No one knew her real name. She was incredibly old, far older than matriarch Tant Jova or any of her sisters. It was rumored the Oracle dwelt on other planes and could see not only the future of this world but the future of other worlds as well.
No one saw her arrive. Eladamri and his people went to bed one night after their arrival and awoke the next day to find a strange pavilion had appeared in the exact center of the Eye. The pavilion resembled a Vec nomad's tent-conical roof, sloping walls-but was larger and changed color constantly as light and shadow played over it. There was no obvious entrance. Eladamri was amused when Darsett walked around and around the pavilion, looking for a door and finding none. "It's a blasted trick," Darsett growled.
"Of course," Eladamri said. "What better way to preserve your privacy than to live in a house without a door?"
Tant Jova and her young female bodyguards joined the Dal and elf. She leaned on the arm of one of her proud granddaughters, the warrior Liin Sivi.
"Lady, how do we speak to this oracle of yours?" Darsett finally asked.
Tant Jova answered, "You can't, O Darsett. When the Oracle has something to say, she will call you."
They lingered by the mysterious pavilion for some time, half-hoping to be summoned into the presence of the famed oracle. When minutes turned into hours, Darsett grew irritated and left. Eladamri likewise had pressing matters to attend to and took his leave. Only Tant Jova remained. Sivi found a folding stool for her grandmother to sit on and stayed with her.
After his defeat of Crovax, Eladamri sent runners to every district bearing the news. As he hoped, new recruits trickled in, wanting to fight the disarrayed government forces. He established a number of recruiting camps on the fringes of the forest. There, trusted lieutenants weeded out the treacherous and the lazy from the stream of volunteers. Those who showed commitment and staying power would be taken deeper into the Skyshroud and begin training for war.
Daylight was failing when Eladamri and Darsett were alerted by Tant Jova that a door to the oracle's tent had appeared. The three allied leaders stood side by side outside the pavilion, gazing at the fluttering canvas opening. The oracle's tent was haloed by a faint greenish glow. This troubled the Vec matriarch.
"It's a bad sign," said Tant Jova.
"How so?" asked Darsett.
"To my people, green is a color of ill-omen."
"Among mine, it's a good sign," Eladamri said cheerfully. "Green is the color of our ancient trees. Perhaps she wears this aura to honor me." Tant Jova did not look convinced.
"I suppose we should go in," Darsett murmured. Eladamri nodded and took the lead. Darsett followed, and a worried looking Tant Jova brought up the rear.
Entering the tent was like walking into a fogbank. Every visible feature, including the entrance, disappeared once they were inside. The faintly greenish mist smelled strongly of incense and rare spices. The odors were strong enough to make Eladamri's head swim. He kept going straight ahead-at least he assumed he was-for several yards, which didn't make sense. The pavilion was no more than fifteen feet across as seen from the outside. Was he walking in some kind of dazed circle?
"Seeker, come. You are welcome," said a sourceless voice.
"Where are you?" said Eladamri.
"Here, all around you."
He fumed a little. Why were these mystical types always so obscure? "I want to speak to you face to face," he called out.
No sooner had he said so than a dark outline appeared in the mist. Eladamri approached cautiously. The silhouette resolved into a seated Vec woman, dressed in nomadic robes densely patterned with green and brown embroidered swirls. She sat at a tall, bowl-shaped table filled with a silver liquid. Her face was averted, her arms gripped the bowl on either side.
"Are you the Oracle en-Vec?" asked Eladamri.
"I'd hoped your first question would be more intelligent."
Startled by her impudence, the elf leader replied, "What is this? Did you admit me to snipe at my wits?"
"Peace, O Eladamri. Take no offense at my free tongue. When past, present and future exist in your mind at the same time, it's difficult to spare enough thought for manners."
She raised her head. Eladamri had heard the oracle was an aged crone, but the face he saw was as fresh as an open lily. He took her to be no more than fifteen years old.
"I'm much older than that," said the oracle. "What you see is an illusion I will you to see."
"You read minds?"
"When they're simple enough, I peer behind the thinker's eyes and read his words before they form on his lips."
"More insults! Why am I here, O Oracle?"
She blew on the surface of the bowl, and the silver liquid rippled to the edge and back. "Your cause is just, O Eladamri, and your triumphs genuine, but final victory is beyond your grasp."
"All things are possible with the gods' help," he said. "Are you telling me the rebellion is doomed?" "It will never succeed on Rath."
He didn't want to believe it. For all his invocation of the gods, Eladamri was a realist, believing first and foremost in Eladamri. It rankled him for this ancient oracle, this freak, to tell him flatly his cause was hopeless.
"Not hopeless," she said. "You will defeat your enemies one day, elf lord, and be hailed as the savior of a world not your own."
"Enough vagaries," he said. "Tell me something useful. What is Crovax doing at this moment?"
She pursed her brown lips and blew again over the silver pool. Though Eladamri could see nothing in it, the oracle peered closely at the bowl. She shuddered violently and struck the fluid mirror with the palm of her hand.
"Oh! Oh!" was all the Oracle could say. "What is it?" "Horrible! I cannot-" "What?"
"Blood and more blood… he feasts on their lives! Abomination!"
Eladamri leaned forward, resting his hand on the edge of the bowl. He thrust his face close to the oracle's and for a instant caught a glimpse of her true visage-deeply wrinkled skin the color of mud, sunken eyes, a nose little more than two holes in her face. He blinked and the impression was gone. The dewy eyed girl was back.
"Speak plainly," he urged. "I must know Crovax's doings." "I cannot speak it…" she whispered. He turned away in disgust. "This is useless! Can you tell me nothing of value?"
"Two things, O Eladamri. Your destiny lies in the Stronghold, not in the forest or on the plain. A door will be offered to you, and you must enter. To do otherwise is to doom all you cherish!"
"The Stronghold! Should I attack there before a new evincar is chosen? Is that what you're telling me?"
The oracle sagged in her chair, covering her face with her hands. "No… no attack on the Stronghold will succeed. It will fall to the quietest of all, no man, no elf. You must go there in chains, O Eladamri. Go in chains, go in chains. The Dead One will open a door for you, and you must go."
"I don't understand! Will I be captured? Is that what you mean?"
The mist thickened between them. He tried to reach through it and take hold of the oracle, but it was like seizing a shadow.
"Where will this door take me?" he cried.
Her reply was a fast fading whisper. "To a land of light and color. Go there. Go there and be the Korvecdal…"
The mist disappeared, and Eladamri found himself standing in the open atop the Eye of Korai. The oracle's tent was gone. Darsett and Tant Jova were a few feet away, their eyes closed. Eladamri shook off the aftereffects of the oracle's intense illusions and called to his friends.
Both awoke at the same time.
"She's gone!" said Darsett.
"Was she ever here?" Eladamri asked, even though he knew the answer.
"I heard everything," Tant Jova said. "Her prophecies and her proclaiming you the Korvecdal!"