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several minutes. The trees suddenly thinned and the Tyran soldiers emerged from the forest one by one, untangling themselves from the thin branches that clung to their hair and armour. Silently the warriors assembled in a line, waiting for their next orders. They had come out to rows and rows of freshly harvested wheat fields, empty and silent, the moonlight betraying anywhere where an enemy might lie in wait - but all was quiet, no Elves suspected their arrival. The stretches of wheat fields looked peaceful in the night and swayed gently in the breeze. The trees led on around the fields; opposite the Tyrans was a path lit brightly by lanterns, and above the trees behind the path were the tips of stone towers. They looked ghostly-pale in the moonlight.
“Six-one-twenty-seven,” Shade barked. Reluctantly, Villid approached the tribe leader.
“Look. A trail,” Shade smirked, pointing at the ground. A long, thin trail of wheat and seeds ran ahead of them, past the trees, around the field and towards the pathway to the city.
“They are making this easy for us,” Shade snorted. He gave a harsh, humourless laugh which Villid did not imitate. Without a word, but clenching his fists, he turned to walk back to his position in the rank.
“No, no, six-one-twenty-seven,” Shade called. “You will accompany me to the front of this assault.”
Villid glanced at Shade, who stared stonily back at him. He must have guessed that he and the Seer had planned something. He tried to swallow his discomfort. He would easily lose Shade once the battle had begun, he thought to himself. He gave a stiff nod. “Yes, sir.”
The soldiers marched past the wheat fields, which were swaying in the moonlight. Shade suddenly halted and Villid nearly walked into him.
“Tyrans!” he boomed, unsheathing his two long, curved and newly sharpened swords. “Why don’t we light our way?”
He clashed his swords together with a terrific force and a huge orange spark erupted from the blades. It landed on the nearby wheat field and flames spread along it almost instantly, crackling mercilessly. It was barely several seconds before the fire was bigger than the Tyrans. Shade laughed along with the fire and bellowed over the crackle of the flames for the rest of the Tyrans to join in. Ugly black smoke filled the air as Tyrans laughed maniacally and roared in approval as the E lves’ farms burned to the ground. Villid gazed at it, feeling oddly detached from the soldiers who thrived so much on the destruction of the wheat. The stench of smoke burned on his nostrils and the heat from the flames felt hot on his skin as he realised he felt no pleasure or excitement in what they were doing. He thought of the task ahead, and his mind felt clear. Around him, the excited Tyrans didn’t notice the calmness that was filling him, the sheer determination to do everything the Seer had told him to do.
    Aya looked at herself up and down in the large glass mirror, sighing quietly under her breath. She had changed into her flowing, emerald robes, ready for the dance performance which would commence later that night. The clothing she wore was indeed beautiful; the sleeves and skirt were long and rippled behind her when she walked. A white belt sat round her waist, and she wore sandals that she had made herself. Bracelets made from hollow, polished pebbles glistened around her wrists and her long hair . On her head sat a white crown, for she was to be playing the princess in the dramatic dance routine. Dorran had smiled widely when he had seen her. “You are the most beautiful Elf I have ever seen, my daughter!” he had exclaimed. “I am proud of you. Tonight’s dance will be full of joy and tears, and you will be the most talented dancer of all.”
Aya had smiled and thanked her father, but she didn’t enjoy such fancies. Privately she still wished she could have participated in more exciting activities, such as the sword juggling, but Dorran wouldn’t hear of it.
Aya