarter this time?"
“The Realm Below. The dwarf kingdom. And not from one of our spies, but by official diplomatic missive, signed by their High King himself. My sources in the palace say it arrived just this morning, under the greatest secrecy.”
That got her attention. The Dwarfs were one of the few races outside her own for which the Dark Elves had anything approaching a level of respect. They were one of the Elder Races, like the Sar’Kadan, and on rare occasions over the millennia—emphasis on rare—the two had collaborated on matters of great import. But it had been centuries since the last contact between Sarnath and the Under-Realm, and the Dwarfs were notoriously proud and self-sufficient. For their ruler to personally reach out to the Sar'Kadan suggested a problem of truly monumental proportions.
“What does the missive say?”
“I do not have the exact wording, but in summation, King Firebeard is asking if we have detected any…abnormal magical activity. He didn’t admit as much, but from what was left unsaid, my sources infer that the Under-Realm detected the same disturbance we did. They have been, I am told…adversely affected.”
"Adversely affected?" Nyrena repeated, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "In what manner?"
Vaelthys hesitated, choosing his words with care. "The message was deliberately vague, my lady. But reading between the lines, it seems the disturbance has damaged or destroyed much of their magical infrastructure. The Hearthstones upon which their machines and industry rely were... compromised when the Disturbance occurred, either failing completely or becoming dangerously unstable. This resulted in cascading machinery failures, collapsed tunnels, and magical backfires on an unprecedented scale. Some say entire sections of Thafar-Gathol have collapsed, though I am unable to confirm this.”
This was troubling news indeed. The Dwarfs' Hearthstones were stones infused with raw magical energies that powered the vast machinery of the Under-Realm—indeed, without them, the Dwarf empire might collapse. If the Hearthstones had been damaged by the Disturbance, the implications were severe.
"Has the Twilight Council responded?" Nyrena finally asked.
"Not yet. They debate a response even now in the Chamber of Shadows."
“And the Queen?”
“Inscrutable as ever. She is, I am reliably informed, more circumspect than some others on the Council, but naturally, she wants to ascertain the truth of the matter.”
Nyrena nodded slowly. The Queen's caution was understandable—hasty decisions had toppled empires before, and the Sar'Kadan had survived this long by never acting without careful deliberation. But caution, taken too far, could become paralysis, and paralysis in the face of an unknown threat was often more dangerous than rash action.
"What of our own reconnaissance efforts?" she asked. "Have the Shadowhawks returned from their southern flights?"
The Shadowhawks were the Dominion's elite aerial scouts—Dark Elves bonded with the fearsome zburators, the great dragon-wolves native to Sarnath. The beasts could grow seven feet tall at the shoulder, and might have passed for especially large dire wolves save for the draconic wings that grew from their shoulders and their freezing breath. No beast was as beloved, or as useful, to the Sar’Kadan as the zburator.
Vaelthys's expression grew troubled. "As you commanded, we dispatched eight of them in all directions of the compass rose. Only three of them returned, and of those, only the one dispatched to the southeast brought tidings of import.”
“And what were these tidings?”
Her seneschal’s expression didn’t change, but subtle changes to his posture hinted at tension. “My lady…she saw things that verify even some of the most outlandish rumors. We have heard already of such outlandish fables as metal birds and iron ships that move without sails, but now…now it is my great regret to say that the tales are true. Indeed, the truth is wilder than the tales.” He paused. “My lady, the southern seas are no longer empty. Where once there was naught but endless ocean, now lies a vast landmass—a continent larger than Sarnath by several magnitudes, if what the scout said is anywhere close to accurate. A realm without end."
Nyrena felt something cold settle in her stomach, and it had nothing to do with the arctic wind. "A continent," she repeated slowly. "That appeared overnight."
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"So it would seem.”
“And how close was this scout able to get to it? What did she see there?”
"The scout came within a day's flight of the nearest city along the coast," Vaelthys replied. "She reported vast sprawling settlements, unlike anything in our records. Buildings of glass and steel that reach toward the heavens like spires of ice, but taller than even our highest towers. Roads paved with some black substance, crowded with metal conveyances that move without horses or other beasts of burden. And lights—countless lights that burn through the night without flame, which could be seen for leagues out to sea.”
Nyrena turned back to face the balcony, her pale fingers gripping the railing. The cold metal bit into her skin, but she welcomed the sensation. It kept her grounded as her mind struggled to process these revelations.
"And the inhabitants?" she asked, her voice betraying nothing of her inner turmoil.
"Humans, primarily," Vaelthys said. "Though the scout observed them only from a great height.”
Her lip curled. “Impossible. No humans could create such things. They are as fumbling children, and little else.”
"That is what I feared you would say," Vaelthys replied, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Yet the scout was one of our most experienced, and she swore by the Ancient Oaths that what she witnessed was true. Moreover, she brought back this."
He produced a small object from within his robes. Nyrena didn’t recognize it, but any American would have known it for what it was.
The device was sleek and black, with a glass screen that reflected the light like a perfect mirror. It was small enough to fit in the palm of Nyrena's hand.
"What manner of object is this?" she asked, turning it over in her hands. The surface was smooth and cool to the touch, unmarred by any visible seams or joints.
“While scouting down the coastline, the scout came across a group of the strange humans on a stretch of beach and used cloud cover to observe them. She reported they frolicked in the ocean for some time before departing. When they did, one of them left this behind, presumably due to carelessness. The best mages in our employ have examined it but have been unable to discern precisely what its purpose is, yet it is not inert.” He nodded at it. “There is a singular button on the right side of the object. Press it, my lady.”
Nyrena did. A heartbeat later, she nearly dropped it when the screen blazed to life with a soft ding.
The device hummed with an alien energy that made her fingertips tingle. The screen displayed symbols unlike any seen before, labeled in a script unlike any recorded in Sarnath’s vast libraries—not the flowing curves of Elvish, nor the harsh angles of Dwarvish runes, nor even the crude scratches that passed for human writing.
Vaelthys said, “Look at the lower left-hand corner. See the icon there? Press it.”
She did, and as Nyrena stared at the glowing surface, the screen changed—no longer filled with odd symbols, but with images that showed humans engaged in various activities—some walking, others seated in what appeared to be metal conveyances, still others gesturing at similar devices. The clarity and quality of the images were breathtaking, as though a moment in time had been captured and preserved like an insect in amber.
"Remarkable," she murmured softly. “And you say we still know naught of its true purpose?”
“Nay, my lady. Not yet. We are working diligently to decipher the script and divine some insight into what it is and who made it. It certainly is not like any crude human artifice we’ve seen before. But once we are able to read the markings that appear upon its surface when the button is pressed, I am confident much more will be known to us. I am also confident, as are the mages who are studying it, that we have barely even scratched the surface of what it can do.”
Nyrena handed the device back to Vaelthys as her mind reeled. The implications were staggering—not merely the existence of the device itself, but what it represented. A civilization of humans capable of creating such things was unprecedented. Unthinkable. What else are they capable of that we don’t know? If this is but the lesser of their works…
Dark Elves prided themselves on being unflappable. But the chill that crawled down her spine had little to do with the cold.
"Has the Council learned of this? Has the Queen?" she asked. “Has Her Majesty learned of this object, and of the scout’s report of what she saw?”
“No, my lady. The scout is one of ours, sworn to you and your House. She returned here as soon as she got back and has not spoken to anyone about her findings since her debriefing. Nor will she, without your leave.”
“Good. Good.” Nyrena grew very quiet then, as her mind churned.
“What is your command, my lady?” Vaelthys finally inquired.
She didn’t answer for some time. Finally, she said, “Dispatch a formal reply to the Dwarf-King. While the Council debates how to respond to his letter, we shall act. Indicate that we, too, have detected the disturbance and are investigating, but say nothing more. Let us see what further information they might volunteer before we reveal our hand."
"And the Council? The Queen? Shall I inform them of the scout's findings?"
Nyrena turned back to the balcony, her crimson eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "Not yet. First, I want more information. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with before we cause a panic in the Council chambers. Gather a small company of our best spies and infiltrators—those with magic enough to remain unseen to mortal eyes and unheard by rounded ears—and outfit them for a prolonged reconnaissance mission. They are to travel south, to this new land, and observe. They are to gather as much information as possible about these strange humans, their capabilities, their numbers, their weapons, and their intentions. They are to do so without being detected. Under no circumstances are they to engage with the inhabitants or reveal themselves.”
She paused, then added, “Additionally, I want every spy and informant in our network, every agent we have watching and listening in foreign lands, activated. I want to know everything—every ship that docks, every merchant who brings tales from distant waters, every whisper in every tavern. Sooner or later, these strange new humans will make their presence known outside their own borders. When they do, our eyes and ears will be ready.”
Vaelthys bowed. "Yes, my lady. Yet, if I may be so bold, any attempt to completely hide this development from Her Majesty is both futile and dangerous. Is it wise to risk her displeasure? When—not if—this reaches her ears, she may wonder why we knew and yet said nothing.”
Nyrena considered this carefully and finally admitted he had a point. Information was power, and power was everything. Vaelthys was right. If she kept this discovery to herself, it could be seen as an act of treason against the Dominion and the Queen. But if she shared it too freely, the other Houses might move to capitalize on it before House Arany’ar could. So Nyrena decided to thread the needle.
"Report to the Queen that a strange land to the far south has been encountered, but say nothing of what our scout observed or of the device she brought back until it has been more thoroughly studied. Say nothing also that might link this foreign empire to the magical disturbance that our mages detected, and lastly, say nothing that might link it to what King Firebeard has written about.” She handed the device back to him. “Take it apart if you have to, but find out how it works, what it's for, and how it's made. When we have those answers, and preferably more, then and only then will we write a full report on the matter to the Council and to Her Majesty. If any more evidence of these strange humans is brought before Her Majesty by another party, say nothing to refute or argue against it, but also say nothing to corroborate it. We will keep this close and quiet until the time is right to reveal it." She smiled. "And when we do, we will do so in such a way that my House's role in uncovering this... anomaly cannot be understated, thereby earning Her Majesty's favor for the foreseeable future and assuring us a position of pre-eminence at court."
The seneschal bowed at the waist. "It will be done, my lady."
What neither Nyrena nor Vaelthys could know was that in a tiny dorm several thousand miles to the south, a college student named Marcus Chen was frantically searching his backpack for the phone he'd lost during yesterday's beach volleyball game. Marcus was a second-year computer science major at Boston University, and while he had no idea his device would soon be the center of political intrigue in an ancient elven kingdom, he was quite aware of the turmoil it could cause in his own life if he didn't find it soon. He turned his backpack upside down, shook it, and cursed under his breath when the phone did not fall onto the sticky faux-tile floor.
"Shit," Marcus whispered to himself as his roommate stirred in his bed. "I can't believe I lost it." The phone was his lifeline to the world, filled with his notes, his projects, and, admittedly, his entire social life. It had to be around here somewhere. He mentally retraced his steps from the day before. The last time he'd checked his phone, it had been on a rock next to him--he'd put it down because he had to take a leak before he and his friends left the beach, and then--
"Shit," he said again. I left it lying there like a dumbass. Fuck me. He threw his backpack on the bed and dashed out the door, hoping that someone had found it and turned it into the lost and found. Maybe it had gotten buried in the sand, and some early morning jogger had stumbled across it. Or maybe it was still there, the screen flashing with unread texts from his mom asking why he hadn't called, from his friends, or from his professors. It wouldn't take too long. The beach wasn't that far away. He'd be there and back in an hour.
No such luck, as it turned out. Marcus found the spot, found the exact rock, but nothing was there. That was a brand new phone! I didn’t even have the chance to set up a passcode yet! He kicked the rock with his foot in helpless frustration.
Still, there was one other, final chance. As soon as he got back to his dorm, he logged into his iTunes account and used the "Find my iPhone" feature to try to pinpoint his phone's location. If anyone turned it on, even for a moment, then maybe he'd get there fast enough to retrieve it.
His phone, as it turned out, wasn't in Boston. It wasn't even in the United States. After taking an unusually long time to load, the map on the screen showed a red dot blinking in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean--no, not the ocean, but on a landmass that appeared on the map a heartbeat later. Marcus stared at it in disbelief. The dot was stationary, but it was definitely there, nestled on a huge island--or a small continent, he wasn't sure which--that hadn't been there the last time he'd checked Google Earth. But then, that had been before the Event--before the President went on TV and dropped the bomb that the country wasn't in Kansas anymore, so to speak. Marcus thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't had family or relatives abroad at the time. Some of the international students had lost everyone, and the university was offering free grief counseling.
None of which helped the fact that his phone was still, evidently, an ocean away. What was this place on the map, and more importantly, how the hell had his phone gotten there?
Curiosity, that most dangerous of human inclinations, stirred inside him. He leaned in toward the screen a little to get a better look. It was big, for one thing. Very big--about as big as Australia was, back on Earth before the Event. But unlike Australia, it was apparent to him that this place was far to the north--farther north than Greenland used to be and well past this new world's Arctic circle. The map had no labels and showed no cities. But if my phone is there it can't be uninhabited.
A chill ran down his spine. We really are in another world, Marcus thought dully. It was one thing to hear about it, but this brought it home in a way the news reports never had. Should he tell someone? Who could he tell? Even if he showed this to his RA or something, what the hell could anyone do to get his phone back?
He thought about it for some time. Ultimately Marcus decided that if he wasn't getting his phone back, he could at least make sure someone else knew that there was an inhabited landmass far to the north. Someone in Washington would probably want to know that sort of thing, and President Bannister had said everyone was in this together. If I don't report this, he told himself, and someone gets hurt because whoever's up there gets spooked by one of our ships or something, that's on me.
He did a quick Google search and found the number for the hotline the U.S. government had set up after the Event for people to report unusual or potentially significant findings. After taking a deep breath and taking a swig from a vodka bottle in his mini-fridge, he dialed it on the corded old-fashioned telephone sitting on his desk.
The line rang only once before someone on the other end picked up. "Anomalous Occurrences Hotline," a tired-sounding man's voice announced.
Marcus cleared his throat. "Hi, I think I might have found something... weird. It's about my phone."
There was a pause. "Go on," the man said.
"Alright, so...I know this sounds weird, but everything about what's happening is really fucking weird, so just roll with it. Anyway, I'm pretty sure my iPhone ended up in the hands of someone from this new world," Marcus began, trying to keep his voice steady. He could feel his heart racing in his chest as he recounted his story, the blinking red dot on the unfamiliar map. "I went to the beach with my friends today. I put my iPhone down for, like, two seconds, and then it was gone. I noticed it was missing when I got back and when I didn't find it at the beach I used the 'find my iPhone' service to track. What I found...well..."
He paused.
"Well, what?" asked the man.
Marcus took a deep breath and continued. "The phone's not in Boston. It's not even in America. And it's definitely not in the ocean either. It...the map showed that it's, like, north of us. The mainland, I mean. Way, way north--we're talking polar bears and Santa and shit. There's...there's a huge landmass up there, and that's where my phone is. And unless it suddenly learned how to fly there's no way it got all the way up there on its own. Someone...someone or something took it and either brought it back or dropped it there."
There was another, longer pause. "And you're certain about this?" the voice on the other end of the line finally asked.
"Yes. I'm looking at the map now. I can send a screenshot."
"Please do." He gave Marcus an email address and Marcus took a screenshot and sent it off. When he was done, the man added, "Thank you for reporting this."
"No problem."
The line abruptly went dead, and Marcus had the eerie feeling he'd just set something in motion. Something potentially very important, perhaps something that might make history. Perhaps it would make the the invention-of-the-smallpox-vaccine, creation-of-the-printing-press good kind of history. Or perhaps it would make the make-way-for-the-Titanic, here-comes-the-Hindenburg bad kind of history.
One or another, I guess we'll all find out.
