The Council of Ebon encircle the Cauldron, their grotesque features shrouded in shadows. With voices like ice shards scraping against stone, they disclosed their dark prophesy. "Mothers, guard babes; Fathers, draw steel, Thunder approaches, soon blood on the fields. Tempest of war, so black and so vile, Spreads o'er Allsbruth; lament suckling child." War between the dark nation of Ebon and rebel forces is imminent. The armies of Ebon are vast, well trained and accustomed to victory. The hopes of Allsbruth rests on the untried skills of a young storyteller, Elabea, the courage of a warrior named Romlin and an alliance with nations whose existence is little better than myth. The Martyr's Moon rises. The blood of a storyteller is spilled. Hope vanishes. Yet in night, the King of Claire whispers.