Predawn twilight greeted Ulric's eyes as he woke.

  A snorting breath sent a spike of alarm through him and he was reaching for his knife before he remembered that he wasn’t the only one inside the shelter. Months in isolation were slow to loosen their grip on his reflexes.

  “Well, I’m sure to shit up now.” The man declared heartily, and he raised up easily.

  After throwing off the furs of his pallet, he folded them and upon his exposed skin he felt distinctly a crispness to the air that had only been hinted at yesterday evening. The air was cool enough that he was glad to squat next to the fireplace for the purpose of stoking a few glowing cinders back to a blaze. He’d probably even move the fire into the oven for extra heat, even though it was getting towards daylight hours. Brighteyes never stirred during this process, other than to snore loudly. His recovering body made loud the declaration of its intent to rest.

  “More power to you little buddy.” Ulric congratulated the resting child.

  Satisfied that things were well under control within the shelter, Ulric headed out into the clear glade morning. Leaves, once no so long ago a riot of golds and reds, now trended towards browns. Heavy frost lay thickly on the leaves of canopy, the bark of towering trees, and the flora of the glade. Deeply, Ulric breathed in the morning and relished the taste of this air. No car exhaust, no stink of asphalt, no fouling of garbage and people. Only the smell of leaves, litter, soil, and faint tannin greeted his nose. It was a beautiful gift, and a reminder that the peoples of his old world had brought ruin to paradise. He quickly averted his thoughts, before they could spiral into pointless remonstration against the desecrations brought on by shortsighted and profoundly greedy humans.

  This morning he'd work on magic. His body thrummed with the energy of core saturation, his mind sharpened under its influence. Ulric had learned to recognize that core saturation was a passive benefit. While in effect, he was just a little more, reinforced by Varda’s Field. Once he cast a spell and his core was forced to draw mana from the surrounding flows and refine it to his own use, he'd lose the extra mental clarity so best to do his pre planning before anything else. In many ways, core saturation felt like a fresh cup of coffee. Damn if Ulric couldn't go for a hot cup of Joe.

  Putting aside the memory of a Colombian roast, which hadn’t been grown in Colombia for about two hundred years before his birth, Ulric decided to expand on his lightning magic. Above all other Thaumaturgic workings, that one was most directly to thank for his still walking amongst the living.

  His experiment gone sideways the day before, [Absolute Zero] had reinforced his earlier suspicions that the laws of physics were still, mostly, in play. Mana seemed to be able to manipulate or interact with the world on some fundamental level, letting you change things that couldn't be changed on his old world. The set of spells he'd made during his rainy season meditations had relied heavily on his understanding of the mechanics of matter and energy on his old world but it was lightning that he'd created by instinct alone, back when his core awakened as he'd fought the Forest Lord.

  Reasons for that were clear enough to the man, lightning scared the hell out of him.

  He'd damn near died from it, and he'd been around enough high voltage sources to have heard the horror stories electricians told about people who'd made mistakes guiding the humble electron. Experienced electricians working near substations that weren't grounded well enough, one moment stepping on a shallow gravel and the next being evaporated by spontaneous grounding. Large capacitor banks being discharged accidently, blowing the careless offender out of their shoes. It had culminated in, not exactly a phobia, but a complete and total appreciation for the destruction electricity could enact on living things.

  There was another reason. Above and beyond many other types of magic, it seemed like Ceraun was able to bypass defenses. Metal armor just made you into a conduit. It didn't need to surround or cut like Caelum or Aquae. Incendere was great for fucking an entire area but, for a single target in particular, was comparatively highly inefficient. Past those qualities, what drew Ulric to Ceraun for pure destructive purpose was speed. It was, for all intents and purposes, impossible to dodge. Lethal power delivered at the speed of light, or very near it in air, power that would not only outright destroy the body through resistive heating, it would obliterate all controllable nervous and muscular function. Thanks to these characteristics, it had saved Ulric's life twice now.

  [Voltaic Grip] was a spell that had come by instinct, born from a desire to destroy completely the monster that lay in reach. The spell functioned by using mana to pull and separate charge, building an enormous potential between the hands and then consuming mana to push the current. But it required Ulric to touch with both hands whatever he wanted to attack, something that was not highly recommended in many cases.

  Exhibit A: Shadow Panther would have gutted him before he could touch it, to say nothing of the Venom Bolt Viper, which would have almost certainly dissolved him long before he got within reach.

  The trick then was to get his spell to operate at a distance, without getting caught up in its unleashing. At no point did he want himself to be a terminal point for the flow of power. It seemed like you enjoyed a bit of protection from the effects of your own mana, but [Absolute Zero], as well as [Ice Blade] and [Flame Crash] showed him that when your mana influenced the outside world, you just had to deal with the consequences. You didn't set yourself on fire when you held a fireball, but if you went and stood in the burning ground where it landed, you weren't getting out unscathed. Similarly, when he used [Voltaic Grip] he was included in the circuit, but it moved through him, without damage, sort of like a capacitor plate didn't get damaged in the discharge. Anything in between, the sink, however, was in trouble.

  Ulric decided to try the classical approach.

  In simplest terms, electricity was all about a path of least resistance and a separation of charges. You could create the separation with a power source, provided there wasn't a short, hence a nonconductive system was needed between charge pools. In his case, he'd use mana as his power source. Then you needed a path which was preferable to ground or to connect the positive to negative of your charge separation device aka battery. In many systems, air, or glass, or any stable molecularly uncharged material, really, was good enough to keep the potentials safely separated, with a conductor to give it a safe path.

  The rub was, Ulric wasn't going for something safe. He wanted something that was godsdamn dangerous.

  With that in mind, he was actively going to be trying to ratchet up the output. His core, his source of power. There was every chance that he'd create a potential in the process that would laugh at the resistance of air, in which case it would arc to the nearest most conductive thing around, probably him, and reduce it to cinders. All he had to do then, was also use magic to ensure that the path the potential used would be his target and not himself or some innocent bystander. It wouldn't take much, not at the level of electrical potential he was planning. Just a nudge to either reduce the resistance between his potential and ground zero, or use mana to directly form a conduit, a thought he liked better, even though he didn’t quite know how that was supposed to work just yet, in terms of manipulating his mana.

  Ulric's goal was to first figure out how much magic he'd need to cause an electrical breakdown, specifically, an avalanche breakdown. Basically, if you put a high enough electric field on a material, its electrons, no matter how happily bound, would be forced to move and thus discharge a current. An avalanche breakdown happens when the displaced electrons hit other electrons and free them as well, causing a cascade of free electrons. The effect not only will generate more current than he initially used, since the material itself turns into an electron source, but the destabilization means that if he reduces his own mana induced potential below the initial breakdown voltage it will still be conductive. Then he can spike his mana, and then drop it and still get a Ceraunic arc to strike his target, reducing the total expense of mana.

  “Nikolai Tesla, eat your fucking heart out.” He muttered to the Glade.

  His initial target would be air breakdown. Ulric was confident he had the power necessary to do it, given the light show his [Voltaic Grip] could put on. The major challenge would be distance. A mental reference to his old safety schematics reminded him that the breakdown depended strongly on how far apart the potential difference was spread. In air, it meant you needed thirty thousand Volts to cross a gap of a single centimeter of air. Rough maths meant his thirtyish centimeter palm separation, the largest he'd managed to arc over using [Overcharge], had required around…nine hundred thousand Volts?!

  Soooo…call it an even Megavolt.

  Sweet Watcher's tits, that was a lotta juice!

  Mana was damned potent then, if he could sustain that kind of potential for even a few moments. Which made sense. He could make a wave of fire that was hot enough to melt a guy. That had to be a shit ton of energy. The mana to energy conversion was something like dollars to pesos.

  Also helped explain, numerically, exactly how he'd been able to kill the Forest Lord. He'd been a bit weaker then, but he'd also dumped his entire core into it in a fraction of a second. It'd been the equivalent of hooking its brain to a high voltage line, and the Watcher had blessed him with a fantastically potent core to boot.

  And yet. It wasn't good enough, not for his purposes.

  [Voltaic Grip] was, for all intents and purposes, a touch spell. It worked because he wasn't having to push the energy through air, he was using the target to carry the energy. That and what he wanted now was apples and oranges.

  Ulric dropped down into a cross-legged position in front of his out-door fire place to think things over. The smell of burning wood was strangely peaceful, it helped get him into a properly wizardly frame of mind. For a few moments, the leather clad man just sat and stared, letting the never less than miraculous beauty of the ancient forest wash over him. Even in late fall, the glade was a treasure of growing things, beginning to rustle with the movements of the creatures that returned to call it home alongside him. The first conscious thought following that brief mediation was the nature of the Field, that bone-shivering weight from the utterance of the Watcher.

  The Field was the magical underlayer of Varda, perhaps of everywhere, if you could only interact with it. Mana, was just, in his understanding, that grand force in action, like fundamental forces and their associated quantum particles, gravity the graviton, and so forth. Quantum mechanical bullshit was as close to magic as anything he knew of, so that seemed a good place to start.

  Experimentally, mana was energy efficient, the core let you alter reality, to a fairly large extent, and the better you understood what you wanted, the more efficient your spell was, the greater return on investment of magical force. Maybe, for all it had served him well, the problem with his first Thaumaturgy was with how he'd made [Voltaic Grip] originally.

  Certainly, there hadn’t been any planning. Definitely no deliberate analysis or conscious choice. Nor had he been thinking of much at the moment. Ultimately, that expression of power had been an impulse, an instinctive need. Then maybe it was fundamentally inefficient, due to its ad hoc nature. Perhaps he'd been brute forcing it. Rather than slopping something together while a fuck off huge bear tried to eat him, he could try something more sophisticated.

  Ulric stood to test out his hypothesis a plan forming.

  Mana swirled and surged as Ulric took hold of it through his core, concentrating on the pulse from that mystic organ, one hand held out to give him a focal point. His intent was clear: mana to act as a megavolt battery, held in isolation from the surroundings, energy gripped at ready, like a drawn bow. He felt the buildup, mana condensing charge. Crackling and buzzing started at his palm, random violet arcs that snapped outward without purpose, energy wasted as he felt out what he was doing. Ulric tightened his focus, and forced the Ceraunic energies under control, maintaining the separation and strengthening the isolation as charge built. Envisioning swirling whirlpools of charge, yin chasing yang, never catching, he felt the mana respond pulling at his surroundings.

  Suddenly the air ionized, flashed into fluorescence, a blue violet sphere materialized in the space through which his will was locked. Ulric had been straining before, like dragging a large rock uphill by a rope. Suddenly the rock was half as heavy and his core surged, launching the swirl of charge into a violent vortex, he couldn't respond fast enough, hadn't been expecting the breakdown so soon, he could feel himself losing his grip on it.

  Sweat beaded cold on his forehead as Ulric nearly lost the spell in moment of fatal shock at the primal force roiling. His mind locked down on it, focus redoubling. He'd planned this out, he needed an out, a path.

  As fast as he could think, Ulric reached out with a string of focus, willing a thread of the coursing air to connect to a nearby rock and forced it to a hairlike spark. A moment before his concentration slipped and the globe of mana bound energy surged through him, the plasma path opened a channel and he clearly felt the discharge.

  Light flashed, immediately followed by a crack of sound, and a jagged ribbon of arc light ripped into the doomed rock. Locked water inside the stone vaporized, trapped organics flashed volatilized and ignited and the small boulder ten meters away exploded, flinging shrapnel. Ulric was pelted before he could even form a thought, fragments tearing into leather and exposed flesh.

  Ulric was sitting down, somehow. There had been that desperate moment when the spell roared to life. Then a blast of sound, light, and stone. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he ran his forearm across them, coming away red. Red sweat?

  Shit. Ulric felt carefully at his face and head finding several lacerations. One of them a centimeter long just above the hairline was bleeding freely. He pulled a small splinter of rock from his skin buried just above his cheekbone not a fingernail away from his left eye. His mind returned to full function over the next few moments while he assessed better than twenty small wounds ranging from bruises to a four centimeter long, finger width spear that had pierced the meat of his palm between index finger and thumb.

  “Yeoowch!” He growled, when he pulled that splinter from his hand, and immediately squeezed his hand on the bleeding wound.

  That little bonny stung. Other bits of him were starting to sting too.

  At some point he’d gotten a status update, the loud bell tone drowned out by thunder. He gave it a casual inspection while he put pressure on the wound in his hand.

  "Well," Ulric announced to the glade, quite unnecessarily, "That could certainly have gone better."

  Brighteyes, hair mussed from sleep but recently disturbed, tore out of the shelter in a panicked limp, his borrowed knife held ready as he swept an anxious gaze around the camp. Adrenaline coursed through Elven veins as he took in the details and his breath was visible as it puffed rapidly. A smoking crater of broken stone. Ulric Glade Chief bleeding on the ground as if he'd crawled through thorns.

  "Hells happen you?! We danger? Say something worms in head!" Brighteyes yelled at the most likely source of the disturbance, youthful voice rising in pitch the entire time.

  He'd heard his strange benefactor mumbling incomprehensible nonsense the few times he'd risen from his extended doze yesterday. Now this. Eyebrows lowered as the Elf child became more certain the staggering sound that had sent him into frenzied flight from his blankets was not from some threat external, but from this first human he’d ever encountered in person, other than the desecrators of his home, and who seemed determined to kill them all.

  Ulric waved cheerfully two handed, not taking pressure off the wound, at the startled boy, "Morning Brighteyes! No danger, just running some tests."

  "If not danger, why you bleeding?" The youth questioned sharply.

  Brighteyes was, naturally, skeptical of his host's claims.

  Good man or no, he had definite worms in head ideas. And looked at simple realities like viewing through a twisty smoked looking glass.

  Wiping the blood from his face one more time on his sleeve, Ulric dusted himself off before he rose to his feet, then returned to clutching the pierced hand. He was a little unsteady but, other than a few chips in the paint, some lightly bruised aches, he seemed fine. Nothing worth worrying over. Probably looked a lot worse than it felt, judging by Brighteyes' scowl.

  "New magic Brighteyes,” He explained, somewhat sheepishly in the face of the disapproval of the child, “Needed to run a proof of concept test, but, uh, it got a little away from me there and hydrated rocks are not good targets."

  Ulric pointed to himself, "Not hurt bad, just some blood from rock pieces."

  Calming slightly, the elf's eyes still raccooned eyes widened as curiosity replaced panic. Many Hunters returned from their errands in the Deep Wood with worse injuries, laughing and patting each other on the back for a good day’s work, ready to haunt the forest the very next day, so the man was, probably, mostly unhurt by whatever he babbled about. The Heir of Iriel didn’t understand many of the strange man’s words but he could piece together most of it, and his brains were distinctly not full of worms, so he got the gist of the situation.

  "What thing make sky falling? How burn rock?" Brighteye asked, while he cautiously approached the, now cool, glassy spot in the stone near the rock pool.

  Ulric went over to his stack of hide strips and cut a fur strip to tie as a bandage on his hand, after packing it with a stinging paste of an herb that was strongly astringent from a small wood bowl in his shelter. The herbal paste smelled like alcohol wipes, to be honest, and burned like them. Cursing steadily, he did his head, likewise tending to a few other cuts while he thought about how to explain lightning.

  "You see storms? Thunder and bright flash?" Ulric pointed up at the overcast sky.

  "Skylance?" the elf boy's eyes widened at the word.

  Brighteyes was properly impressed.

  "Ulric Glade Chief stupid enough to call Skylance this close?"

  Oh. Damn. Ulric was suddenly a little dejected by that statement. Well, he couldn't exactly argue with that could he? The proof would be in the still bleeding pudding.

  "Ah. Well, yes, I was trying to cast something similar to lightning from my hand to a target location. It did work, after a fashion. Just didn't account for how destructively my target would respond." Ulric felt the need to defend himself from the accusation of a foreign elf child.

  He also felt some concern that he felt the need to defend himself from said child.

  "But the principles are sound!" Ulric exclaimed victoriously.

  And they were. He'd proven that the mana could far more efficiently condense charge than he'd accomplished with his instinctive casting. A well planned, or, okay, so at least a clearly intentioned spell had somewhat easily magnified the destructive potential of the arc. That he'd very nearly destructed himself, both with a short circuit cast and with the erupting rock debris was, almost entirely, beside the point. And Brighteyes didn't need to know about that first part anyway.

  For his own part, the Elven prince stood in awe at the suicidal enthusiasm of his rescuer. He briefly considered the difference in safety of roaming out into the forest half lame or remaining here where the madman could kill them both. His eyebrows furrowed as he mulled it over. Stay. Marginal. It was more likely the warrior and stupendously impractical mage would kill himself before he could do something powerful enough to get them both, so long as he kept his distance. Still. Brighteyes couldn't, in good conscience, leave this man without some iota of self-preservation. He owed a debt and debts couldn't be paid if you left the benefactor to erase himself in some act of stupendous nonchalance.

  "Ulric Glade Chief, Brighteyes has lack has words to give explain." Brighteyes began, boyish voice grown grave.

  "Will do best. What master teach Ulric magic?" the boy asked.

  Ulric tamped down his excitement at progress at the elf lad's serious tone. Wisdom of the Elves, here we come! Or, maybe he was about to get some ‘fool of a Took’ treatment.

  "I don't have a master Brighteyes. I learned by myself, with just the teensiest bit of coaching one time, from this lady that might have been some kind of immortal ghost." He decided that, in all things, honesty was going to be the best policy.

  He'd never been able to lie and detested the practice on ethical grounds. What was the point of communicating with people if all you were going to do was make shit up? It corrupted the entire process of linguistic cognition between peoples.

  "Then for when Ulric Glade Chief learn self?" the child continued his line of questioning, ignoring the nonsense part.

  "Hmm…I suppose it's been maybe two, three months?" Ulric hadn't really kept track of time very well the last few weeks.

  Prior to Brighteyes he'd basically stopped worrying about days and only kept track of significant events or progress goals. He didn't even know if the word he used for "months" had meaning. Although, whatever language he was using probably had some sort of calendar equivalent, that seemed to be near universal amongst civilizations so it was probably fine.

  At this, the elf spoke slowly, trying to be considerate of his host but also clear.

  "Brighteyes learn two years from father, father's teachers, many elf mages many years practiced. They say 'Brighteyes, you no do magic without guide. You kill self with simplest things.' None try hold Skylance. None make spells crack house open. Ulric Glade Chief, you strong, stronger than reason. Please, consider living before do more of this." As he uttered "this" the child pointed to the remains of the stone.

  Ulric took his deserved scolding with grace.

  It was true, he hadn't really considered any safety precautions before he'd attempted the spell. He'd spent maybe an hour reviewing the relevant theories in his mind and had launched immediately into a full tilt spell that could easily completely destroy a man. No ramp up. No proofs of concept at less than killing strength. He'd just completely gone for it. It demonstrated a severe lack of respect for what magic truly was for him.

  What it was, was sticking mortal fingers where they ought not go, to some extent. It was a dangerous unknown. A tool, maybe. A weapon, certainly. But it was like working with a machining lathe. You might use them, but anybody who planned to live long with all their bits treated the things like they were scared shitless of them. Mostly because they were. Ulric had seen the workplace videos demonstrating what loose sleeves and a moment's inattention could do. It was awful enough he had to swallow back a little bile at the memory. Magic fell into the same category.

  Twice now he'd done something new, with little regard for the result, and twice now he'd been punished. Almost like there were consequences for fucking with things he didn't completely understand. If he hadn't pushed the ionizing air into a spark gap channel, he doubted he could have stopped a runaway avalanche and uncontrolled discharge. That arc would have hit him with utmost certainty.

  That a child would need to offer tempering advice was a mark of the extent to which Ulric had allowed himself to become complacent. Thinking back on it, the Watcher had specifically mentioned that there would be pitfalls to his possession of the full strength of his core, minus the lifetime of training that normally came with it.

  Shaking his head and holding his hands up in surrender, Ulric sought to placate his temporary ward, and demonstrate that he was properly chastened.

  "Sorry I scared you Brighteyes, I'll try to be more careful. I have learned mostly through trial and error and my early successes have made me incautious. I'll do better, promise." And he would.

  Mollified, the Elven prince's frown leveled out. He'd been suddenly woken by thunder in his ear and he wasn't completely recovered from a fairly traumatic experience. Then he'd seen the man who had cared for him bleeding out next to a smoking hole. These were not things given to make a restful environment and, it could be safely said, that the day was not promising.

  Sudden terrororizing events aside, Brighteyes was a young man. Elf. That meant he shared all young men's love of fire and explosions and this had been a good one. Naturally, he wanted to know more, especially since the cause of the trouble had, somehow, survived it.

  "Ulric Glade Chief, how not dead?" An entirely reasonable question on the boy's part.

  "Well, Brighteyes, in spite of my inexperience with magic, I trained extensively to regulate the flow of electrical power.” Ulric explained, somewhat dryly.

  He recalled a world lit at all hours of the day, machines that ran unceasing, an entire culture built around instantaneous transmission of all the knowledge of an entire species.

  “It was used for nearly everything in my life and my job." Ulric replied honestly.

  He didn't know how much he should reveal about his old life, less was probably better, but he could talk around the technology about fundamental principles.

  "The first thing you learn to avoid dangerous electrical scenarios is to always give the power an outlet, an emergency channel to ground, er, which I failed to do, so…not great.” The initiate mage admitted with much chagrin, “Then, if what you're trying to do fails, the energy has a place to go that isn't you. In this case, I also didn’t realize how badly my attempt to make up for this oversight was chosen. When I bridged the lightning to the stones over there, I didn't expect the rock to superheat. Which was dumb, in hindsight."

  And it had been. Of course the stones near a pool of water would hold water. If he'd just used the pool itself the lightning would have spread through the water and into the rock below safely.

  Brighteyes nodded like that made sense, although Ulric wasn't sure exactly how much of what he said had actually registered or if he'd just gotten the broad strokes. Even that much was fine, given their inability to really communicate well. The elf seemed to have the vocabulary of a mid-elementary grader, but he was a sharp lad and picked things up swiftly.

  "If no master, how learn weaving?” Brighteyes wondered.

  “Magic dangerous, difficult. Core is difficult guide. Is hard shape mana, move, is very much way for Ceraun. Ulric Glade Chief no lie? Only months learn?" The princeling asked directly.

  Ulric chewed a lip and scratched an itch on his nose. That was a pretty long one for the Aes’r child, a few words from his own language sprinkled in there that Ulric was thinking probably referred to specific magic stuff the way Elves saw them. And, again, surprisingly Brighteyes had a relatively good grasp on things, probably a product of good parenting.

  Ignoring the slight skepticism, it was far from uncalled for, Ulric tried to explain to the boy about his upbringing. He described the typical childhood of people of his country, entering publicly funded, universal schooling at young age, receiving training in various fields of language use, writing, mathematics, scientific principles, history, the works, for many hours a day.

  Brighteyes was clearly flabbergasted at parents having so little interaction with their children, to the point he interjected "But where mother father all day?". It had taken another few minutes to relate the role of parents in working to provide subsistence which had led to the mention of money, a concept with which Brighteyes seemed familiar, so at least Ulric was spared trying to explain symbolic exchange of goods and services.

  Continuing their discussion, the Elven prince summarized what he'd been told relatively succinctly, "Then Ulric Glade Chief's people train all children in mage craft but without touching mana at all?"

  The Reforged man nearly objected, but, in context of some alien world where people lacked much evidence of high technology, else the Vikings would have been wearing power armor and utilizing Tesla-rifles, he realized that the kid had a point. That was a stunningly accurate way to describe the relationship between theoretical science and the mages of this world, from their perspective.

  "You know, I never thought about it that way, but yeah. That's sort of exactly how it works." Ulric admitted.

  "My people never touched magic, but we learned about the forces and flows of energy that made the world operate. I use those things that I was taught to help me understand how to move and manipulate mana into what spells I cast. Clearly there are some gaps, mostly regarding how much mana is needed to do something or how to predict the interactions of my mana with the world and prevent unintended consequences. Which is why I only cast a couple of spells, they're the only ones I felt safe enough about casting, since I figured I had a pretty good handle on how to do them properly. Recent events have demonstrated that I was incorrect on that account, this shit is sort of tricky."

  That might have been too much for the kid to follow, but Ulric was somewhat excited to bounce ideas off of someone grounded in this world's experience, even if that someone was a minimally fluent elf child. It gave him an even stronger motivation to be able to communicate with the peoples he met, especially if they were from the different races, with their different viewpoints, histories, specialties, and cultural inflections on what was known.

  Thus spurred, Ulric decided to ask a favor of Brighteyes, "Will you teach me Elf language Brighteyes? I want to speak with your people, with their own tongue if possible. You try hard to speak with me and it feels imbalanced for only you to be going to such lengths."

  Brighteyes answered immediately in the affirmative, "You save my life. You open home to stranger, not even same clan. Is honor to share Elf speech with Ulric Glade Chief."

  He seemed glad about it, which was nice. Guess the elves in this world weren't the insular, isolationists that his own world painted the stories about them. Ulric felt again, the sense of adventure that this new life provided. Here he was talking to an honest to gods Elf. A prince even! And he would learn Elvish. Tolkien eat your heart out!

  Besides, Ulric's plans for learning more about magic were suddenly taking on a new perspective. That shit was dangerous, and his ignorance was proving more dangerous. It would be fair to describe his position as that of some random schmuck having been handed a fighter plane and told to fly it solo. Was a fighter plane a tremendously awesome and capable piece of equipment that could perform incredible feats? Sure it could. Could the ignorance of a novice pilot result in immediate death? Yup. And not just could either. I'd like to buy a "w" and solve the puzzle, please.

  Today had shown him that he badly needed to talk to somebody who knew what the hell they were doing. Where better to start with magical shenanigans than with a magical people?

  Ulric gestured to the shelter and said "I'll get camp chores done and breakfast sorted. And then I'd like to learn the language of the elves. I can help you improve your human speech at the same time."

  Brighteyes nodded his understanding.

  "Brighteyes help camp, will be useful. Then we learn, yes?"

  Ulric smiled at that.

  "Always learning Brighteyes."

  They got to work.

  ----------------------------------------------Two Tendays-----------------------------------------

  Autumn advanced rapidly as the twinned suns whirled overhead. Leaves browned, the harsher frosts stealing color, even the great titans beginning to yield to dormancy here at the end of the growing season. The days shortened, even shorter seeming for their fullness. The two strangers grew more comfortable as they alternated roles, sometimes teacher was taught, and student, whether old souled human or Elven youth, gained both knowledge and an appreciation for the instructor.

  Ulric learned Elven at a fairly rapid pace, the language being similar to Finnish, and with similar grammar. Having been bilingual already paid dividends in this process, and greatly sped up acquisition. A little over a week of daily instruction, given in multi hour lessons interspersed with Ulric and Brighteyes doing forest parkour to help Brighteyes loosen joints and regain strength lost being essentially bedridden for over a week, had resulted in his being able to make very simple conversations in Elvish. If Ulric had to summarize it, he'd guess he was somewhere on the level of a first or second grader.

  As was usually the case, the consistent hurdle was vocabulary. Grammatically, Elvish wasn't particularly difficult, especially compared to English, but the language possessed a number of contextual vocabulary words. There were the usual mix of words for water in its various forms, sort of like how there were words like rain, river, pond, lake, ocean, etc. In addition to these though were odd words that would describe a very specific situation, like a phrase turned into a word. An example that had come up was frost, given that it had frosted more days than it hadn't in the last ten days. There was your usual word for frozen water deposited on surfaces. Then there was the term for frost shimmering in a morning sun. Then frost under moonlight. And, also, a word for frost on leaves so thick it nearly looks like snow.

  Ulric was shocked at the sheer number of words for trees. Trees budding in spring, new word. Trees with new leaves, new word. Trees with full foliage, new word. Trees in flower, you guessed it, new word. He should have known Elves would have a word for a day out of the year which just preceded the major leaf fall, when an imminent storm was due to cause the dead leaves to blow through the air en masse. It was some kind of Elven feast day with the leaf fall day itself reserved as a day for celebrating the dead.

  Brighteyes was pensive when he told the Valin Lord of the Ancient Glade, who did not understand at all what heavy implications that carried, about the Festival of the Lost. Unless the storm was later than usual, they would probably not be able to get to his village in time to be part of the celebration. In all likelihood, his family would be considering him to be part of those whose passing was celebrated, fresh in their grief.

  The time had been necessary, as their jaunts through the glade and surrounding forest soon proved. Cruelly had the young elf suffered at the hands of his captors, not a few cracked ribs took time to heal, even for the rapid rejuvenation of youth, as did a minor fracture of the Elf’s lower leg, a bit worse than Ulric had expected from reading the child’s status.

  Grit was in Brighteyes’ genes, he forced himself to exercise as soon as his weight could be taken in a light run. Their early excursions had the youth in great pain soon after they'd started and he'd needed to rest frequently. Breathing heavily was agony. For most of the first week, Ulric would keep watch for predators drawn to the sounds of a struggling Elf’s limping and gasping more than concentrate on the runs. Soon though, the natural agility of the noble born Aes’r asserted itself, healing permitting him to careen at more than a jog. Mending was facilitated with a steady supply of food and rest, with Ulric overseeing recovery by use of the same physical therapy that had been applied to him after his crippling. He hadn’t recovered full use of his leg, but he’d got as much as could be expected, and it hadn’t taken overlong to get there.

  As the body recovered so too did the Heir of Elven lands’ mood, the tragic loss of his companion and trauma of the experience fading quickly, as it does for the young. Soon enough Brighteyes was keeping pace with Ulric's movements and, incredibly, he was rapidly leaving Ulric behind in their arboreal gymnastics. It was awe inspiring, to see how an Elf could move through the bush, almost instinctively in tune with the routes provided by the forest’s foliage. At a sprinting, vaulting, jumping cavort through the trees, the sometimes-laughing boy had shown Ulric that his agility and dexterity stats weren't just for show, the kid could fly.

  They only made one climb to the canopy, and that just long enough for Ulric to take Brighteyes to the site where the raiders had perished. Of the battle, little evidence remained, other than the torn brush, which was already growing back in. The corpses had long ago been consumed, only scattered bones remained even of the Venom Bolt Viper and Crimson Bull. A few of the weapons remained, found where their unfortunate owners had dropped them, untouched by the scavengers that consumed their wielders. Ulric retrieved those, since forged metal was precious to him.

  Ulric's hollow pointed poison carrying arrow was gone and that made him sad. He couldn’t obtain anymore Gigabear teeth. Hopefully ever.

  On the morning Ulric's [Scan] of Brighteyes showed a clean bill of health, they sat down to make plans for the journey to take the kid home.

  Ulric was committed to trying to use Elvish as much as possible, there might be a lot riding on meeting with an Elven king, warchief, or whatever the lad’s sire might have been.

  "Brighteyes you health now?" Ulric's accent was painful in his own ears.

  His teacher nodded sagely, golden hair fine as silk tied back in a slight tuft to keep in from his fair featured face.

  "Thank you, Ulric Glade Chief, I am well now. You have my gratitude for your patronage and I will not forget the debt of my life. My father will likewise not allow such debt to go unpaid. Welcome will you find in the halls of my kin, as a friend of my House and a man of honor."

  Damn, Ulric thought, that was fast, pretty sure the kid mentioned his dad too, but what the hell does a salad have to do with anything?

  "I live here, no journey. No map. Glade home, woods run, no wait, explore not much. You walk, shit, I mean, path can find home Brighteyes?" Ulric stumbled through, iffy on a few spots, but pretty sure he’d gotten close to the right phrasing.

  "I know the general lay of the land Ulric Glade Chief, and I can find our way once we reach the edge of the Plateau of Ancients. We are come far from my home, a journey of winding traversal, but the mountains and sun will give bearing. The Ancient’s Gate will mark the course into familiar trails of Iriel."

  Ulric had to clarify a couple of new words in there. Apparently, the name for where they were was the "Plateau of Ancients" and Brighteyes had used a particular term for a travel through winding terrain without known direction for unknown time. So, basically, he was totally lost but he thought he could use the landmarks to get a general direction of travel back to familiar territory. Fair enough.

  "Is we time to leave tomorrow? Ready make for preparations, I need. I own food and water, tools and little rope, but difficult cliff climb." Ulric tried to ask, summarizing his readiness.

  Ulric hadn't forgotten that breathtaking view from the escarpment. It was at least a couple of kilometers straight down. The sides had looked so sheer, from his vantage, that they'd need to do some serious rock climbing to reach the forest below. He knew he was up for it, he'd spent hours climbing the giant trees near his camp for practice, and to find routes up into the canopy that weren't dens for violent monsters.

  What he wasn't prepared for was doing it in near freezing temperatures with possible wind blowing your hands numb, and nowhere to get a fire for warmth. He also didn't know how well Brighteyes would do making that kind of climb so soon after convalescing, although he'd taken steps towards that end during the preceding week.

  He had a couple of hundred feet of vine rope, eight Forest Lord metatarsal climbing pitons, and had worked out a strategy for how to do controlled descents using them; that included a heart racing drop of ten meters to be arrested by his harness-piton sets, testing their ability to abort a fall. He'd learned a painful lesson about where you tie knots in a harness when one of them dug out his grundle and pinched his tackle, making sitting an ordeal for a few days.

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  With the both of them tandem climbing and using pitons they should be relatively safe to make a slow but sure way down the cliff.

  If somebody messed up and took a dive, the roped harnesses should catch them before they built enough steam to pull the pitons loose.

  Of course, that meant Ulric would be having to ascend and descend twice as much to set them retrieve his pitons. Good thing the Watcher's body work was top notch; Ulric was confident, in that, if nothing else.

  Then again, he'd felt confident about the lightning bolt too and that hadn't worked out as well as he'd hoped. As a matter of fact, he considered shrapnel a distinct indicator of failure. Most especially when that shrapnel ended up in his body. Thankfully those wounds had also healed quickly, and without incident.

  Ulric was pulled away from his thoughts because Brighteyes was now starkly confused.

  "What climb must we make Ulric Glade Chief? The course we travel will be lengthy but there are no great obstacles once we descend from the plateau. Unless you mean to climb the plateau but that will not be necessary, we will take the Ancient’s Gate down to the forests of Iriel. Ah. You would not know of the Gate, would you? My apologies, Ulric, I had not thought to mention it, as it is common knowledge for Iriel’en who reside in the Deep Wood. The Plateau of Ancients goes unexplored, not because it is difficult to reach, but because it is profoundly dangerous. Or was, thanks to the presence of the Forest Lord who hunted any manling, elf, or creature it detected. But now, aside from the Greater Beasts that will descend from their imprisonment in the Forest of the Forgotten to claim territory, this holy place is far safer. In any event, to scale or descend the Plateau takes but a few minutes, for the Gate is a mass transport device of the eras bygone. Its magics allow an entire convoy of trade wagons to be raised or lowered all the way from the bottom or top. You simply call the lift by placing your hand on the summons pagoda."

  It took several minutes for Ulric to parse through this tale, his Elvish not being up to the task. Brighteyes was patient though and helped him through, repeating when necessary, clarifying when Ulric couldn't follow the syntax or remember the proper words. As the story unfolded, Ulric went from astonished at this alien magitech, to relieved at the relative ease of this towering challenge, to frustrated at his lack of knowledge taken for granted by the denizens of these lands.

  So much wasted effort and concern, just to find out that there was a godsdamned elevator all along!

  There had been a time, back in his old life that Ulric would have spent hours chewing on this, obsessing over it. These days, he had learned to stay in the moment. Imminent threat of being consumed by hostile creatures and the absence of any modern convenience had a way of doing that to you. Clarifying your priorities. What before would have been a source of anxiety for a few weeks until he got over it was now a footnote and a reminder that ignorance frequently wasted more time than incompetence.

  "This good Brighteyes. I am happy path - damnit - journey not as difficult. You know how many days to find village?" Ulric questioned.

  He'd be able to readjust his kit drastically, now that the climbing gear had proven unnecessary. It'd be a lot lighter minus the rope, certainly. It was liberating really, the way he made plans here, and then promptly had them shat upon by the realities of this both seemingly familiar and yet wildly divergent plane.

  "We may go tomorrow, Glade Chief. The journey should take, in my best estimate, around three days total, barring interference by the forest denizens, if we travel with great haste." Brighteyes informed him, sort of insinuating that they should travel with utmost speed without coming out and saying so.

  Only three days, not so very long, not at all. Best to be overprepared though, Ulric would pack rations for over a week and a tanned hide tarp with three guide poles to make a fast teepee shelter while they traveled, rather than having to hunt up and shave the supports. Between the food, the hide backpack itself, the water bags, the bedroll, the shelter materials, his axe, metal trident, knives, bow, arrow quiver and all, he'd be carrying forty kilos.

  Easily manageable, with his current strength. The Watcher's gift of body and core were a strong blade of good metal. The forest had been a whetstone, bringing an edge of proper geometry from sharp to razor edge. All under the ever-present record of the Akashic where you could see your growth rewarded numerically in your status; it was motivating, being able to see your own improvement in such a way.

  The time spent with Brighteyes had likewise paid dividends. What began as physical therapy had transformed into friendly competition with the two of them racing through the forest. Losers of the race owed the winner a camp chore. They'd both benefited from the experience, and not only physically. For maybe the first time in his life Ulric wasn't chafing at the company of another. Perhaps he'd grown in more ways than physical in this, the world Brighteyes called Varda.

  They sat quietly to partake of breakfast, Ulric had discovered that it was a custom of his companion to eat without speaking. Cultural stuff, probably. Day broke silently. Heavy frost lay thickly on the forest and even the air seemed stilled by its weight. It was one of those mornings where you feel out of place for moving, like you've broken some transcendent pact with your disturbance.

  Nevertheless, Ulric began his last preparations for the journey ahead. Brighteyes estimated three strenuous days to reach the Elven village, which meant at least six days total travel. Likely more, as he'd probably make slower time navigating back himself. Not to mention that he'd be in the Elven village at least a day, longer if he had his way since he had plans to try to establish some kind of trade with the villagers and take time to learn as much as he could from the elves. He needed to know more about the region, its seasons, its hazards, and the opportunities it hid. More than that, he needed to know the common sense of the natives, basic knowledge that had repeatedly proved invaluable and which was denied him by the fantastic nature of his arrival in this world.

  And, finally, he needed to know more about magic.

  A strange new tool it was, nigh unto an entirely unexplored realm of science in his perspective. One that had saved his life and nearly cost the same, under different circumstances. That kind of coin flip nonsense had to end. Ulric needed better control, needed a tutor to show him the best practices and fundamentals. A wizardly equivalent to lab safety standards too, preferably. If things went well Ulric hoped he'd be able to spend around a week with the Elves.

  All in all, that meant that Ulric would be away from his glade for the first time since he'd established camp here and would be gone for around two weeks. It reminded him of the blurring of time that had gradually occurred. He'd actually lost track of time for a while, with days of rain blending together with days spent hunting, crafting, and being wholly consumed with the act of living. Despite his best efforts, Ulric had only an estimate that he'd been reforged some hundred days ago. At the same time, it felt like both years and minutes. So odd.

  Speaking of odd, as Ulric knelt over the rock pool filling his water bags, he noticed a stranger looking back at him. Hair already long had grown longer, and was now tied back in a tight bun by a leather cord, to keep it secure from his eyes. A full beard, darker than his hair grew thickly, the first he'd ever worn one. The same harsh planes were present but the ever-present scowl was gone, replaced by cool consideration.

  Between his hale, if rough, appearance and his accoutrements, Ulric thought he was somewhere between a pioneer era Pre-collapse mountain-man and an iron-age yeoman cosplay. Maybe he'd be able to find a better alternative for hygiene than his tallow and wood ash soap at the Elves' place. Hell, maybe he could borrow a barber and get a shave and a haircut.

  There was only so much you could do with bone, glass-resin, wood, and stone, especially without a mirror to guide the hand.

  Brighteyes appeared outside the shelter and seemed to have made himself ready. He was shouldering a smaller version of the hide pack Ulric carried. He had a likewise fitting bow, not the work of composite art that was Ulric’s, but a carved stave from one of the glade’s trees whose grain best approximated a good ash or yew. To go with the bow, matching set of arrows, only handful, as there was only so much you could do absent full light in the evenings and fletching was a time-consuming business, in a little leather quiver, made by the lad himself.

  Ulric tied the water bags to hoops on either side of the hide bucket pack and hoisted it. His bow he had slung over his shoulders, braided sinew string holding it tightly to his back. He'd have to ditch the pack quickly to access, it but better that than to have to try to string it in a hurry. Forest Lord bone knife was secure in its belt sheath, with arrow quiver joining it at his hip. Ulric had traded his Steelwood spear for the strange metallic trident carried by the Beastman warrior.

  He spent twenty minutes dithering. Piddling around. Melancholically fidgeting with the gate ties to the perimeter wall, triple checking the stove inside his titan tree dugout, taking a dump in his familiar dump place, the last time he’d get to for a while. He was always like this about road trips, he admitted wryly, recognizing the delaying behaviors regarding leaving home. And home this place was, had become to him. As much as damned near everything else had changed, some things didn’t.

  Daylight was wasting. It was time to go.

  "Time to go, Brighteyes." Ulric spoke, finally unable to find justifiable cause to stay in this place that was the only piece of familiar, that was, somehow, bonded to him in a whole, wide, beautiful, alien as fuck sometimes, fantastic world.

  The elf prince nodded his agreement, having watched the human pace around, but saying nothing because it was not his place to command a Lord within his hall, even one as humble as this small forest steadholdt, and the unlikely duo removed themselves from the gate, which closed with a firm clack of wood frame to magicked stone post, and was tied firmly shut with leather thongs knotted tight.

  With steady gait, they strode together through the dying Autumn foliage, trails worn down through that previously untouched verdure by a solitary man’s routine passages. A few short minutes of familiarity, savored, while Ulric led the adventurers on an adventure neither had anticipated just a few brief weeks earlier, and up a small rise that took them out of the glade, into the dim passages beneath soaring trunks of the colossi of the plateau. Heavy was the tread in the Twice-borne man’s feet, and a heavy heart to go with it, he couldn’t deny it. He’d miss this place, even though this trip was just a short little fortnight jaunt to a little fairy town to do his good deed for a lifetime, then straight back. The humble clearing disappearing behind had sustained him, had sheltered him. He’d grown strong there, in mind and body, learning how to be at peace with himself and this fae world, or at least the tiny part of it that he roamed. But he wasn’t turning back, he’d taken up an obligation to a child, and he’d see it through.

  Just a little trip, be back soon, Ulric consoled himself fervently. Back before you know it.

  Over and behind rolling hills, beyond mammoth trunks did the Ancient Glade soon vanish. The journey was on, so Ulric quit pining and got his head on straight, before some critter took it off to feed a litter of squalling little monster hatchlings.

  Elf and Man moved through the clear undergrowth with quiet steps, one set so light as to barely disturb the leaves, the other, far more solid, only avoiding noise through carefully practiced placement.

  Great tree trunks towered into the canopied sky, their highway sized limbs diverging into the thick arboreal ceiling that shrouded the pair's journey in gloom. Ferns, low shrubs, and moss were the dominant undergrowth, this deep into the primordial wood. Bird calls echoed through this cathedral like grove of ancient boles. It was the only break in an otherwise tomblike silence. No Bolt deer passing through, nor Bladefern Elk, nor any of a half dozen other grazers breaking the still of the forest floor. No skitters from hiding predators or smells that suggested their presence. Through a fantastic landscape that appeared to be holding its breath did Ulric and Brighteyes stalk.

  Hours slipped by while the travelers searched for the escarpment's edge. Rolling hills, almost certainly buried remains of the wooden colossi, and majestic pillars were used to orient. Ulric used his three-point navigation technique to guarantee they kept a somewhat straight bearing. Brighteyes soundlessly kept watch on their surroundings, his keen senses tuned to be sure that nothing would approach unawares.

  Ulric had come to the Ancient Glade by random wander, with no fixed path, and had done so at an extended jog with sprints interspersed, working out the euphoria he'd had at being free of bodily pain on that first day. That had been brain dead stupid, now he looked back on it, for a variety of reasons. As such, he had only vague sense of which direction they needed to take; too much time had passed since then for him to do better than angle them in the roughly correct line and go until they hit the cliff. Once they were there, Ulric was counting on Brighteyes to be able to get them the rest of the way to the hocus pocus lift and back to the Elven village he’d been stolen from.

  The ever-present gloom of the forest was beginning to lighten, a sign that the twinned suns, not directly visible at all from their current location, were rising to their apex. The trip had been, all things considered, a relatively uneventful and straightforward affair. That could be mostly attributed to the intentional quiet of the travelers, who were taking pains to not attract the interest of any roaming monsters or predators. They had, to a small degree, sacrificed speed for safety, a trade Ulric was glad to make.

  Such peaceful roving out might also have been due to the stoney chill of the morning, the very air seemed to want to still. Wildlife might not want to be burning calories wastefully by this time of year. Autumn was finding its way to an end and Winter would soon be upon them. The creatures of the forest, if they operated according to the patterns of Earth, would be settling down. They'd be picking up the last of the available food near their dens, or they'd be proceeding along migratory paths to reach their Wintering territories. Either way, the likelihood of encountering something dangerous would be lessened at this time of year, and their caution would further reduce the odds of meeting something hostile.

  The gold and browns of the forest canopy were now mirrored on its floor, the leave fall having begun in earnest in the last few days. According to Brighteyes, there would be a brief warm spell, maybe a day or two in duration, followed by an intense windstorm and this would herald true Winter for the region. Snow was common, and feet of it would drop in a single blizzard. Ulric was well prepared to wait out the winter in his home, but traveling would be a serious ordeal, especially through terrain with which he wasn't familiar.

  Nothing for it, Ulric thought. Taking the kid home was the current priority, as was securing the good will of his nearest long eared neighbors. He was going to visit an Elven village. Ulric had to reign himself in before he started moving too quickly and made more noise than necessary in the new fallen leaf cover in his excitement.

  Elves Bilbo! He giggled to himself.

  As they traveled, the noble youth had asked in a whisper why Ulric was occasionally pointing at two large trees to either side of their intended path. That led to Ulric explaining some orienteering techniques. It was worth the effort to show his travel partner how to first point a bearing, then how to keep the two guide marks on either side of it so they wouldn't deviate, either due to terrain or that weird neuromuscular bias towards one side or the other. Brighteyes picked up quickly on the triangulation technique for holding a straight course and said it was similar to what his Hunter attendants had described to him. The kid hadn't had much experience in solo expedition and instructing him during their trip to the escarpment relieved some of the travel jitters for both of them.

  Just as he was thinking he might have Brighteyes take point, they gained a steep rise and the forest fell away to open sky. Before them, across a vast span of forest, the majestic vista of snowcapped mountains in whose shadow rolling hills trailed a huge winding river stretched out far as the eye could see.

  It was breathtaking.

  Along the edge of the plateau, sheer granite cliff faces fell endlessly with few rocky outcrops. Occasional spurts of greenery dotted this unscalable stone precipice, as vegetation found a way to exist in improbable places.

  Jagged peaks clawed the sky along distant horizon. Ulric had learned that Varda was wide indeed, with deceiving distances. For instance, if his half-grown companion was to be believed, those mountains stood forty kilometers high, and to reach the foot of them was a stretch nearly six hundred kilometers. Virtually unbroken forest covered the space between, the terrain even and high at the base of the plateau gently descending towards the river until a distinct rolling of hills began, marking the approach to the bottom of the clime. The river meandered around and between hills, sometimes rapid, sometimes calm, with no discernable bank from this huge distance. Those same hills grew in stature upwards away from the river towards a series of rocky highlands that formed the base of the mountain range. The rough outline of the mountains, were evidence of the relative geologic youth of this area from a lack of erosion, unless geology played by different rules from what he knew of Earth.

  Ulric's brain took time to digest the scene, the sheer scale of which made it difficult to interpret. One thing was certain, Ulric determined that he was looking at what had to be a truly spectacular river to be seen from this far away.

  It did something to Ulric's heart seeing such pristine beauty.

  His own world had possessed such sights once. But, hundreds of years before he’d even been born, his people had ruined much of it. The western droughts had claimed much of the forest land in the rain shadow of the mountains near his home. Wildfires had taken what was left soon after. Of the old conifer forests not much remained by the time he'd been able to travel to see what adventure nature could offer, and the deciduous forests had long since fallen to blights, climate shifts too sudden for them to adapt, and relentless logging.

  Unrestrained greed, against the consultation of those who saw the signs and what they would portend, had taken a dire toll on old Earth’s bounty. He had hiked a pale remnant of what had existed only a few hundred years prior. But this. This was what it should have been. This was a true wilderness. And, looking down on it from the great plateau, Ulric was glad he'd died and been reforged here. Looking out across the forest below, he knew it was all worth it.

  In trance, he stood a little longer, breathing it in. A nudge at his side and a smiling Elf boy got him going again. Making the escarpment seemed a natural time to settle down for a rest. A rest was an even more natural time to whomp up some dinner.

  Here at the edge, the two stars could be seen easily, and they hung midway down their track. Mid-afternoon, that meant that they had several hours yet of good light for travel. If Brighteyes could get his bearings, he could navigate to the Ancient’s Gate, the great lift that gave passage from what the Elven locals referred to as the Plateau of Ancients, on whose edge they were currently located, to the Elven confederated realm called Orlethrem, and the heart of that realm where lived Brighteyes Deep Wood kingdom, or clan, or tribe, or whatever, called Iriel.

  Ulric had picked the princeling’s brain about these lands, using the explanations as another chance to practice his poor Elvish, because multitasking was nice.

  All of the land between the plateau and the mountains was Elvish land, a confederacy of distinct cultures who ruled independently but who coordinated through regular moots. Each clan or tribe contributed trade goods to a central organizing infrastructure about which Brighteyes was slightly cagey. The moots also provided opportunities for the young men and women to intermix and find marriage partners from outside their respective clans. It was a time of sporting events, celebration, and business. It was also held in the spring so it would be well outside of Ulric's journey to Brighteyes' village, too bad.

  The massive river, called Zelas, was fed plentifully by the mountain glaciers and run off from several spectacular waterfalls from plateau rivers, and ran through the entirety of the forest, a watershed between the plateau and the mountains. Over dinner, Brighteyes revealed that Ulric’s estimate had not been far off, that ribbon of water was as upscaled as the rest of Vardan geography, the planet seemed to have a pre-Collapse Texas attitude about landmarks: do it bigger. The river ran some thousand kilometers roughly north and south, and terminated in an inland sea.

  The territory near the terminus was human land, and Brighteyes knew little of what took place there, his tribe in the deep wood having had no contact with humans in many years. There was a reservation in the lad’s tone when he spoke of it though that denoted unpleasant feelings into which Ulric didn’t probe. Eagerly, Brighteyes discussed the rest of his Aes’r cousins’ lands, as well as their neighbors.

  In the highlands approaching the mountains, and in the excavated interiors of the mountains themselves, lived the dwarves, the Svartalfin. In contrast to his expectations, the Elves of this region and the Dwarves enjoyed rigorous trade and amicable relations. It was true, however, that the dwarves were renowned miners, stoneworkers, and metal smiths. Between this pleasant chat and others, Brighteyes had explained the local geography and trivia sufficiently such that Ulric would have some better idea how to orient himself on his return trip and in response to numerous questions Ulric had asked.

  Luncheon would be a treat of roasted Bolt Deer. The game was taken by Ulric with Brighteyes watching rapt on one of the last glade-spelunkings before their departure. The kid had a great appreciation for the arts of hunting, it would appear that the noble youth was not yet considered old enough to turn loose into the supposedly dangerous wilds of the Deep Wood unattended. He was exactly at the age where such restriction chafed greatly.

  So it was they cooked up their only non-smoked meat. This and some diced glade potatoes gave the two a last fresh meal before they subsisted on dried rations. In quiet, the pair took their time enjoying a late lunch. Traveling in a hunting stalk, for hours, was tiring even for those in good condition.

  Eventually though, Ulric cleaned up the meal, kicked dirt over the fire, and they resumed their trek. Rested and ready to move they took a few minutes to orient. Brighteyes used those impressive peepers to scan the terrain and swiftly decided their direction. With the suns as a helpful aid and the mountains as a definitive easterly direction, the young elf spent a few minutes before deciding he knew approximately where they were and where they would need to go to reach their proto-Vardan progenitor’s ruins.

  "Ulric Glade Chief, am sure now. South we go, to find gate. Can make by nightfall if we hurry. Homeland, Iriel, we can be in two more days." Brighteyes said this with confidence and was stumbling a bit over his speech in his excitement. Must be looking forward to home.

  "Good enough, Brighteyes. Lead the way." Ulric returned, glad to have a solid trajectory.

  The unlikely duo made for the Ancient’s Gate at a good pace. Having found the edge of the world, they were far less likely to be ambushed, so they quickened their walking speed to a near jog. Not to say they went without caution, the canopy loomed overhead always, and extended out beyond the edge of the plateau cliffs by a good few hundred meters, testament to the magnitude of the elder trees that created the forest upon a forest. Still, so close to the edge of the forest, these branches lacked the overlapping support of the interior and made it far less dense. The labyrinthine highways that made up the more dangerous parts of the forest were gone, and, with them, most of the risk of being assaulted from above.

  Brighteyes was on point now, which left Ulric to alternately gawp at the vista and direct his attention to the inner forest, keeping an eye out for suspicious movement. Absent the heavy leaf litter, it had become easier to keep a silent footfall which reduced the need for the two to assume a hunter's stalk, so the pair without speaking ratcheted up their speed again, almost to a run. Thus, this part of the journey had taken on a feeling of an extended parkour exercise, much like the ones they’d partaken of to help rehabilitate Brighteyes. A high-speed hike through a fantasy land unlike anything found on his home world, and one that would give a tree hugger soggy bottoms.

  For Ulric, he was finding that he was able to nearly relax, able to share the burden of hyperawareness with Brighteyes, who took his duties as guide seriously.

  "What's your home like kid?" Ulric asked, feeling comfortable enough to engage in small talk.

  The Elven prince gained a thoughtful expression, whether from reluctance or inability to compose himself in pidgin human language Ulric didn't know. At last, the elf seemed to find a resolution and he went on at length.

  "Iriel is large hold amongst Orlethrem. Considered a hub for trade between plainsfolk on the border, low forest peoples, the river dwellers, and the sea faring peoples, because it sits central to the tribes. It is also the primary power for defense of Elven lands by our neighbors. Is no small part from strength and wisdom of the previous chief, my grandfather. He leads for over four hundred years and pass on his strength of rule to current chief, my father, Bald’rt Iriel. Is not bragging to call my father, Lord of Iriel, mightiest of our people. There are many who would try to stake claim against Orlethrem, but they do not wish to risk his anger. In few hundred years, my father passes this to me, and I will lead Iriel as they have. Is expected of chief son to apprentice for span of fifty years for different masters of trade, hunting, battle, craft, and as page for neighbor chief. This to teach the nature of each part of our tribe and our sister holds, that we may lead all of them toward better future."

  At this, Brighteyes took on a faraway look.

  "It was with hunting master's son I was ambushed and taken. His only child he lose that day, he will be heart broken. It was known he was deeply proud of Urias, his son, and my dear friend. I will beg forgiveness for allowing him to die. You must go to Huntmaster Tellah and tell of death of murderers, it will ease his pain."

  Brighteyes took a steadying breath and continued.

  "As way of most deep wood elf homeland, our village built into large grove of elder trees we call Heartwood trees. Only way to get to Elven village is climb ladders of great trees or use lift. Each part of village connect by skybridge to others. Is beautiful, you will see. You are first human visit in my lifetime, we are far from human lands and they travel rarely far into Aes’r lands. Cannot travel in Iriel, banished. Since the troubles from before my birth."

  Ulric was curious now. There was a rawness to the kid when he spoke of humans in his homeland, and the recluse wasn’t so unaware that he’d stick his foot into that. Instead, he’d talk about other things. Like the forest itself. He could easily imagine buildings carved into the enormous trees of the plateau, with branches making bridges redundant. Surely the forest couldn't have trees this large everywhere. If there were, it would mean his estimates about distances were completely skewed.

  "The trees of your homeland, they are large, like these?" Ulric asked, gesturing at the proximal giants.

  "No, Sacred Forest is different place. These trees feed on mana of earth, roots bore down deep and draw strength of stone into themselves. Not like anywhere else on Varda. Even oldest, largest trees of deep woods only less than one in three of. You would not know, Ulric Glade Chief, you are special case. None have been to this land in a thousand turnings of world. Always was Forest Lord waiting to feed on trespassers. Was only desperation that led captors to attempt escape through Ancient's Gate, a mad plan to escape before my father learned of my taking." Brighteyes shook his head at the thought.

  "Was suicide to try the plateau. If Forest Lord alive, we are all ripped apart within an hour. But they panic, know Iriel’en Hunters on trail soon after we go missing. Only alive because evil luck, and you kill Forest Lord. Is some great joke of Ancestor spirits that man who kill Forest Lord kill them in its stead."

  Brighteyes must have truly enjoyed that irony, the often-dour kid smiled for a moment. He seemed to be lightening up a little talking about home. Ulric had to admit, it was a tough hand the young elf had been dealt. He was only now starting to come out of it, to be able to leave the greatest of the hurt behind.

  The two of them lapsed into silence then and concentrated on making swift progress towards the gate, with hopes to be able to settle in before nightfall. Shortened days were making a race of it.

  Their arrival at the Ancient's Gate was immediately obvious, forestalling Ulric’s incessant curiosity to ask how they would recognize the thing. Great stone pillars carved with vines and leaves, reliefs depicting natural wonders were connected to each other by almost lacelike stonework. It was far too fine to be the product of anything but magic. The weight of the lattice should have caused these thin filaments of polished stone to crack and collapse within years, yet, according to Brighteyes, this promethean magitech lift had existed since before the Elves had come to the forests of this land. Immune to wind, rain, ice, and the ravages of seasonal temperature changes, the Ancient’s Gate stood eternal.

  Somehow even the leaves of the nearby trees avoided falling within its confines, which left the patterned stone slabs resting uncovered. Within the somehow pristine monument that was the “ruin”, the lift itself formed a rectangular platform roughly thirty meters long by fifty meters wide, an enormous carved pillar at each corner. There were geometric shapes hidden in the carved leaves and vines of the pillars. Drawn to one, when Ulric approached and stared closely at it, the construct seemed to pull his senses giving him an intense sensation of vertigo. He shuddered and stepped away from the pillar he'd been examining, it had felt like he'd fall into the column’s interior, somehow, if he drew closer. Slightly worrisome.

  At the end of the spacious platform was a four meter tall bipyramidal obelisk of light blue crystal, its pure facets carrying black geometric triangles, like stylized mountains or reminiscent of the Volknut, a symbol of an old, old cult of Earth. On this obelisk’s plateau facing lower plane, a carved symbol inlaid with copperish metal had an open circle and a circle in which another closed dot of metal were nested.

  Currently hanging in open space, unsupported by stone so far as Ulric could determine, was another platform, of a size with that of the plateau bound segment of the great lift. On it was another obelisk of the same light blue crystal, in the same shape, except its pristine geometries were broken by whisps of white, like cirrus clouds on clear sky. The obelisk had another set of carved, inlaid symbols. Two of them, each inside a perfect circle, each a stylized script shape which was still clearly recognizable as the first being an upwards arrow and the other a downwards arrow.

  So…Ulric grappled with the alien technology a moment and guessed, there’s the call button to bring the floating bit in, like opening the elevator door, and that other one is two raise and lower the free floating segment.

  “I’ll be damned.” Ulric whispered.

  They were on an elevator. A gigantic as hell, magical fucking elevator. If it played 1920's swing music at them Ulric was likely going to shit his pants from cosmic shock.

  Glancing over the rail-less edge, it appeared that the pillars extended all the way to the ground below, though he couldn't verify it due to the angle and height. Even to his excellent eyesight, the pillar thinned to hair thickness and vanished into the woodland below.

  A rattle of gear hitting stone pulled Ulric's attention to find his travel partner unburdening himself.

  "We rest here tonight, Ulric Glade Chief. Will be warmer down in deep wood and the creatures of night more active. Safer to stay up on plateau and begin trek in morning. We have time for camp, make fire, eat, and sleep well. Is no hurry now, I can guide to elf home."

  It had been a long day. Fortunately, uneventful. Painstakingly forced to be uneventful as a matter of fact, thanks to the efforts of the both of them. Just as well they take the opportunity to relax in camp; the sun had dipped behind the distant mountains and dark was well on its way.

  Ulric let Brighteyes fiddle with the hide teepee and harvested wood from a nearby "sapling" which was an eight-meter diameter monster of a tree forty meters high, who was yet dwarfed by its progenitors. A wee little runt of a mega tree. It did, however, still have branches low enough to be cut for firewood with his Forest Lord pelvis bone and Steelwood hafted axe. A single limb, the least on the immature arbor, would make for a blazing fire all the night long.

  Ulric took an experimental chop and felt the unpleasant sensation of handle sting as his axe hit the bark of the limb and bounced off. Might as well have swung a metal bar at it for all the cut he'd made. Drawing the strength of the stone indeed. This green wood was every bit as hard as the near indestructible immortal ruins under their feet. It would seem he had been fortunate indeed with the fallen one in his glade. It had been dead long enough to have lost a substantial amount of its integrity, allowing him to actually burn and cut into it for his tree-cave shelter. This stuff, it required Ulric to take a wide stance and to swing his axe with as heavy a blow as he could muster and still, it was only barely enough to put a slight notch into the material.

  In the end, Ulric turned to using a third of his mana and [Hydrocutter] to lop off the thigh thick limb. More heaving strokes of his axe to barely, begrudgingly, split along the grain. Panting slightly at the effort, he looked at the two pieces in disbelief. That axe blade was made of Forest Lord bone. It would carve a piece of metal, no problem. He was strong as hell, and he was just barely forcing the grains apart. Godsdamn, this stuff was sturdy. If he encountered a knot in the grain that limb would have laughed at his attempts to chop it.

  "Alright then, if that's the way you want it." He growled.

  Ulric reached out and placed a hand at the spot he wanted to split the halved limb into a firewood sized piece. His mind sharpened, focusing on the image of his desire, molding will to fit intent and drawing on the energy of his core.

  Power pulsed, and Ulric gave life to his spell concentrating it into a space no wider than his fingernail, a disk as small as he could manage, tuned to Infrig. Cold as cold could.

  [Absolute Zero]

  A rush of energy, far more manageable for this small region, for his studied time spent revising the spell architecture, than on his first try gave rise to a brittle creaking and immediately mist began to form as the cold of the wood caused water to condense around it.

  Ulric quickly took hold of the axe and brought it down on the frozen section as hard as he could. He was rewarded with a sharp crack and the segment of limb broke off cleanly, shattered more than cut, along his spell work's area. One piece of ultrawood for the fire!

  This process he repeated, cutting quarter meter sections of limb into usable lengths that big as his leg at first, and trailed down to the thickness of his wrists at its end. He'd had to cast [Absolute Zero] seven times and, even for as small a volume as he was using here, positively surgical compared to his previous attempts at such magic, he had completely exhausted his mana. They had wood which, if it burned with the duration of coal, would heat them through the night.

  From there it was another half hour of vicious chopping to reduce a section of the ultrawood to smaller, more intermediate burning sizes. At length, sparks leaping to flame accompanied by a cry of victory, Ulric got the camp fire going. He was drenched in sweat and suffering mana exhaustion's toll. But that limb had learned its bitter lesson about whom would be fucking with whom.

  Brighteyes took the maniacal events unfolding before him in stride. He had the teepee assembled, the food laid out for cooking, the bedrolls positioned, and had managed a casual damp rag bath with a few handfuls of water by the time his savior had finished vanquishing their firewood.

  "Is job well done Ulric Glade Chief. Use of might and magic to conquer foe and powerful spell. I feel its…residue…even now. Court mage will want to see such things. Is only curiosity, but can fallen branches on other side of gate also burn?"

  Sweating, breathing roughly, and generally mussed, he looked towards a pile of dried, obviously aged limbs that had long since fallen, at which Brighteyes was pointing, which had lain just slightly out of his sight at the edge of the ruin, if only he’d bothered to walk around a bit. Ulric's achievement turned to ash and he decided then and there that he would not be speaking to the smartass elf for the rest of the night.

  Not pouting at all, he decided to take the late watch, wanting to sleep off his mana exhaustion and preferring the wee morning hours anyway. Brighteyes, a child of noble bearing and grateful for his host’s effort did not deign to smirk or laugh at the man’s efforts, or his shamed retreat to sleep. He did chuckle quietly to himself at the memory, both for the comedy of the situation, and the ludicrous use of magic his instructors would have found remarkable while the large Valin hedge wizard slept. When his watch ended, the Elf prince gently nudged the Lord of the Ancient Glade awake with his boot, and went to his blankets gladly, completely confident that they were safe under the odd man’s watch.

  Other than the odd foray to the wood pile to keep the fire lit, the witching hours passed peacefully for Ulric’s watch. He sat just outside the shelter staring over the edge of nothingness at the expanse. Their teepee blocked the chill wind and held heat in the stone firepit well while the fur bedrolls were sufficient to the task of keeping warm. That wouldn't be the case if the temperatures continued to drop however; it would soon be time to keep the stove lit in his glade cave for driving off the cold.

  It never ceased to amaze how brilliantly clear the stars shined. Ulric had very intentionally positioned the shelter to have its opening facing the cliff. He was rewarded with the most phenomenal view of the night sky for which he could have ever asked. The moons, one of whom much larger in the night sky than its Earthen counterpart, were dazzling for their arrangements, all rising and setting in close, frequently overlapping, proximity, the biggest only a quarter full. They had risen early, thus this Coven were nearly down by the time of Ulric's watch. Stars glimmered iridescent in the black of night. Clear blues, whites, and reds could be distinguished. There were some particularly large bodies that might have been planets. He mentally added checking with someone about star charts or astronomy when the opportunity arose.

  Time fell away as the sky rotated and Ulric was swept into a trance of being. At last, dawn's approach dimmed the night's phantasmagoria. He stirred then, tended the fire, which had been allowed to burn low, and started a breakfast stew of meats, tubers, and dried herbs in their wooden pot. Yes, he had a wood pot for the fire. No, he wasn’t insane. Varda was.

  As it always had, the glade had provided miracles when he searched for something to meet his needs. It was chance that he’d discovered early the Steelwood tree. Testing different saplings, peeling bark, bending, fire hardening, he’d set out deliberately to determine what types of the wide variety of small, by comparison, trees littering the edges of the Ancient Glade were useful. For sheer strength and hardness, the Steelwood was up there.

  It also turned out that, while trying to fire harden some wood handles, Ulric discovered one of the unique properties of this definitely magically reinforced variety of tree which grew at the edges of his glade: they were just nearly fireproof but also thermally conductive, unlike most traditionally cellulose based woods. He pretty completely burned his fingers when he went to pull the blackened end from the firepit.

  Whatever was going on in there was being driven by unknown biological fuckery.

  By placing segments shaped of this heat conductive wood together, sealed by glass-resin, he’d made barrel-like containers. Once joined, the highly thermally conductive wood tended to pull heat away from the glass-resin thus keeping the sealed joints water tight, as long as you didn’t do something moronic, like sit an empty pot on the fire where there was nothing to take the heat and it fell apart in the fire pit, which he had never done. Not even once.

  The result was an almost barrel like pot, heavier than one from his old world but more than serviceable. That same tree had made provided the thin wood strips for his bow, along with some glue and bone. It’s inner bark also made a set of water tight baskets that Ulric valued as greatly as his own armor. Containers were king in survival, right up there with cordage.

  It had bothered Ulric at first, these clearly magically natured organisms and materials, but he'd long since stopped caring that this world defied science at random turns. All it meant now was that he had a wonderful wooden cookpot and a healthy suspicion that all was not as it seemed in literally everything around him.

  At some point he would find an encyclopedia of strange shit, that would catalogue the materials and properties of the organisms and ores of this wild assed world. If he didn't find one, it would be a fine task to set himself to, to be the author of such text. Provided he didn’t get himself eaten first. Or killed by the dwarves who very possibly jealously guard their metallurgical secrets, secrets that tempted Ulric, a former metallurgist, mightily.

  Soon the smell of stewing meat and veggies pervaded the camp. Brighteyes was thusly summoned and joined Ulric in a sunrise meal, taken in quiet, as usual. When both parties had eaten their fill, cleaning the last of the liquid in the pot up through a gulping slurp of rich juices from their bowls, they disassembled the shelter and made camp disappear back into their packs.

  The ashes of the campfire and any other traces would be removed by the gate's own magics, according the Brighteyes.

  "Like a great sun, it burns." the elf explained, "All that is not the stone of the gate is gone. It does not do this while in presence of living beings, it is keyed to the emanation of the core. Old magic and powerful, it does not fade nor need a caster to ready."

  His awe was evident for the workings of these powers long gone.

  That got Ulric to thinking, he was always uncomfortable with references to ancient super power civilizations that fell. There were good reasons when such sophisticated peoples fell to ruin and, normally, a lesson to be learned from their passing.

  "What happened to the people who made this magic Brighteyes? Why did they vanish, when they had such power?" He asked.

  Brighteyes shook his head immediately and shrugged, replying "None of Elf kind know, nor any of the Otherkin that is known to my tribe. There was…event…destruction of large scale. Cataclysm. But long, long ago. Ruins mostly buried deep, few remain on surface. Most that go looking for the graves of Ancients never heard from again. A few bring ruin, uncover the Sepul’kra."

  A new word from the Prince, spoken with gravity, and no little dread. Mention of whatever this Sepul’kra was got Ulric's attention immediately.

  "What are these, uh, Sepulchers?" he asked, wondering at how much overlap existed between the myths of his homeland and the realities of this place.

  “Sepul’kra, and origin not clear, only know result.” Brighteyes said, not unwilling to discuss these things, given their rarity, “Relic of Ancients, all house corrupted core of great mana.”

  Small boy elf fingers spread in a vague gesture, and the serious Aes’r child’s eyes held Ulrics as he told of something akin to Aes’r ghost stories, “Sepul’kra creates dense mist of mana, twisting Field. Beasts attracted, cores attracted, is…like hunger but different, is story. Over time, days, weeks at most, they grow in strength, viciousness, and cunning. Monsters of these places tied to it, cannot leave for long but can come to surface through veins of relic expansion.”

  In the dawn’s light, Ulric watched the boy make an expanding circle with his hands, not even slightly creeped out, because he was a grown man, and a man of science.

  “Sepul’kra grows always, but slow, very slow,” Brighteyes intoned gravely, “Make corridors, mazes, expand confines of its power, reality is not what it seems, is folded as is Varda Field. If left unchecked, can reach surface eventually. Happens sometimes that growth nodes not detected, opens to land and monsters rush out, destroy whatever place near, take people, Sepul’kra consume, turn, make more monsters. Father thinks Sepul’kra were how Ancients guard their cities. Make living fortress to raise army and attack on own, prevent some evil from approaching but making even greater evil when lose control. Maybe cause Cataclysm, if all Sepul’kra break open at same time.”

  Now the boy sat back on his haunches, the Aes’r fable at its end, “But is not certain, Ulric Glade Chief. Only known that sometimes monsters pour from ground from places that don’t belong, places that look like Ancient’s Gate, but dark, evil. Then, Hunters, Warriors, must delve deep enough to destroy nodes stops them. Sometimes brave idiots go searching. Sometimes even idiots lucky, artifacts of great power found in Sepul’kra, is thing of Ancients, after all. Potent Relics. There is myth, if reach core, can take part of power into self. Terrible power. Become something other, something older, from time lost. Is worms in head, but possible, no knowing. Bad places, mostly, best avoid."

  Brighteyes was somber during this recitation of knowledge. Whatever the hell these places were, Ulric was determined not to find one or go borrowing trouble.

  "No worries there Brighteyes. I've lived here a single season and this old forest has basically kicked my ass. No need to go out of my way to search up Spookyville." Ulric was quick to reassure his companion that he had no intention of stirring hornet's nests.

  "Let's get this lift going, shall we?"

  At Ulric's insistence Brighteyes approached the crystal pagoda and laid a hand on the “call button” the circle within a circle. It pulsed orange. Without a single sound, the displaced floating platform slid with eerily weightless smoothness to join the main structure of the Ancient’s Gate. So well did the thing align, Ulric saw no joint. With a gesture, Brighteyes indicated that they move to the elevator platform, so he did.

  Next, the boy hit the open circle, another orange pulse of light, and then, smoothly, the platform they stood on glided back to its hovering position, now back inside the four pillars the stood connecting ground to sky. There was nothing beneath them, and Ulric found that he did not so much care for this experience. He clamped down on that though, he couldn’t be getting the jitters over a glorified Mayan themed cargo lift.

  The lad pressed the stylized downward arrow, which nearly made Ulric giggle at its sheer bizarre familiarity. Here they were leaving Fern Gulley to visit the Elven homelands and they were going to take the elevator. Life has a funny way of taking the familiar and turning it on its head. Brighteyes' touch did nothing, or at least it seemed that way at first. A few seconds later though, the symbol lit from within, glowing a blue white light and the crystal obelisk began to softly emit the same light while the white swathes of whispy color within the blue started to swirl.

  It was an with a start a few seconds later that Ulric realized that they were, in fact, descending rapidly. He'd felt nothing and, if he hadn't turned from his study of the light show on that crystal, he'd have never known they were moving. They should definitely be feeling some weightlessness, at least when the damn thing had started falling. Somehow, this device had canceled inertia.

  The landscape was changing rapidly, their approach to the forest below marked by sight only, designs on pillars shooting by to let him see how rapidly they made their descent but with no movement of air within the Ancient’s Gate or sensation to denote any motion whatsoever. Fucking creepy.

  In a scant few minutes, the trees, once so distant their canopies were an impressionist blur, resolved into the tops of large deciduous arbors roughly similar to the species of Earth. Rapidly approached sprawling canopies of fading golds, browns, and healthy doses of evergreen and even a common dark azure conifer. As he watched the crowns of the forest rose up to meet the travelers as if they'd jumped from the top and they penetrated the tree tops at frightful speed, with the ground hurtling up to smash them to paste, or so it seemed. The gate decelerated violently, at least to his eyes, and to the clouds of displaced dust and forest detritus errantly blown that morning beneath the platform’s resting place, but without sensation for his body to know it. If not for the fact that he'd been watching the pillars and the surroundings Ulric would have never known they had just lost a couple of kilometers altitude in barely half a minute. Impressive work, that was.

  The obelisk light dimmed and that was evidently the only indication you were going to get that the lift had stopped.

  Ulric turned to Brighteyes, still more than slightly flabbergasted at the experience. His eyes took in an elf that appeared to be turning several shades of green. Several burps escaped the mortified boy. It was pretty clear which direction this was going to go.

  "Brighteyes, did you know it was going to be like that?"

  "No, Ulric, was odd. Moving but no feeling moving, it makes mind spin. Can I be sick?" He answered his own question by spewing a fine spread of breakfast over the platform stones.

  Hands on knees and he did not look to be having fun. After having wiped his mouth, the elf turned sheepishly to Ulric and raised his eyebrows, his expressive almond eyes heavy with motion sickness.

  "Ulric Glade Chief, next time you turn on magic while I sleep."

  The lad was clearly not having a great time.

  Ulric chuckled and steered the conversation elsewhere hoping to cheer his traveling partner up and gloss over the sickness, which embarrassed some folk. He'd spent his whole life driving cars so motion sickness like this was long forgotten. But moving without sensation could really jerk with the visual vestibular integration. The eyes tell you you're whipping around, the vestibular organs of the inner ear detect nothing, and the conflicting neural input had the result of intense nausea.

  The experience was highly unpleasant. It was especially hard on a high strung elf kid trying to project confidence on what amounted to, their first big field trip. Ulric had taken a fishing tour once, on rough seas. He'd never been in a boat before that and the rolling swells had induced projectile vomiting nearly immediately. The trip was one of the worst experiences of his life. He had spent nearly four hours barely able to stand before it had eased, and hadn't been able to eat or drink until back on land.

  Sickness was generally damaging to the pride of someone who was normally completely in control of their faculties and they disliked the perception of weakness or vulnerability to something that apparently affected only them. Needless to say, he was sympathetic to Brighteyes' plight. Coming up with a diversion would be good for the both of them. It was also an opportunity to address something that had long needed attention.

  "You got it kid. It helps with such things, just so you know, if you focus your attention on the floor or other fixed points that won't move. By the way, you don't need to keep calling me Glade Chief. Ulric is good enough, it's not like I was elected by the bushes or something. Which reminds me, I gave you a nickname way back when we first met, it didn't particularly mean anything. I didn't know what else to call you. You got a real name I should know?"

  Now Brighteyes did look to improve a bit. He straightened up and even smiled.

  "Thank you for honor Ulric Glade- Ulric. Some consider it rude to address recognized ruler without title. But I am glad you have no barbs on the pants about it. One neighboring ambassador act like being called by name is insult against mother tree, we know each other for ten world turnings, he still this way."

  Wow that was fast, Ulric thought. Now Brighteyes sounded more like he did before, when he didn't know Ulric had been, apparently, Landed by the Akashic record. Man, that status thing was all kinds of fucky, how did it know- no, save it for later, he'd wasted enough time thinking about that impossible shit, and Brighteyes was still talking.

  "For my name, Brighteyes is fine, is name you give me and is acceptable. You would not know elf custom, and you need learn more Elf language, but most elf names are stylized description given by parents. Elves named twice, once when born, placeholder name as they are baby and all babies the same. Get second name at coming of age. My Naming given last world turn, last year. I am known to my people as Heir Lumyt'seit. It translate to Human language as Flashing Gaze. Was given by my mother."

  Ulric closed his mouth, which had dropped, and scratched his beard sheepishly before laughing at the sheer coincidence.

  "Pretty nail on the head then eh?" Ulric chuckled again.

  "So, Brighteyes it is then?" He checked.

  The young elf, smiled and dipped his chin once.

  "Brighteyes it is Ulric, is fine name."

  And, there you had it, he'd got it in one and Brighteyes would remain Brighteyes.