Prince of Flies

Prince Lewin was sent with his father's army to conquer Pwyll. When they arrived at the entrance to the dark elves' subterranean city they found the cave plugged with boulders. The desert pavement spread out all around them. In the distance the shadowed peaks of the Black Ogre Mountains hid the setting sun. The town of Seven Rivers lay just on the horizon, the glow of its fires the last stronghold of civilization. It was going to be a long siege but they were prepared-or so they thought.

The next thing the prince knew was the bite of cold. Gone was the heat and dust of the desert. In its place was snow, ice, and wind. He figured magic had transformed the desert into a tundra. He figured it would pass. But the Black Ogre Mountains could not be seen. Seven Rivers had vanished from the horizon. There were no familiar landmarks on the featureless white plain that stretched out in all directions.

Prince Lewin panicked. The army was lost. Only the dead horses remained, half buried in the pitiless snow. But Lewin was not alone. He heard chanting on the wind and found a dark elf priestess wrapped in furs. She promised him safety and salvation, she promised him power, a power greater than that of his father, the King. All she asked was for him to listen. It was either that or die.