Chapter 7: The Grove of the Ancients

I was dumbstruck by Rexena's pronouncement.

"A fake?" I repeated. "How can you know this?"

"Because I know the Mantle," she replied simply. "I was there at its creation. I was there when Fandral Staghelm, the great druid leader from Darnassus gave the fabric to Laurent. I could feel the magic in its folds as I stood next to him. There is no magic in that cloth."

"You knew my father?" I asked, grasping on to the information hungrily.

"I knew him. I was friends with your Grandfather, which is how I came to be at the Coming of Age ceremony."

Feisty came out of her trance, "Shali! You are the granddaughter of Fandral Staghelm? Why did you not tell me this?"

"I didn't know," was my reply. "This was kept secret from me. Do you know where the real Mantle of Myriad might be?" I asked Rexena.

"I only saw it that once," she admitted. "Your father had it hidden away, weaving stories into its threads. But I know someone who might have some answers for you, Night Elf. On the path of Darkshore that leads into Ashenvale Forest, there is a place called, 'The Grove of the Ancients'. In this grove, lives an Ancient of Lore. He is as wise as he is kind. They call him The Oracle Tree."

I have heard tell of this Ancient," Feisty told me. "The dwarfs call him Onu."

"Yes. Onu." confirmed Rexena. "I must wish you well now and be on my way. I am on an errand to Gnomeragan. A younger one needs assistance in finding the dormitories there and retrieving a ring of great power." With nothing else to say, the little mage grabbed her staff and took off towards the pier, twin ponytails bobbing as she ran.

"What will you do now?" Feisty queried.

The answer was easy, "I must see Onu immediately." I told her. "Feisty, keep the ring and the other stuff from the box, I only want this cloak. I must show it to Onu."

Feisty retrieved the box from my bed, where it still lay open. "Thank you Night Elf. And so I too must be off. Today I am scoping out Black Fathom Bay also known as the Zoram Strand, searching for the entrance to the underground temple."

I bowed low to the dwarf, a part of me wishing I could join her and another part eager to be on my own way. "Perhaps, we will meet again, my friend." I said hopefully.

"I am sure we will," she replied, bowing in return with fist pressed to her heart--the traditional symbol of friendship. With that we both took off running, she towards the shore that would lead to Black Fathom Bay and me up the path that I hoped would take me to meet Onu, The Oracle Tree.

I ran steadfastly for what seemed like an hour, finally sighting a little wooden signpost that said, "Grove of the Ancients". I laughed to myself when I saw it, thinking that this pinewood arrow marked a path for tourists and adventurers and was somehow amused by this. Following this narrow walkway, I soon found myself gazing up at the ornate columns that enclosed the Grove and moments later at the immense, tree-like creature called Onu."

"Who is there?" he boomed. "Do you have a message from Darnassus, Night Elf? What are the goings on there?"

"Good day to you Lore Master." I said, bowing so low I could feel the rough floor at my scalp. "I am Shalimara, daughter of Laurent."

"I know who you are," Onu said, "What news do you bring from Fandral?"

I shook my head and sat on one of the little stone benches that surrounded the great one. "I do not come with news, Sir. I come with hope. I need you to look at something I bring and see if you can tell me its lore."

"Proceed. Proceed." he said, and to my surprise, heaved his huge form to the ground in front of me. I pulled the fake Mantle of Myriad from my pack and he took it immediately into his leafy fingers, running his eyes hungrily over the fabric and crooning over it like a mother with a new born baby.

"This fabric...this cloth...was woven from my very own branches," he told me, "Way before the Great Sundering. "It was the twin of another, that Fandral himself kept. This one was created to serve as decoy for the other, which contained much magic. How do you come to have this in your possession, Shalimara?"

I told him of my journey thus far and he listened intently, stopping now and then to ask a question that would clarify his thoughts. When my story was over he startled me by laughing loudly.

"I would like to have seen Rexena again," he admitted, "And to have met this dwarf you speak of. For now, I will fill in a few blanks in your story." The giant tree-man stood once more and paced around the enclosure. "The Mantle of Myriad," he began, "Was created by the druids and myself, to hold the secrets of the Night Elves before the time of war. It was made to protect the secrets and magic of the druids of the Cenarion Circle and the One Tree. A duplicate was made, this very cloak that I hold in my hands, because there were many who sought to steal its secrets. We used this second piece openly, hoping that it would fool the enemy, and apparently it worked." Again he chucked, and ran the fabric lovingly against his bark-like cheek. "When the world fell apart, just before the Great Sundering, Fandral gave the magical cloak to his son, Laurent. He was to weave more stories into its folds and to put much protective magic around it. That there were two cloaks made and that one contained such lore, was a great secret that Laurent was not to reveal to anyone, save his only child. But you, Shalimara, were merely a babe at the time and we thought, wrongly as it turned out, that the Night Elves would not fall for many years to come. When the enemy invaded, Laurent hid the Mantle to keep it from harm, thinking to retrieve it later. He was killed before he told anyone where it was and it has been lost for all this time since." He gave me a serious look. "But now Fandral must have need of the legends as we prepare to fight the Burning Crusade. It is he that has sent you, is it not?"

"Yes," I stated simply. "But he did not tell me the significance of the cloak or even that he is my grandfather. He merely summoned me to him and told me the bare bones of my quest."

"He did that to protect you, Hunter." Onu admonished me. "You knowing these secrets is dangerous for you, and seeing as you have no children, you and only you must retrieve the Mantle of Myriad for the race of elves."

"I do not know where I should begin," I confessed. "Kenundrom is dead and he had the fake cloak, not the real one. Any information that he held, is under the sea with his bones."

"There is a place, not far from here. An ancient ruin called Mathystra. It was once a city of night elves, but it fell when the Well of Eternity was destroyed. If you choose to go there, Shalimara, be very careful. The area is now overrun with stormscale naga and it lies just west of the Tower of Althalaxx which is a stronghold of the evil Athrikis and his Cult of the Dark Strand. There are many warlocks among his followers and evil satyrs."

"I will be careful," I promised.

"And so Little One, we must part. I will eagerly await news of your successes. For now, I will return this." He began to hand me the fake mantle but I stopped him. "No, Father Ancient, you keep it. It will be safe within your branches."

"Ahhhhh," he replied, blinking rapidly to forestall his tears. Without further comment, he turned from me and the last I saw him, he was again caressing the cloth against his gigantic cheek.

Chapter 6: Inside the Captain's Box

The dwarf held my eye for quite some time. I wasn't one for split decisions. Finally, I reckoned that I was going to have to find a rogue anyway, so it might as well be the one that stood before me. At least she was an acquaintance.

"Okay, I finally said. But not here. Let's go back to the our room at the inn."

"Very well." Feisty picked up her tools quickly and we headed back up the stairs. Much to our chagrin, there was a third party sleeping there. She was a tiny gnome dressed in wizard's robes, lying on top of the covers as if she had simple collapsed there.

"Mage?" I whisperd, jerking my thumb in that direction.

Feisty nodded. "That's a very nice staff she's carrying. Only seen one other like it. There's a cave full of trolls in the hills outside of Anvilmar. One of them's a big guy named Grik'nir the Cold...really nasty bugger. He carried a staff that looked just like hers. Shot frost bolts at me when I was just a tiny girl. I got sent on an errand into Coldridge Valley which led me to that cave--trying to find some journal that had been left there. Ran smack into that Grik'nir and barely made it out alive. Looks like that gnome had a bit better luck."

Our subject was quite still and didn't appear to be waking anytime soon, so I motioned Feisty over to my bed, which was more secluded than hers. She immediately extracted her paraphernalia and I pulled out the coffer, eager now to acquire the mantle.

Feisty worked at the box for what seemed like ah hour. She used several strange keys and picks in order to work the lock but to no avail. The stubborn clasp was determined not to open.

"Hmmmph," she said disgustedly. "I am a master picker, but this darn thing doesn't want to open." She pulled her dagger from her waist and tried to pry the catch off of the box. The silver blade flashed in the growing daylight and the several jewels on the handle would periodically emit sparks, a sure signe of a magical weapon. This didn't work either. Feisty reached for her mace and I think she would have battered it open in frustration had a voice from the other side of the room interrupted.

"You are not going to open it that way, Dwarf." The saucy looking gnome stood there with her hands on her hips. "That chest is impregnated with the Deep Magic of the Druids. Do you not see the markings across the top?"

Feeling foolish, I turned to the gnome. She was cute as gnomes come, with jet black hair pulled into two jaunty pony tails. Her eyes were as black as her hair and she wore a red and gold tabard that I recognized. She was guilded. A group called The Order of the Phoenix.

You would think that dwarfs and gnomes, being both small in stature, would have developed a common bond over the centuries but these two races merely tolerated each other. The gnomes were had high intellect and were very spirited. The looked at the dwarfs as if they were buffoons. Dwarfs, on the other hand, were agile and had great stamina. What they lacked in knowledge, they made up for in personality. In less important circumstances, their interaction might have been interesting for me to observe. Now, I just wanted to open the box and extract the Mantle of Myriad.

"I suppose you think you can do better?" Feisty challenged.

"Certainly, I can." The gnome replied. "The runes on the top give me the spell."

"Go for it then," said the dwarf and bowed.

"Rexena the Patient, at your service," the gnome said to me, pointedly ignoring the trace of sarcasm that Feisty had shot her. "For the Alliance!" With that, she pulled a golden tipped wand from the pack behind her. Red sparks flew from its tip as she waved it over her subject, muttering words in the gnomish language that I did not understand. The lid slowly began to open. Eagerly, Feisty and I looked into the box. To my dismay, it was empty.

"What the..." my new friend began, looking at the mage with a bit of suspcion, but Rexena was still chanting. As I watched, the contents of the box revealed itself. At first, there was a transparent, gossamer-like dust that clung to the air, and then the objects become more opaque until they were solid. There was a ring with a cracked emerald stone, a common fishing bauble, several unusual looking gold coins and a cloth like none I had ever seen before. It undulated and glittered, changing colors as we watched: blue, purple, pink, silver, green and blue again. I had never beheld anything so beautiful.

"The Mantle of Myriad," I breathed in excitement.

"That," intoned the gnome, "Is NOT the Mantle of Myriad. That cloak is a fake."