The ancient elf's consciousness, which had spent four hundred years, approximately forty-five years in human terms, mastering the art of political manipulation and strategic foresight, seized with deep-seated malice.
His hand gripped the edge of the council table with enough force to make the aged wood creak in protest. His veins began to bulge at his temples, his blood pressure rising as his ancient body processed the single, undeniable fact blazing across the scrying mirror.
He knew that woman.
He knew exactly who she was because he had seen her at their last meeting that long ago.
Mira had been a member of The Council, a woman of considerable power, and partnered with Warren.
So where was Warren?
...
Now she was walking across a battlefield, commanding creatures with the absolute authority of someone who had been resurrected by a force far more powerful than death itself.
