Milfor looked up. His eyes began to glitter. Force!.

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Things from no race known to man. Blood streaked the earth and the cries of the combatants and the clash of their weapons rang out in the fading gray light of a late afternoon sky. Before him stood a man his face turned away. He was tall and blond. He was an Elf. He carried in his right hand a gleaming sword. Several yards farther away was the Warlock Lord black-robed and terrible an indomitable presence that challenged all. He seemed to wait on the tall man unhurried confident defiant. The tall man advanced raising high the sword and beneath the gloved hand on the weapon's handle was the insignia of the Eilt Druin. One last vision appeared. It was dark and clouded and filled with sounds of sorrow and despair. Bremen stood once more in the Valley of Shale before the waters of.
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