A flash stained the dark clouds on the horizon a sickly green. Idraman clenched his staff and set his stance. He waited. During the night he had entered the Song and conversed with Nyomae. She and the last of the Order fled south, pursued by a vast army. They had been caught unprepared, unaware the old enemy could assemble such a force. But it was not the size of the baying hordes that troubled Nyomae — it was the shadows looming behind. Idraman knew of what she spoke. He dearly hoped she was wrong.
The muffled boom rolled in from the plain like thunder, forcing air through the narrow Caerwal Pass. Idraman stood tall against the sudden gale but balked at the foul stench blowing in from Gormadon. His companions had failed to evade the shadow. The army sent north to aid their retreat had no option but to turn and give battle. Fifty leagues north of Idraman, his Order would make what would likely be their last stand.
Another flash. The ground shook. Idraman entered the Song. He searched for Nyomae amid the cries of anguish overwhelming the Verses. He found her. His knees buckled. All was surely lost. It could not be. The true enemy had finally revealed itself. Idraman could no longer cling to the hope that had sustained him these past months. The Seven Realms faced a far deadlier force than they had foreseen. And to his dismay, he saw they were led by one of their own. She had once gone by the name of Sylvena and was the most powerful of their Order. But she had probed too deep into the old Verses and failed to heed the warnings. And the voices of the dark had turned her.
Until now, she was thought lost in her quest for a relic she believed would save them. But Sylvena was deceived and had fallen into the trap set for her. She had been corrupted and become Uluriel, a servant of the Dark Verses. And to Idraman’s horror, she had summoned the Draedalak. The demons from Ormoroth's dark pits had pushed the mighty Draegelan to the edge of defeat. How could Idraman and his Order counter such evil?
He stared at the dark sky and cried out. The return of the Draedalak threatened the very existence of the Seven Realms. Spawned by the Evil One from the Verses of the Maidens’ torment, the Draedalak once resembled their half-sisters. But their voices wrought despair and destruction, and soon their fair guise fell away to reveal the demons beneath.
Idraman probed the roiling air suffering the presence of the dark beasts. Uluriel alone could not have called them. Few had the authority to summon the Draedalak from the darkness. It had to be a warlock, a captain from the armies of old. Ormoroth was believed defeated in the frozen wastes of Talaghir. But, if Idraman had hoped he had been banished and cast into the Great Void, he was mistaken. If a warlock commanded the demons, Ormoroth must still hold sway in the living lands. Idraman pitched forward, clutching his stomach. It could only mean Ormoroth lurked in the Halfway World — a place from which he could return.
Idraman had just moments to strike back. Only months earlier, his only concern was to contain the unrest along the northern borders. He believed it to be nothing more than the mischievous acts of lesser spirits stirring the Ruuk. Nevertheless, they could not risk the darkness and unease spreading to other realms. So, while Idraman had stayed in Elmarand, the remaining six of his Order had gone into Nordruuk to push back the rising shadow. However, they soon discovered they faced a threat more powerful than anticipated. Idraman had no choice but to rally the full strength of the Seven Realms to rescue them.
No fanfares accompanied Hadrul, the warrior Archon, as he led the greatest army of living memory through the Caerwal Pass. Dwarfed by the sheer rock faces bearing down on their flanks, the vast ranks bearing their proud banners had entered the northern realms in silence. With no thoughts of glory, the soldiers had marched passed their families and loved ones who openly wept without shame.
Yet Idraman, like Sylvena, had been tricked. Lured into a trap, he had sent sixty thousand of their finest soldiers to be trampled into the dusty plain. And not in a forlorn hope of victory, not now the Draedalak had risen. Their sacrifice would serve only to delay the enemy and give him time to seal the pass.
Idraman turned and gave the signal. If he were to fail, the reserves would head for the ports in the south and advise those willing to listen to abandon the realms. Many in the north had refused to leave their homes in the face of terror, believing the strength of the Seven Realms would protect them. But the realms had been outwitted, and to Idraman's regret, he could do nothing for them — they were already lost.
