His gaze turned inward then, upon some private, prophetic knowledge, a place at the core of his being reserved solely for himself, that out of necessity he shared with no one. "Nevertheless, it is in my heart that one day, unlooked-for from our very midst, a champion will come who is proof against such might.
"But for now, we most steel ourselves to fight a war of attrition, hoping only for survival, and in the end, escape. We must fashion weapons such as have not been seen in many an age. The dwarf mines of Croft will glow not only with the smelting of iron and steel, but with such theurgies as were lost to the dwarves after the fall of ancient Morag. With help, they will make weapons and armour that will strike a note of fear into even the blackest of hearts."
Anest's next words caught the wizard off-guard. "It's happening again."
"Eh?"
"Don't you feel it? This has all happened before. I've studied the fall of Morag for so long now that I can feel what's going to happen. The old legends make much of the fact that the elf king of Morag was well aware of the dangers what beset him. But the end of the fall . . ."