Last night he had gone to sleep in a land of peace and plenty. He had woken up in a land torn by war. His mind rebelled against the very thought of it. It was as if thunder and lightning had come out of an empty sky in which there had not been a single cloud. It was impossible, simply impossible.

The Witch King could not have prepared an invasion fleet without it being noticed. Naggaroth’s ports were constantly watched. He could not have built up a fleet without it being noticed by the scout ships of the high elves. No army could have found its way into the very heart of Elvendom in so short a time without being spotted by a single person. A legion of Shadow Warriors could not have achieved this goal, let alone an army of heavily armoured dark elves. Even Teclis knew that and he was no soldier.

Yet, in spite of all this, there was a Sword Master standing in front of him telling him that Avelorn was invaded and that his brother and the Everqueen were dead. He forced himself to get a grip on his racing thoughts.

‘I must have words with the High Loremaster,’ Teclis said.

‘Good luck with that,’ said the guard. ‘Everyone feels the same today.’

‘Then I had best get going,’ Tyrion said. He strode off through the oddly deserted paths of Hoeth.

As he walked through the tower, Teclis understood where everyone had gone. All of the students, all of the masters, all of the guards and all of the elves who served them had gathered in the great open spaces. All of them were talking of the attacks and all of them looked frightened.

As well they might, Teclis thought. No such invasion of Ulthuan had happened in their lifetimes. Everyone has assumed the druchii were a spent force. No one had wanted to think otherwise.

Teclis overheard scraps of conversation. It seemed that rumour bred rumour and no one had any idea what might be true or false.

‘An army of Chaos worshippers has landed in the north.’

‘A thousand daemons lay siege to Lothern.’

‘A million barbarians with Morathi at their head are riding to Hoeth and will not be turned aside by the warding spells.’

‘The High Loremaster is working magic to scry the land.’

‘The Vortex is failing. The ghost of Caledor himself has spoken to a dozen people in the tower.’

Crowds surged around the doorway of the High Loremaster’s chambers. It seemed everyone wanted an interview. Everyone had questions. Everyone had something to say. Even in the most secure heart of the tower there was an aura of panic and fear.

Belthania emerged from the Loremaster’s sanctum and caught sight of him. The tall sorceress gestured for him to come over. Teclis was not strong enough to elbow his way through the crowd and it would not part for him. Belthania gestured to someone within the office. Two Sword Masters emerged and began to force a way through the crowd for him.

A short minute later he was within Morelian’s chambers. The High Loremaster looked up at him. He had looked old the last time Teclis had seen him, but appeared to have aged centuries within the past few hours.