“Monarchs of the Glen, we are at war!”, the high king said, looking into the faces of each king before him; the two dwarves sitting to his right, the three elves to his left, and both men to his front.

A large round redwood table, as old as the realm itself, sat between the kings. It was ornate, decorated with symbols of men, elves, and dwarves. Before each king lay a dagger with a ruby covered handle. None of the seven kings spoke as they waited for their high king to continue.

“Large armies of goblins from the seven tribes make war in the Upper Glen as we speak. They are using metal weapons and have brought horrors with them. Giants, dragons, and . . . other things.”

This brought loud gasps from several of the leaders, yet they refrained from speaking, knowing that the high king had not finished.

“They are united under one banner, although I do not know who leads them. The Yule Riders of King Darian are fighting hard, yet casualties are high, and the Upper Glen will soon fall.

Then the three kingdoms of Hogarth will come under attack. Wilsom, Quaid, and Sturdy Axe have been warned and are preparing their defenses now. I believe that we should expect the brunt of the attack to land on Gilead Fortress, which will most likely also fall.”

“Gilead Castle will never fall!” King Timber Wolf of the Woodland Water Dwarves stood, slamming his fist on the wooden table before him, causing his long brown braided hair to fling about “The dwarven hill kingdom has stood for centuries and is impenetrable!”  He was the youngest dwarf king and quite brash.

“King Timber Wolf, the high king has never misled us before,” Elder Dwarf King Stone Spear of the Mountain Kingdom spoke.

King Stone Spear was the oldest dwarven king, and as such, was their leader. He stroked his long gray beard, and then his wrinkled black skin tightened as he frowned, “What if we reinforce Gilead?”

“I have told you what I believe will happen,” High King Tronin weighed his words wisely before continuing, “But reinforcing Gilead would buy us time to prepare the Lower Glen for the invasion that is sure to come.”

“What of Gorin the Gorilla King?” King Timber Wolf asked. “Surely he will indeed fight against the goblins.”

Tronin closed his eyes, remembering the last image from the Great Helm. The giant head of the Gorilla King, carried by a black wizard, his mouth locked in a death snarl.

“Gorin is dead, or soon will be. His fate is already decided,” Tronin answered. “He can’t help us now.”

King Heath cleared his throat and said, “So the land of the thirteen kings now has twelve. High King Tronin, what’s your plan?”

The high king looked at each of the leaders before him, trying to gage their thoughts. The two dwarves were clearly upset, while the three elves sat quiet, their faces unreadable.

King Heath was wearing his long brown hair in a bun and looked worried. The other man, Cobborath, sat in a gray hooded cloak, his face hidden. He had not moved since Tronin had entered the room.

While Tronin was looking at the hooded figure, he heard a voice in his head, “You do not trust me good king.” It had sounded like the hiss of a venomous snake.

Tronin quickly shifted his gaze and continued, “The path of dwarves, elves, and men have always been one and the same in the Glen. I’m enacting the Treaty of Hogarth, signed at this very table, by our descendants. I call for mutual protection!”

High King Tronin picked up the jeweled dagger that lay before him and slammed the blade into the wooden table, which was gouged in several places from similar actions in the past.

High King Tronin continued, “First, I order the kingdoms of men to initiate a call to arms. You’ll call in all civilian men of fighting age and quickly train them for war. Second, we must defend the three roads that run south from Hogarth Hills. I’ll send word to the Arturian Raiders, our standing army in the Lower Glen, to defend Gilead Road from the dwarves’ mighty fortress at Gilead to here. I shall order King Darian’s remaining troops to fall back into the Lower Glen and defend Frontier Road from Frontier Fortress to Keyorlock.”

High King Tronin looked at the dwarf kings and continued, “I request that the kingdoms of dwarves reinforce King Sturdy Axe at Gilead. Hold the mighty fortress for as long as you can. Make the enemy pay a heavy price to march through dwarven lands.”

Tronin shifted his gaze from the dwarves to the three elf kings, who still hadn’t said a word, “I request that the kingdoms of elves prepare to defend the Lower Glen. I need you to patrol Esha Road from Trader Town to your kingdom at Mount Esha.”

Tronin sat back in his chair and thought for a moment, making sure that he had covered everything that he had planned to, before continuing, “That should cover all three of the main routes out of Hogarth Hills into the Lower Glen and buy us some much-needed time to prepare the eight kingdoms here for a strong defense. Hopefully the three kingdoms of Hogarth Hills can keep the enemy off our backs for a bit. We need as much time as we can get.”

Tronin looked about the Great Meeting Hall one more time, and then asked in a strong firm voice, “What say you monarchs of the Glen?”

“As it has always been and as it shall always be, my sword is your sword and my people are your people,” King Heath spoke first, and picking up the dagger in front of him, drove it deep into the table.

Elder Dwarf King Stone Spear picked up the ornate dagger in front of him and stuck it in the table, saying, “We dwarves will stand with men and share their fate.”

King Timber Wolf picked up his dagger and slammed it into the table, saying, “Indeed, I promise you this high king, the land will flow with green blood before any dwarven kingdoms fall!”

The leader of the elves, his father-in-law Elder King Willow, stared intently into Tronin’s face. The gaze from his large wise brown eyes was penetrating, almost hypnotizing.

The ancient elf was nearly three hundred years old, yet he had no wrinkles. His blond hair was showing signs of gray, but he still looked quite spry, for one with his many years.

“Elves do not like to move or fight far from their home trees. High King Tronin is wise to ask that we defend Esha Road, so near to our woodlands.”, the old elf chose his words wisely as he spoke for the first time, “We will honor the treaty of Hogarth, made by my grandfather with men and dwarves. King Silverleaf will patrol Esha Road from the ground while King Firestorm protects it from the air with his bird warriors. I’ll send patrols to assist them from our western kingdom.”

The three elf kings picked up their daggers in unison and stabbed them into the table. Then all eyes shifted to the hooded figure of King Cobborath, who had still not moved.

A bony hand, with a red tint to the skin, darted from beneath a long gray sleeve and grasped the dagger before it. With a quick flick of the wrist, the dagger was sticking in the table. The wizard’s right hand disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. High King Tronin couldn’t help but gaze into the darkness of the hood.

“I know your enemy, I know your enemy,” he heard the same creepy hissing voice in his mind. “We must speak in private, in private, in private. I know things . . . as do you!”

 The voice was insistent as it echoed in his head. What did this tricky sorcerer know?

High King Tronin rose to his feet, “I call an end to this meeting because we all have much to do. One last thing though. I have a small guard force at Krodall, Pirate King Tutog’s old castle on South Isle. Upon my return to Port Turin, I intend to start sending the women and children of the capital kingdom there. They’ll stay at Krodall until this danger passes. I offer the same option to all of you.”

The kings grasped each other’s arms at the wrists and gave the traditional courtesies before they departed. All except King Cobborath, who sat quietly until the others left.

 "Good King Tronin, we must speak,” the quiet voice came from somewhere inside the hood.

“I heard your request in my mind . . . practicing new spells red wizard?” the high king replied.

“Many new spells. Many new spells that will come in handy during these . . . difficult times,” the red sorcerer answered.

“Time is short Cobborath. The enemy advances toward the Lower Glen as we speak,” the high king became direct. “You know that I do not trust you, but I expect you to defend the Glen, with your life if need be.”

The red wizard leaned forward and responded, “As you wish good king. I know many useful things, but I need assurances.”

“Assurances?” Tronin responded. “What assurances?”

“I know that you believe as most men do, that wizards can’t be trusted, and that magic and spells are bad. You dislike that we study the old ways. You wish that the days of the sorcerers were gone, and you hope that my kind will soon fade into the past. Most men share this vision, but it’s a mistake!” The red wizard pounded his fist on the table for emphasize.

Tronin nodded, knowing that the wizard spoke the truth.

“You don’t understand.”, the wizard continued. “The three civilized races all have been gifted with magic in one form or another. Dwarves charm items; weapons, armor, and such. Elven magic lies in their trees, while the magic of men dwells within us. Some men are born with the ability to wield it and bend it to our will. It’d be foolhardy for our race to throw away that gift.”

High King Tronin remained silent, knowing that the wizard was leading him somewhere.

“We sorcerers have . . . hmmmm . . . ways of communicating with each other.” The red wizard was now the one who was choosing his words carefully. ”I’ve communed with my fellow spellcasters at various times. We’re a dying breed, in a world where man lives under constant threat from goblin armies, and various other monsters and beasts.”

“How many wizards remain?” Tronin broke his silence, not sure if he would get an honest answer.

“Only seven trained wizards remain in the realm of men!” the red wizard advised, his voice raising. “There’s another who practice red fire magic, like me. There is a yellow wizard who practices healing magic. There is also a white wizard who deals in the arts of light magic, and there are two black wizards who practice very dark magic indeed.”         

“That’s only six,” Tronin stated.

“There’s another, but she hides. I’m unsure of what color magic she represents or where she is,” Cobborath replied.

“So, I think that I can guess the assurances you want,” High King Tronin mused. “You want me to protect the magic in men.”

Yes, my very wise good king.” The red wizard thought for a second, then said, “I’ve identified seventeen children in the Glen who have exhibited the propensity for magic. I’m sure that there’re more.”

“What exactly are you proposing wizard?” Tronin asked.

“A Wizards Academy, much like your Captains Academy or Archery School. It should be set up under my guidance at Keyorlock. There’d be training for each of the magical arts; white, black, red, blue, green, and yellow. Classes could be taught by the remaining sorcerers. This would assure the existence of magic, long after I’m gone.”

“That’s a tall order. What exactly can you provide?” The high king was skeptical.

The red wizard responded with something that garnered Tronin’s full attention. “I know who leads the goblin tribes and I am aware of what other creatures he has at his command. I also know . . . other helpful things.

Tronin stared at the wizard.

 Cobborath the Red continued, “I’ll fight this foe and kill him if I can. I’ll also tell you all that I know. Do we have an agreement?”

Tronin thought for a moment. An academy for wizards? It is true, I’ve no love for sorcerers, yet they do have their uses. Can I trust the red wizard with such a responsibility? Doubtful.     

Were there truly just seven wizards left? Should the magic of men die? What choice do I really have here with the Glen under such a threat? He had too many questions and not enough answers. Tronin let out a long deep sigh.

“Okay wizard, this is what I’m willing to do. I agree to a Wizards Academy in the Glen, created only after this threat is dealt with. Wizards may run it, but in Port Turin, not in Keyorlock. You may approach anyone that you identify with magic capabilities and offer to train them, but they retain the right to decline your offer. All forms of magic may be freely taught, except for black, which will be strictly prohibited. Accept these terms, or this meeting is over,” Tronin stated, his mind made up.

The red wizard sat quiet for a moment, then his hand snaked out. “I accept your terms.”

High King Tronin took King Cobborath by the wrist, sealing the agreement.

“First, you were right not to trust me,” the wizard began. “I’ve often thought about how to take your throne and make myself high king.”

Tronin stared at the cloaked figure, his blunt honesty taking the high king by surprise.

The red wizard continued, “Throughout the years, I plotted and schemed, but could never follow through with my plans. You see, I’ve a bad streak in me, yet I also have a good one, even if it is a bit smaller. With the passing of time, I could see that you were an extremely honest and good man, and quite frankly, the best high king since Hogarth himself. The Glen could only benefit from such a king.”

Again, Tronin did not know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut. This conversation had taken a strange turn.

“You’re the right man for the right time. The threat that we’re facing is great and our very survival is questionable. I can’t think of a better man then you to lead us at a time like this.” The red wizard admitted, then continued, “Our enemy is strong. He’s one of the black sorcerers that I mentioned earlier.”

“A sorcerer?” Tronin didn’t let on that he already knew. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s called many things in the lands to the north of Timber Lake Mountains, but is known as Daggart the Dark by most. He hails from a barren dead land, where nothing grows. Even the sparsest of brush is choked out by the dust. It’s a terrible place, and he’s long searched for a new, healthy fertile land. Now his envious eyes look towards the Glen,” the red wizard explained gravely.

“How strong is he and how can we kill him?” the high king questioned.

The red wizard answered, his voice becoming quite low, “He’s one of the most powerful wizards. He has morphed his black magic, specializing in death, which destroys all that it touches. As far as killing him, he’s much too strong for swordplay. He must be destroyed by magic and there’s only one wizard powerful enough to defeat him.”

“Who?” Tronin inquired.

“That wizard is me, so I’ll do it. He’ll come for me,” Cobborath replied.

“How do you know so much about this Daggart? How’ll you kill him? How do you know that he’ll come for you?” the questions poured from Tronin’s mouth.

The wizard sat in thought for a moment, almost as if deciding which question to answer first. “I have met Daggart here in the Glen. We have . . .  traded . . . things.” 

“Traded things?” the high king asked incredulously. “Traded what?”

“Well . . .” the red wizard hesitated.

“What did you trade wizard?” Tronin insisted.

A slender left hand slid from the dark cloak. Unlike the light red tinted right hand, this one seemed to be a shade of light blue. The wizard extended his skinny crooked index finger and pointed it toward the tabletop before him. He lightly touched the tabletop with his fingertip.

At first, nothing happened, then ice formed where his finger was touching the table and quickly spread out across the flat surface, creating a thin sheet of ice all the way to the edge near Tronin.

“What sort of foul magic is this for a fire wizard?” Tronin gasped.

The wizard slowly rose to his feet and pulled back his hood, then dropped his cloak to the floor. High King Tronin stared in disbelief, unable to speak. The red wizard was a sight to see!

His hair was a mess, red on the right side and blue on the left. In fact, the entire right side of his body was red, and the left side was blue, from his robe to his skin.

The thing that was most captivating to Tronin was that Cobborath looked ill. He was Tronin’s age, but appeared to be twenty years older. His eyes, one red and one blue, looked sunken and hollow.

The last time they had spoken, just about a year ago, the red wizard had been a large man, yet now he looked skinny and frail. The magician was a sight to behold.

“I traded magic,” the wizard broke the silence. “Ice magic. Daggart gave me ancient morphing scrolls showing me how to use very powerful ice magic. You see, they came from the last of the blue wizards who was named Blaine the Blue. He lived in the time of High King Dwain. He was studying a particularly powerful spell and accidently froze himself.”

“Froze himself?” High King Tronin interrupted.

“Yes, he did it in this very tower and his frozen remains are still here, hidden in a secret vault in the basement. No one has attempted blue magic since then, until Daggart convinced me that I could master two arts, both fire and ice!” the wizard claimed.

“Have you mastered it wizard?” Tronin asked.

“The black wizard tricked me!” Cobborath moaned. “While I’ve become the most powerful wizard alive, the two opposing magics are killing me. They’re in constant conflict, destroying me from the inside out. My body is aging at an advanced rate, and I believe that I shall be dead within the year!”

“What’d you give him in return for such power?” Tronin pressed Cobborath.

The red wizard slumped back down in his chair, whispering, “I didn’t think that it would harm anything to trade with him, because he lived so far north . . .”

“What did you give him?” Tronin persisted.

“I didn’t know that he would use them against us,”  Cobborath mumbled, stalling.

“You swore to tell all, what’d he want?” the high king demanded to know.

“Corpses . . . he wanted corpses from Glen graveyards . . . for his army…………..his army of the dead. He’ll bring them against the Red City, Keyorlock,” the red/blue wizard said so quietly that Tronin could barely hear him.

The dead? Royalty and warriors were always sent into the afterlife by fire, but the civilians and poor were always buried. This was mainly because the oils that dissolved bones were extremely expensive.

Tronin was aghast, but before he spoke, he took a moment to control his surprise and anger, because there was no time for it, “How do you know that this black wizard, Daggart, will come for you? Now that you’re so powerful, why not surpass Keyorlock and simply wait for your death?”

“Daggart wants to fight me. He’ll have Gorin’s head by tomorrow and then he’ll come for the remaining kings, especially me. He relishes the challenge and will not miss the opportunity to do battle with a wizard that he considers to be his equal in power,” Cobborath explained. “And I look forward to it as well, fighting and killing him in a wizard duel.”

“What if he kills you?” Tronin asked.

“Should Daggart the Dark defeat me, then he is more powerful than I thought, and all is lost. If I kill him, then his forces will fall apart and become disorganized, and we can finish them off easily,” the red wizard answered.

“Is that everything wizard?” Tronin asked, hoping that it was. 

“You were right to assume that the threat is great, and your defensive plans are sound. I’ll seek more information on the enemy’s movements as I know you’ll do from your dragon’s treasure. I’ll send you a message if I learn anything useful. Now I must take my leave, since there’s much work to be done,” King Cobborath finished, and slowly rose to go.

High King Tronin waited for the red/blue wizard to exit the Great Meeting Hall, and then called for his messengers. He needed to prepare his kingdom for war. Two things refused to leave Tronin’s thoughts. The first was that Cobborath the Red knew about the Great Helm.

The second was that the wizard had told him that if Daggart defeated him, then all would be lost. What Tronin had failed to mention to the sorcerer was that Gorin would not be the only king to fall. In the last vison from his “dragon’s treasure”, the dark wizard had been carrying two heads, not one. The second had been Cobborath’s.