While firelight splashed against the forest Ulric ran through his old routine of spell practice. This time though he focused on [Lightning Strike]'s applications. He hadn't tried to use it during their previous battle, it never even occurred to him, being too much of an unknown. A man, when the shit was suddenly upon him, turned to the familiar: the club in his hand over the wild arcane. Even where the wild arcane was the better tool.

  “Patient you must be, the Force must you believe in.” Ulric muttered in a high-pitched approximation of a tiny, green, swamp dwelling space wizard from holonets recorded over media that had existed a hundred years and more before holonets.

  The classics.

  Nothing for it, the once engineer wiled away the dark hours working out how to optimize the spellwork, how to fix the Thaumaturgy to avoid blowing himself up if his concentration slipped even a little bit while trying to use it. More. When and where to employ it, and how to limit the collateral damage such a powerful destructive force could unleash. The base knowledge was there, he just had to put it all together.

  Fingers scrubbed through his hair furiously was he sat. How could this be hard? Circuits were fucking simple: voltage and ground, I/O input to output, load, and logic.

  “Alright old man, let’s walk through it again.” He muttered to no one in the deep dark of the forest camp.

  A safe [Lightning Strike] needed a destination well before breakdown in the casting algorithm. He couldn't build the charge and then choose a place to let it go at the last moment, as he had before, it was too demanding on his will and focus to isolate that potential. That was a load problem, he didn’t have the ability to create so much potential and just sit around hanging onto it. Ceraun didn’t like sitting still. Once his little potential difference trick reached the strength to start ionizing air it was too late, was too squirrelly to easily handle. Ceraun’s strength was also it’s weakness, because of how fast things could go from ok to very goddamn not ok. He couldn’t do what he had that first time, and use the budding strike to form its own channel; like using a dammed lake's pressure to carve a spillway that had been.

  “It was bad, Ulric, and you should feel bad.” He commented, closing the book on that method.

  That had been far too chaotic, too close to being uncontrollable. Above all, a man who wanted to employ Ceraun could not permit it to be out of control. Which was why his hand was still healing from a shrapnel wound. On the other hand, no pun intended, choosing the target, building the spark gap channel, and then creating the potential was ass backwards. He'd be locking himself into a specific location well before his spell was ready to actually do anything. He’d be open to being attacked and that method vastly increased the opportunity for his target to move out of the spell's reach.

  There had to be a balance.

  The wood brightened with the same gradual rise of light that had characterized the previous morning by the time he had a workable solution that he thought he could pull off without turning himself into a footnote in a safety protocol write up. His good mood at that was assisted by the subtle transition from soft ghostly silver to warm golden aura. Subtle but impactful, there was something optimistic about the sheen of night giving way to day. He didn’t consciously notice it, but a break in the chill that had lain heavier on mornings helped his attitude.

  Ulric was finishing his meditations on how to bottle lightning. Well, he thought, not as much bottle it as throw it. The solution he'd come up with to balance the inflexibility of creating the path before building the charge was to create a focal point with the reciprocal charge. He’d do it like a huge Van der Graff generator, splitting the poles of the binary electrical magic between two points, that way they were linked, the source to the sink, right from the beginning. His focus object would carry the ion bridge, guiding the arc, and he would position the object to the target mechanically, instead of doing it all juggling the mana with his core. In other words, he would build the potential between himself and the focus, a held object, and throw this focus at his intended target, releasing the spell when his focus reached the target or created a suitable line of sight with it. He didn’t have to be that close with his aim. As his personal experience had taught him, lightning would go out of its way a bit to zap your dumb ass.

  When day rose again, it found him grinning.

  It was a slick workaround for an amateur sorcerer, if he had to say so himself. Using both fundamental principles of electricity and the spell-based creation of discharge paths he'd worked out a way to keep the magic on target and to reduce the chances of a premature discharge or arc that reached back into himself. He'd had the idea while watching the arcs of [Voltaic Grip] snap and pop between his hands. Every positive needed a negative. Every source a sink. So, like any good electrician, just pick your ground and clamp on.

  Testing this out was going to be a hoot, he chuckled to himself.

  Not to say he’d crafted a perfect solution.

  Major compromises had to be made, in Ulric's opinion, as he had, of necessity, vastly reduced one of the spell's advantages: instantaneous speed of attack. Now, the bolt would be limited to the speed at which he could throw the targeting object, which could be dodged far more easily. Having control was worth the loss of speed. He could charge the spell, link it to his focus, throw the focus at a moving target, and release the spell. Ulric would be able to leverage that into more power, which meant that he would have the first spell he considered to be lethal enough to consider a definitive counter to the monsters roaming Varda's landscape.

  Fire was great, but some things would survive burns long enough to kill him, before dying later. A large beast might shrug off the wind magic blades or he might not be able to hit something vital. The frost brand needed him to get close or within throwing distance, and wasn’t necessarily a highly damaging spell to begin with, not like the [Absolute Zero] which was too costly to use and also needed him to be very close to enact it, as he’d failed to ever apply the Thaumaturgy much beyond arm’s reach. Something about how his core put the flows of mana together that he didn’t understand well enough to fix.

  But not much could shrug off getting Zeus’d.

  Theory was sound but he would hold off on the practical test, for now. Preferably until he had a chance to talk to someone who had experience, as Brighteyes had hinted could be arranged. They were too close to the Elven homeland, he wouldn’t have to wait long. Ulric chafed wanting to implement his methods and refine them, but knowing your limits was important. And he didn't want another scolding from Brighteyes about suicide with collateral manslaughter.

  That thought prompted Ulric to shake off the thought fugue he slipped into while hard core warlocking, to get all the way back into the here and now.

  Shit to be done.

  Today was the day that Brighteyes said they should reach the Elven lands proper. He'd get to see an entire Elven village, or town, or kingdom or whatever! That thought made him smile as he got up and set about the camp tasks, now utterly habitual, with the exception of the ginger way he, by necessity, used his injured left arm. Substantially swollen that was, and still significantly painful. Come to think of it, Ulric hadn't been injured to any significant degree in months before he'd rescued Brighteyes.

  "Cursed child begone." Ulric chuckled.

  It made him a little sad that he'd soon be leaving the little guy behind. The glade's silence would be deeper for a while after his return.

  Gently whispering, he woke his black cat's totem and turned the voracious little guy loose on breakfast. Kids his age ate like they had a second stomach. Several weeks of cohabitating had long since established an easy routine of silent tasks during the morning hours. Each had a designated set of responsibilities and they carried them out to the choir of birdcalls that dripped from the tall, if not nearly so mind bogglingly tall as on the plateau, forest upperstory.

  A warmish wind blew hard this morn and shook loose leaves down into camp, to swirl between tree trunks and amongst the thin underbrush. Ulric noted the pleasant, if stiff wind. Hadn’t the boy said there would be a big wind storm? Winter’s Herald, the Elf prince had called it. If this warm atmosphere collided with a sharp cold front, he could easily imagine a hell of a thunderstorm kicking off.

  A final kick of dirt over the last of the campfire's coals was the last task before they departed. The pair set off in silence, Elf lad in the lead through his homeland.

  "Brighteyes, you think we'll get to your home today?" Ulric asked a good few hours later.

  They’d been making steady headway through the nameless, winding trails of Elf country. Brighteyes was going pretty quickly now, a decided bounce in those curiously light steps as he stalked through tangled forest paths with the familiarity of a man driving home from work on the same road day after day.

  The Elf hummed for a second before responding.

  "Is not too likely we get all the way to Irielhos, name for home city, king place, also father tree of Deep Woods Elves," He admitted. "We travel slowly, not as a fault, we are only two in number, and it is best to use caution."

  A moment's delay and Brighteyes continued. "We are well inside Iriel now though, and the paths show marks of hunters, not just the beasts."

  Pointing downwards Brighteyes indicated the beaten track they now traversed. Ulric couldn't see any evidence that would indicate its origin as anything other than the tread of hoof, paws, or other beast-sign.

  "How do you know your folk helped make this path? If you didn’t already know it I mean?" Ulric inquired, pushing one of only a few overhanging branches from his way.

  "They place guide stones. Every ten-span steps there is stone to side of trail to signal it is an Elf road on the forest floor. Hunters do this on any track they use from year to year, but only on the surest and least dangerous. Any path known to use by monsters or greater hunting animals is marked with sign on tree trunks, obvious to all." His guide responded.

  And, now that he mentioned it, Ulric noticed the small stones that had appeared to be completely natural protuberances occurred far too regularly to be so. He'd not have noticed their interval as his eyes were mostly busy scanning the surrounding wood for danger, not examining the trail beneath his feet.

  "Aah, clever, a road with markings that won't scare the game from their tracks." Ulric congratulated.

  Ulric was impressed. It was a tedious and exceedingly painstaking way to differentiate this trail from the myriad others that crisscrossed these wilds. It was also the act of a people who were willing to invest substantial time into ensuring that the safest ways through the forest were known to those who knew to look. These hunters Brighteyes spoke of were appearing more and more likely to also make up the scouting and policing roles of their society, in addition to just taking game.

  At that thought Ulric suddenly came to a realization.

  The last time Brighteyes had been in the company of humans he'd been assaulted and kidnapped. A scion of one of the ruling clans of the Elves had been taken by men. What are the odds that they'd called off the hunt after only a few weeks? If it were him, hunters would be roaming the wood for sign if it took a decade. And those hunters would have very specific orders about what to do with the captors.

  "Brighteyes, when we encounter your people, what the hell are we going to tell them? Also, it occurs to me that I'm a pretty decent target to shoot at from out of the trees, and none of your people know that I'm not part of the lot that attacked you."

  Ulric wasn't planning to deceive anyone or anything, he just wanted to know how they were going to take the return of their young lord with an admittedly less than reputable looking human. It was not helping Ulric's frame of mind that Brighteyes had, his expression changing swiftly from furrowed brow to wide eyed startle, apparently, not thought about the possibility of a zealous Elven hunter schwacking him from the bush to "rescue" their prince. It was, after all, how he'd rescued Brighteyes in the first place, with a little magically inclined aggression helping the cause towards the end.

  "Ah. Ulric, we may have problem." Brighteyes tone grew grave.

  Shit.

  "Shit." Ulric gave voice to his assessment of the situation.

  Brighteyes nodded his agreement.

  "Is bad shit, Ulric Glade Chief; for once worms in head are not wrong,” Prince Brighteyes said, boyish high voice now lower for the gravity of the unforeseen danger, “Iriel Hunters spend more time in treetops traveling the arbor roads than on marked paths. They might see us and think you hostaging me to raiders camp, or from. If they attack, you are probably full of arrows before we know they see us. They will not reveal themselves to me and risk my startle. Not their fault estimating me little, I am young."

  "Would it help if we travel while singing or something? Sort of let them know we're not on bad terms?" He was fishing desperately now.

  "They would assume it to be part of some trap. And the sound would make you an easier target. They probably just shoot you from cover and wait a while for the rest of poachers to come, to easier kill them as they investigate. Then they come and take me back to Iriel." Brighteyes said, putting nails in Ulric's coffin with casual ease.

  "Tell me you have a plan to keep me from being murdered by your kin Brighteyes. I am far too pretty to die in an ambush." The Reforged man said, pessimistically certain the Irony gods would love nothing more than to smite one who did good deeds in the act.

  Ulric was coping, as was his norm, with dry humor. It tended to get even drier as things got worse. Right now, it was positively Saharan.

  Brighteyes glanced at him with confusion for a moment before replying with a slight hesitation, "Ulric Glade Chief, I am sorry, but Elves see things differently. Elf hunters would admire even as they draw back bows. Is not our way to let…you are making fun again are you not?"

  The reborn man found joy in his heart as the elf's confusion turned to a scowl.

  "Is not time for japes. You are chasing the Forest Lord." Brighteyes scolded.

  "Chasing the Forest Lord?" Ulric asked, wondering what the kid meant.

  He hadn’t chased it he’d jumped on it, that was different.

  "It means finding certain violent death to the Aes’r people. And most other peoples, now my thoughts bend to it, even if they don’t know what Forest Lord is." The Heir of Iriel.

  Ah. Wasn't that good news though? Ulric had, in fact, killed the Forest Lord. It was an act that was so unlikely as to never be repeated, born of desperate panic, and abetted by the full gifts of a godly being. But still. Done was done. That probably wouldn't carry water with the Elves here. Maybe make them shoot from slightly farther away, really, just to take no chances.

  "Sorry Brighteyes, it's a habit of mine to make light of bad news." Ulric offered an olive branch to his stressed companion.

  After a moment, the scowling boy relaxed, and shook his head, tossing the blond hair tied in a tufted top knot before he replied, conciliatory “…Accepted Ulric and I am also sorry, is not my place to judge. Is also an Elf thing to laugh at danger. But I owe you debt and it will go ill with me to let you be killed by my own folk as you return me to my home. I can find no humor in this."

  That made Brighteyes' discomfiture a bit clearer to Ulric. It was a matter of his obligation or honor or however Elves conceptualized such things.

  "Let's maybe take a little rest and work this out ahead of time then." The man suggested.

  A nod from Heir Brighteyes, who gladly acceded to a delay to prevent a terrible accident, and they found a shaded place just to the side of the marked path to take a lunch and decide how to proceed.

  As they chewed fresh roasted pork loin, the last of the animal Brighteyes had hunted that wasn’t basically fast smoked into jerky, so did their minds work on the awkward scenario of being ambushed by Brighteyes' kin and Ulric, the person who saved him, being murdered as a compatriot of those men that Ulric had, himself, killed.

  "So," Ulric started, "The main problem is that your hunters don't know what the poachers looked like or that they are all dead, as they went into the canopy of the Ancient’s plateau in their flight and were killed by me and later eaten by its beasts, leaving basically no evidence of who they were or how many. Especially since they also probably don’t know the Forest Lord is dead, since you yourself weren’t aware, and that would have been news to Elf folk. If they see us, they can easily assume I was one of your captors, fled the beasts back down, and shoot me on sight."

  At Brighteyes confirmation, Ulric went on.

  "Then what we need is a way to very clearly broadcast that you are not under duress, that I am not a child harming scum bag, and that we are what we appear to be: a bewildered hermit bringing a rescued Elven youth home. Preferably before I die of a powerful allergy to arrows." Ulric summarized.

  "Is so Ulric. But is also more complicated.” Brighteyes said, trying to construct his explanation in terms that were suitable with his limited command of Human language, greatly improved though that was, “You are slayer of Forest Lord. Recognize through the All-Knowledge as Lord of Ancient Glade. This is no small thing. No man, no creature but the old ravager has walked the Plateau in ages and Varda grant you, umm, what is word? Ownership wrong, but I have no better—Stewardship! Grant stewardship of Sacred Grove. This makes you of status with clan chiefs and makes attack on you a declaration of war between our peoples. And it is between us a debt of blood, from one ruler to another. Important to Iriel’en, my father is debted. It will go badly on family name if I allow you to be killed while you do a service to Iriel King’s house." Brighteyes explained.

  That did sort of put a weird spin on things.

  Ulric scratched at a scab on the back of his neck from little monkey claws that healed itchily and digested that fairly long story.

  He looked at the rather ragged Elf child and said with some reluctance, feeling like he needed to clear the air, "We've never really discussed it Brighteyes, but I don't actually have any peoples. You've never mentioned it, even after you saw my status, and I thank you for your respect of my privacy, but we may need to get things out in the open. I was not born on this world. I was born, and lived the great majority of, an entire human lifespan in another place. Similar in some ways, but, mostly, wildly different in others. There was no magic there, no cores, no mana at all, so far as we ever determined, although I'm starting to have some thoughts about that as I learn more about how mana works here.”

  Ulric looked around at the fae forest, deep, dark, wild and beautiful, even at its nadir, compared to anything he’d ever seen on Earth and told his companion in a steady tone, “I was, at the end of my life in that world, sort of, and then I got kind of destroyed by some god thing that called itself a Watcher, then reforged here in this world in a young man's body, up on the Plateau not far from the glade. It wasn't even half a year ago. I'm not really a lord of anything. I'm a cosmic castaway, mostly. Maybe a semi competent hunter, just recently a fledgling warrior by necessity, and a terribly ignorant magic user. Nobody is going to miss me, certainly there won't be a war over it."

  Ulric felt better about laying everything out in the open. He'd never been actively trying to hide anything but neither had he volunteered a great deal about how he had ended up in the Glade, in a place where no one had any right to be.

  Brighteyes disagreed.

  "All these true only makes it worse." the Elf lord to be pronounced flatly.

  "People have been brought between the stars and up from the great dreamings of other divines before. Immortal Gaze tends world for eons, sometimes with instruments not of Varda. Not unheard of, happens every few Elf generations, if Lorekeeper records trusted. Not always Valin. Sometimes Aes’r. Sometimes Jormun, Beastkin. A few times Svartalfin. Worst was Ogrand, they are a troublesome people by default. Always though, the Reforged carry great destiny. Always they end up changing face of Varda.”

  Ulric hung on the kid’s every word. This was…good news? He wasn’t a complete freak then, and there was precedent. He’d been sort of concerned about being burned alive at a stake if his supernatural origin were discovered. And that might still be an option, but not amongst the Elves, apparently. Brighteyes didn’t look cheerful though, and the boy prince’s next words were troubling.

  “Change not always good. Sometimes terrible. Sometimes turn out to be as demons. Even you are already proof. Forest Lord is dead now and in heart of Orlethrem we will feel its absence first. Others too, ripples reach out. My debt is to see you live, my duty to see you not shake Iriel to pieces with weight of your passing. There is chance that if my people tracked me to Ancient Gate, they despair of finding me alive. Probably not know about death of Forest Lord directly. Older hunters may consider it, the forests will move without the old terror and they have feel for breath of the wood. Dangerous things come now, try to claim the vast territory. Has already started. Golden Heckler Monkey is not supposed to be found so close to normal hunting grounds." Heir Lumytseit explained, reinforcing the severity of the situation.

  Well damn.

  That was a little on the sobering side. Ulric had not considered that his new life had any implicit meaning with respect to anyone else or with their histories. He especially had not thought that his existence would be something of great import to another civilization, or had shaken up the normal workings of this land. He was just a dude. If Brighteyes' message was implying though that people like him had a tendency to rock the boat and make a tsunami, then things were already grossly out of the novice hermit mage’s wheelhouse.

  Ulric scratched his head, fingers running through hair matted in journey's dust as they'd been unable to bathe since leaving the glade, chewing things over in his mind. It didn't add up. He was one guy. All he'd done since getting this second chance was scrape, claw, and scratch his way to survival, admittedly while loving every damned bit of it. Nothing he'd accomplished so far had been anything but desperate struggle against the odds and sheer mule headed stubbornness. Still, ignorance had so far already cost Ulric skin and he wasn't looking to destabilize the homeland of the first intelligent folk he'd met, so best to let Brighteyes set course for now.

  He nearly sighed at the thought of being led around by a kid before he remembered that people in his own world's history had been considered adults for centuries at that age. Different game, different rules. Besides, the boy so far carried himself with poise far above his years. All twenty eight of them, and he stopped himself from giggling at the absurdity of someone half his age being a child.

  "Ok then Brighteyes, I see what you're saying. You'll not get any argument from me that the last thing we both want is your kin taking shots at me, nor do I want any part of conflict with your people. Or to cause them trouble, even if by accident. So, what we need is a plan, to make sure that everybody knows I mean no harm and that you aren't being held against your will through some sneaky plot. I'm coming up blank though."

  And he was. Maybe it was an overactive imagination but Ulric couldn't think of anything they could do that wouldn't appear to be a ruse to any watching elves or get them both eaten if something attacked. If the hunters of this land traveled in triplets, they were already down a man for what was considered safe travels, so tying Ulric's hands or not carrying weapons was a hard no. There might be more of those monkeys. There were probably worse things. It was a near certainty that the Elven hunters or warriors looking for their kin would most likely have the advantage of position from the branches above. Ulric knew personally how powerful that was, especially when you also had surprise on your side. He had no illusion about his archery skills compared to that of these folk. They needed to reduce the odds of some random attack or sudden ambush, give the Elves they came across reason to not be hasty. The hunters wouldn't take a shot that risked their lordling so staying close to Brighteyes was a definite yes. In the same way, any sort of threatening or perceived power over him would be a definite no and objections would be fletched. Tricky. If only he looked like an Elf. Wait.

  "Brighteyes, I know I'm worms in head, but how would the Elven hunters even know it was you or that I wasn't an Elf if they couldn't see our faces?" Ulric asked.

  That gave the kid pause. He considered it before sharing his thoughts.

  "This just barely possible. Humans almost never this far in deep wood, is one reason I and friend investigate sign of the raiders in our lands. We see a Beastkin and Human from monster trail and go to find them butchering monster for core. We were so surprised to see Otherkin that we allow them to take flank. Idiocy. But if Hunters cannot see faces and you are not speaking, we may pass for elf travelers. We are outfitted like nomadic warriors from other clans. Might work. Until they use [Scan]."

  Ulric's budding enthusiasm died on the vine. He'd forgot about [Scan]. Cheating ass magical bullshit. Maybe there were ways around it.

  "Is there, I dunno, any way to spoof [Scan]? Stop it from revealing us or make it say I'm an elf or something?"

  One definitive shake killed that before the lad even said anything.

  "No. [Scan] is reading All-Knowledge and All-Knowledge never lies.” Brighteyes rejected that possibility with certainty, “There is case where some cannot have status read, but only if they are far, far, above in power and trained in mage arts. You are much stronger than me, Ulric, but I still [Scan] easily. Hunters have no problem, even have skills to make their [Scan] more potent. But is not bad idea to go with faces covered. At least Hunters probably do not shoot immediately, gives time put you under protection."

  Okay, Ulric dry washed his hands, allowed to be a little optimistic, even if they couldn't deny [Scan], at least they probably prevented being shot from cover. That was definitely not nothing.

  "Good enough reason for me Brighteyes. We might want us a little camp kiddo, it's going to take bit, but I'll make a mask."

  "You can make masks, Ulric?" Brighteyes was strangely intrigued. Odd. He was normally a little more skeptical of Ulric's ideas.

  "Yeah, sure. I’ve seen a few nifty ones, there were art galleries I was forced to go to a few times by this one lass, real bomber of an…Ehem, anyway. I’ve got some ideas. No way to know but to try right?" Ulric replied, aborting rapidly a topic that youthful ears of all sizes probably didn’t need to hear.

  Ulric pulled his axe free of its pack loop and the two of them took a few minutes to find a suitable dead standing. Ulric got one first. Thick as his thigh, it had long ago shed its limbs. A few taps on the trunk confirmed its soundness though, it hadn't yet succumbed to rot. Just gotten dry with death and lost its limbs to the wind. Which, Ulric realized, had picked up significantly over the course of the day. It had also continued to warm, or so he thought.

  Even sitting still while they chatted, he had been definitely on the high side of resting comfort.

  "Little guy, is it just me or is it a touch warm today?" Ulric voiced his curiosity.

  "Not just you. This warmth is the dying Autumn. Very, very soon is Winter's Herald Storm and the Festival of Lost. We need get to Iriel Ulric, the storm will bring strong wind, heavy rain. It is not good to be caught unsheltered." the Iriel native assured him.

  Not that Ulric was half-assing or anything but the warning did spur him to proper action and he had soon dropped the dead tree. Next, he cut free the distal end with a few minutes steady chopping, where the diameter was about right, and peeled its bark. His Forest Lord wood axe was a proper beast, shedding the old bark like paper. Looking at the log, he figured that he could carve the round edge pretty easily into a mask, he just needed about a thirty centimeter by twenty-centimeter rectangle from the rounded side.

  Nothing fancy, he could probably pull off a crude approximation of a Noh mask pretty quickly. It wouldn’t be pretty, but maybe the crudeness would make a marksman stop to ask questions before shooting.

  A few chops, bit biting satisfyingly deep let him form the edges of the piece and he used his belt knife like a chisel, driving it under the end of the round to pry off the pieces he could fine down to a convex oval that would fit over his face. He finished the hammering, removing a nice, round, approximately face large piece of dead hardwood. Brighteyes watched from his seat on the felled log, rapt. Ulric thought the attention unwarranted, but maybe masks had some kind of Elf cultural stuff associated with them. It wouldn’t have been unheard of, not at all. Many old cultures on Earth practiced ritual mask making or had important religious connotations with mask wearing. He hoped his design wasn’t something considered rude or threatening, that would not be amusing.

  Ulric had a knack for pissing people off that didn’t need any accidental help.

  His bone knife, awls, and some convincing with heavy strikes from the side of his axe would make the two wide eye slits large enough to view out of but he'd have to cut the curve of the mask to really know how good visibility would be. For now, he marked the eye locations with a quick scribing of the awl, as well as a rough outline of his face, a sharply rounded U with a flat line across the top.

  Brighteyes set up camp, borrowing Ulric's axe to work the remaining timber into firewood, their journey abruptly halted while they made accommodations to prevent Ulric from dying to the welcome wagon. Ulric went to work with his knife.

  Woodwork had never been a strong suit for Ulric, especially not without his tools. The intervening months had some good to change that. He'd picked up a few skills, like notching, chiseling, and simple peg/mortis joinery. Mask making was a far more delicate and painstaking project than he'd given it credit. He'd removed a lot more material from the back side than he'd though he'd need to, the curvature from a flat piece was hard to achieve with his limited skills. If he had to do it again, he'd have left the damned log round and cut out the segments to leave them rounded on one side, way easier than getting a flat to round again.

  He was also missing his collection of woodcarving utensils, which would have greatly sped this up. A glassresin hook knife would have done wonders. So would a chainsaw. But this is where he was and he used what he had. The only advantage he really had to go on was that his knife was way the hell harder than this wood and sharp, having been flint knapped and then ground to polish. Now that had been tedious. This was a walk in the park in comparison. Mainly he had to be careful not to hork off too much wood or create a crack. It took an hour but he finally achieved a rounded back that fit his face.

  It was noon before he accomplished a facsimile of a plain wooden mask with two eye wholes. It covered his whole face and, the vision wasn't terrible, though it smooshed his nose to achieve that. Two sets of holes punched in the mask and in the hood of his travel cloak let him tie the mask to the hood so that when he pulled the hood up the mask could cover his face and with the hood down the mask would rest inside the hood.

  It looked like something an eighth grader with a band saw might produce, but he'd take it.

  When he finished checking its fit, he turned to Brighteyes with his hood up and the mask in place.

  "Well? What do you think Chiefling Brighteyes?"

  The young elf was giddy. Huh.

  "I want one Ulric! This is important, I need a mask too. You should have said you could do this from the beginning. Please, I will give you the Plated Boar core in repayment."

  It would seem that boys would be boys everywhere. This was the kind of thing that sixteen-year old himself would have loved too. For that matter, he didn't hate it now.

  Ulric patted the elf on the shoulder. It was rare for him to show such obvious happiness about something, the kid was way too serious for his age.

  "One juvenile Elf Prince mask, coming up. I'll do this one even better, promise."

  Midafternoon came and went, the light of the wood starting to golden with the passage of the twinned suns dancing around each other through the cosmos, before Ulric straightened from his task of adjusting the mask to his ward's hood.

  Brighteyes immediately put it on and laughed. Laughed!

  "Ulric Glade Chief this is like story. We are like heroes from tales now! We will go to Iriel under cover and surprise my father with our adventure. It will be glory." the boy ranted.

  Not an emotional man, he considered the sight of the Aes’r child running in a circle with arms out prattling about tales of this and adventures of that, folk lore of the boy’s people a watershed moment. Ulric taken responsibility for the elf since he'd decided to put an end to the men who had oppressed him. In all that time, Brighteyes had been serious to the point of dour, only rarely letting his emotions touch the surface, holding them close while he grieved for both his friend and his childhood. That this simple thing could allow the downcast elf to be a boy again was…impactful…for the man. It was something he'd missed out on in his prior life, being able to create joy. He'd been consumed with his own goals, his own passions, and, eventually, his own failures as a person. Varda had given him the time and distance from himself, forced him outside and to deal with the world with no option to retreat inwards, that gave him perspective on why his previous life had ended as it had.

  Growth comes in many forms but making a kid happy seemed an odd way to come to terms with your fuckups. Ulric felt like it was a good place to start. Though he couldn't help but find it strange that a laughing kid could touch him, but the slaying of multiple men, scumbags that they were, had left no impression. To this day that memory only felt slightly more significant than hunting game for food, like simple necessity.

  The duality of man, Ulric thought to himself. Nice. Best to reign in his companion though before his enthusiasm got Ulric dead. Not too hard though, soft touch.

  "I'm glad you like it Brighteyes. We'll definitely show your dad and everything, they'll be real proud of how you led us here like one of your people's hunters. But let's not forget that they're probably beside themselves not knowing you made it and the idea here is to avoid getting killed, not guaranteeing it." Ulric promised, trying to temper his Elven comrade's enthusiasm with reason.

  It worked. Mostly. Brighteyes settled himself down and cleared his throat. He only giggled a little.

  "Thank you Ulric. This is a fine gift. Masked warriors battling monsters and enemies of Iriel was my favorite stories. This journey is like a tale of my people. We fight monsters, return from place of ultimate danger, and journey escaping from evil men. I will not forget for all of my life."

  Ulric smiled. "We told similar stories in my old world Brighteyes. And, yeah, it's been fun. Weird and a little tragic. But fun."

  With this declaration, they broke camp and made a long march into late evening. Masked adventurers, returning home from their exploits for one, and stepping forward on a new journey for another. Kilometers passed as golden light filtered through the failing canopy. The calls and smells of the last of autumn were made stark by the quiet passage of their travel. The drastic change in temperature, compared to recent weeks, was accompanied by a wind that was remarkable for its gusty bursts. The Plateau had been characterized by a steady, pushing breeze that only stilled at night. This one though carried the energy of the coming squall that the Elves used to mark Winter's hold on the land. Intermittent chilly swirls served as reminder of the incumbent season.

  True dark had fallen hours ago, Ulric was virtually blind, and even Brighteyes had to summon a pale silver globe of moonlight to continue with sure footing. At the sound of a small stream gurgling amongst rocks they turned from the trail and made a camp by its banks. Shelter was set up in the dark, the moonlight spell shedding ghostly twilight for tasks and only dismissed once crackling flame had grown bright enough to banish its necessity. It would be a short sleep but the distance they'd made would offset the time they'd used to obtain their incognito status. Watch was sorted by the duration for the fire to burn down, with the Elven youth, as usual, taking first watch.

  Ulric took his watch, brief as it was. Already the dark outside their camp was ever so much less than its depth as they'd traveled. He decided to take care of all the camp chores, given the elf lad had carried their last night's journey, and let Brighteyes sleep in. There was a moment, while he bent down to fill water bags, when he had a brief spike of worry. A [Heckler monkey] was in a nearby tree and had started cawing obnoxiously. It threw small sticks and spiced things up with a handful of shit, artfully dodged, but made no other aggression. Ulric was halfway tempted to try to harpoon it with his trident but decided against, best not to tempt fate, and the aggravating little beast left him alone when he retreated back to the fire's glow.

  A glade garlic and onion stew with "potatoes" and dried meat Ulric had started before sunrise. Brighteyes woke to both daylight and the smell of breakfast, the powerful aroma having summoned him from his blankets. Slurping of bowls announced the end of the meal and they made ready to find Elven civilization.

  It had been impossible to tell as they'd traveled at night, but in the dim glow of morning the signs of the Elves' forest domestication became clear. The already sparse undergrowth was cleared, leaving only well-tended clusters of plants, like dispersed herb gardens. The trail they had followed, first a narrow game trail, then widening to a traveler's road, had now become a concourse wide enough to fit a truck, or well, the old rutted tracks indicated probably wagons. Brighteyes had kept them faithfully headed towards the heart of his homeland, using the signs on the guides tones to navigate ever since they'd reached the marked ways.

  Ulric felt a distinct oddness, viewing signs of people again. There was a far different aesthetic, a different feel to the actions of the Elven people on the land. Nowhere was the wood damaged or its inherent "wildness" compromised, it had merely been reigned in. Cultivated. Some of the trees had taps in them and barrels, carved like those of his world from staves but secured by vines instead of metal hoops. The steel wood of his axe handle left him no doubt that there might be some greater mystery to the materials used in these constructions that made their integrity greater than one might suppose from their rustic appearance. They saw none of the natives though. When Ulric asked, he was informed that they were in the far outer edges of the province and that it was distinctly out of season for the collection of saps. These taps were closed and the barrels would fill with rain or snow, to be collected sometimes for water but not for a long while. It was also apparent that, while the roads were well maintained, few traveled them in any density. There were no foot tracks, fresh or otherwise.

  The gently sloping downhill terrain had transitioned from the base of the Plateau to a sort of vast terrace, where a gentle kilometer long grade would be followed by a kilometer of roughly level ground, followed by another grade, and so on. Small streams had aggregated, merging in the various slopes to form wider runs, eventually forming rushing creeks, and now, they were passing the first signs of true tributary rivers to what would be the final joining of the massive Zelas, damn near a flowing lake rather than a river, thanks to the volume of water that was shed by the incredibly large Plateau and tremendous mountain glaciers. The Elven people had incorporated this terrain and the wood itself into their architecture seamlessly. Brighteyes took them across bridges woven of trees, a process that must have taken decades to complete. Other bridges were more familiar rope style designs, though they sagged not at all under the weight of only the two travelers, despite a size that did not suggest such sturdiness.

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  Ulric's intuition told him that the Elves would almost certainly not live in densities anywhere close to those of his previous peoples, they would find it too objectionable to their integration with the natural world. Everything he'd seen so far spoke of a culture wherein the people were children of the forest, caring for their elders. They also had a long view. Nobody in a hurry marked roads with carved stones, depicting which path you tread, every ten paces. They certainly didn't weave a bridge across a middling river five meters across of living trees. It would have been infinitely faster to cut a tree, mill it to lumber, and build a bridge.

  That observation prompted Ulric to ask Brighteyes about one of the common themes to the myths about these folk from his old world. He couldn't help it, they were crossing a fifty meter span that must have taken a century to create.

  "Brighteyes, I hope this isn't a rude thing to ask one of your people, but how long does an elf normally live? For that matter, how long do any of the races you know about normally live?"

  His Elven buddy chewed a lower lip briefly before he answered in his own tongue

  "This is not a rude question Ulric, though it does remind me how little you know of the way of things. The woodland elves of Orlethrem are considered long lived. My father is three hundred and seventy this year, and is in the prime of his life. Old age takes us rarely, the deepwood is dangerous, after all, and Varda can be a harsh mother to her children, but there are not uncommon ancients of seven or eight hundred years. Old Gother is said to be approaching his thousandth year, he has been around since before my grandfather. Of the other races I may only tell you what my tutors tell me. The Svartalfin, the deep dwarves, are rugged peoples and age like stones. They can easily live four or five hundred years and it is hard to tell a fifty year old dwarf from even an ancient one. Grey beards are truly exceptional, they live harsher lives than we Elves in their tunnels and in the hazards of the mountains. The Beastkin are more varied, as relates to their natures. The Wolven mature rapidly and age quickly, similar to humans, they live maybe one hundred years, maybe one hundred and fifty. The Saurus though, they are slower to age, and slower still to reach old age. Rumor says, deep in their homelands, that you can find a Saurus elder that has seen well over fifteen hundred years. This is maybe a tall tale, of course, most will be taken by some accident or calamity long before then, but it is known that their elders are ancient compared to the others. Humans are among the shortest lived of the races, a mere hundred and twenty or so years. The exception to all of this is in the strongest members of each race. When the core of a creature advances, it strengthens the rest of the body. Truly powerful humans, deep in their classes, with mature cores and reinforced bodies can easily live as long as Elves. This is as much as I know Ulric, to say more is worse than hearsay and you would be better off to learn directly such things from Lorekeepers."

  Wow, he thought, a bit overwhelmed, the kid had answered what he’d thought a simple question with a whole damned lecture.

  It was a lot to digest, linguistic struggles aside.

  Ulric was a little proud of how little repetition and questioning it took to decipher that speech. His Elven was improving.

  So the wide range of ages betwixt races that was on track with some traditions. The Elven longevity was a reality here, if not their immortality. Incredible. So it was for the other races, the nearest in lifespan being those of the animalistic Beastkin. Perhaps that inferred a more recent divergence between the ancestors of these and humans. Brighteyes had used the term Svartalfin to describe the dwarves, that was perilously close to the old Norse description Svartalfin. But the term elf was used to describe his own peoples. Interesting. Perhaps it was that whatever connection existed between this and his old world allowed a transfer of peoples in bidirectional manner and transfers between cultures had created the mishmash of terminologies. He hadn't thought to ask the Watcher about it. Busy with other things, like dying and living again.

  Why would humans have such limited span compared to these other creatures though? They were physically of very similar make up. Brighteyes would have passed as a sort of overly feminine dude with a cosplay fetish back in Ulric's world. Kind of like a prettier blond Leonardo DeCaprio in his youth. It was something he'd have to investigate, Ulric found in himself a powerful curiosity about the peoples that existed in this world. The Watcher had suggested that a sort of guided evolution had been applied to the organisms of this place and that had produced a more efficient, optimized sort of unfolding of speciation. He was no biologist but some of this shit just did not make sense. Until he learned otherwise, he was going to blame it all on magical shenanigans. The revelation about core evolution supported that hypothesis.

  The irony that a former scientist would now examine a scenario and shrug "Eh. Magic." to explain it was not lost on him.

  Thoughts of folklore and mythos forestalled cross examination regarding Watcher genetic shenanigans and general arcane biology fuckery. Ulric filled his thoughts with everything from well-reasoned conjecture to wild assed guesses as he trailed the Elf lad through widening, clearly demarcated trails that probably constituted not just the odd hunter’s footpath but actual roads of the light stepping Elves. Increasingly, over the last couple of hours, they passed through an increasingly lived in landscape. The touch of the Deep Woods Elves was light on the forest though, you could be forgiven for thinking you were walking through a painstakingly preserved nature reserve. Throughout, there was a feeling of reverent tending, of a oneness with the land unlike anything on Earth. Mankind never found anything approaching the oneness with nature that he saw in the carefully tended gardens, the trimmed tree limbs, pruning that gave an impression of wildness that was constrained, not to make it more useful, but to make it more vibrant, cultivation that was the opposite of exploitative.

  His companion had fallen silent, was even smiling, basking in the return of the familiar. The youth was coming home, that much was certain about those slightly alien thoughts. Ulric supposed that a he couldn’t blame the Iriel’en prince being lost thinking whatever things Elves thought about when returning home from a long trip away. Probably about his family. Brighteyes had spoken little of his immediate kin, nor of his personal life, not that Ulric would complain. He was no open book to spew up his life story unbidden and thought such people incredibly odd. Beside which, they had largely been dealing with a host of stuff and things and neither had the personal failing of needing to spoil a perfectly good silence with unnecessary noise. It was one of the reasons Ulric suspected he'd felt none of that old familiar disgruntlement at company. Or perhaps he’d shed a few of his thorns between dying and living again.

  Certainly not all, if Brighteyes had been a chatter box, Ulric would have quickly grown abraded at the too frequent need to converse, without anything truly interesting to say. Too many people felt like they had to be saying something, anything, all the time, for Ulric's liking.

  Such always ended up watering down the experience of them to his mind and prodded him to keep his exposures within short durations, lest it become obvious he was frustrated at being around them. His few friends were of a minimalistic persuasion and he'd more than once been accused by a girlfriend, short in duration as that tended to be, of being a sullen, withdrawn asshole. Maybe he had been, to give them a little credit. Ulric Einar was not a perfect man, nor, perhaps, even a good one. Especially at playing the warm, supportive partner. He’d probably been downright unfair to those women who’d given him time of day, as a matter of fact. Too unwilling to bring himself to a middle ground.

  Musings about his failure to successfully form pair bonds lasted only a few moments, obliterated by the increasingly captivating signs of Iriel’en civilization.

  Brighteyes no longer even bothered glancing about into the trees or side trails for danger, he marched along without concern. A kid walking in his own back yard.

  Even before the high-born kid’s nonchalance; it had become increasingly obvious that they had entered a realm of relative safety. Distant growls, cries, crashes in the brush, and such had long since faded as the presence of civilization, intertwined with the forest as it was, drove the beasts to skirt away into the true wilds.

  Just now, he gawped shamelessly at the artistry of a gigantic water wheel carved of some timber, oiled, and turning in one of the myriad small tributary streams that ran through this area. Terraced ground by these streams was sometimes flooded, a water wheel acting as a lift to deliver a steady portion of the stream to sophisticated set of aqueducts. Agriculture was not just practiced, he saw, it was mastered. Iriel’en farms used a cultivation method called on Earth multi-layer cropping, wherein the plots were sowed with a variety of different plants, each with different maturation times and heights, complimentary to one another. The Deep Woods Elves took this idea and turned it to ten. They grew their “fields” in a harmony of cultivars that was difficult for him to differentiate from the wild lands they’d come through, except that they were neater, free of leaf fall, and even healthier looking than the wild wood.

  They passed a large water wheel connected to an actual building, many more arches and circular windows than Ulric was used to in architecture, the wheel turning easily in the current of a small stream. Whatever mechanism lay inside was a mystery to Ulric, if not his companion, who offered no commentary. Ulric could see several more of these structures. Mills? Whatever they were at large increments down the path of the water. No people though. Odd that.

  Unconsciously, both of them had relaxed that tight vigilance which was the first line of defense against the hazards of the Vardan wilderness. Maybe that was why they didn't notice the archer drawing an arrow to cheek from a branch a mere twenty meters away.

  Or maybe the archer was that good. It would be a cause for discussion later.

  Brighteyes yelled, high pitched, denial, around the same time Ulric stopped cold, midstride, some buzzing in his peripheral mind screaming at him to freeze. The arrow, probably meant to take him in the neck as he stepped forward, blurred into the dirt with a soft pat. Mottled bronze and black feathers, pinions from some kind of hawk, hadn't stopped vibrating before and adrenaline soaked Ulric’s awareness.

  [Warrior’s Instinct] lent sudden clarity to understand that he was being assaulted by some kind of sniper. A flex of the link to his Warrior subclass flipped a switch, activated the skill [Battle Rhythm]. Instantly Ulric found himself ever so slightly anticipating the arrow he knew would be on its way to where he stood. The sniper would have another on the way, reacting to the miss before the targets, already adjusted for his sudden halt.

  A step back, flinging the wood mask off so he had access to peripheral vision, and the second streaking dart went through where his chest would have been, at an angle that showed him where the fire was coming from. Baseball players were supposed to be able to see the stitches of a ball and judge if it was a curve or a slider. Ulric thought that sounded ridiculous until he counted the stripes on the fletches as the arrow zipped by where it was supposed to kill him. A tree, forty meters away, and he lifted his gaze to see a long-limbed profile, browns and greens of garb, nearly invisible against the tree they had hidden themselves in to conduct their assassination, already drawing with incredible speed a third arrow to cheek.

  This time Ulric knew where and when the arrow would come, fast, faster than he or any man of Earth had ever been, he threw himself to the side, cursing when a streak of heat slapped across his lower leg.

  This fucking guy!

  They'd adjusted for the dodge at the last second, had put the shot almost exactly where he’d planted his leg, the arrow had carved a thin line of blood across Ulric's calf muscle before joining its companions in the ground.

  Another bolt would be coming, no time for anything fancy. Ulric ripped his pack off and dipped his shoulders left before he launched himself to the right, a juke straight out of Sweetness' repertoire, and he put the entire audience out of their tennis shoes. This next arrow, slightly rushed, delivered to where his heart would have been if not for the evasion missed wide, buying the man a breath to respond, which he did by launching himself into a dead run.

  Shouts from his companion went unheeded, the Reforged man was in the thick of it now, concentrating on staying alive, and, increasingly, with a mind to start killing the shit out of whoever was shooting at him. Pounding feet carried him to the right of the archer's tree, forcing them to turn their body, which should slow their next shot. He made their life harder by throwing fire as he went.

  [Flame Crash]

  A spherical gout of billowing flame bolted from Ulric's hand towards the tree. It would dissipate slightly at that range, might lack the power that had allowed him to melt the blue skinned Ogreman. Even so, most peoples enjoyed a fireball in their face like a visit from Jehovas Witnesses and he was counting on their assailant to be no True Believer.

  He almost thought he'd gotten himself an advantage with the fire until the difficult to make out attacker calmly, with no apparent concern for the billowing heat rushing in, drew back another arrow, vaulted the fireball by jumping two meters straight up, and fired at Ulric in midair before coming down to land in perfect balance on their limb.

  Ulric cursed as his fire spell zipped past harmlessly and he was almost feathered by their snapshot. This one clacked off his armor at an angle, punching the gear into his chest, hard, even though he’d twisted aside at the last second. His near death bought him time, the enemy had actually waited to see if he was wounded before readying another bolt, and he fled at all speed around the trunk of the tree they used as their firing platform, slinging a pair of [Windscythes] as he did. He didn’t bother to watch the near invisible cyan projectiles go, he had zero expectation that even those screaming fast things would hit, he just needed to buy some friggin space to breath.

  Brighteyes recovered enough from the sudden ambush to unholster his bow, and even drew back for a shot. Then the boy hesitated, apparently unwilling to kill or harm his own people. That wasn't exactly a surprise to Ulric but it was making his life, all two minutes of it if this train carried on the way it was going.

  "Just shoot at them, for fuck's sake, you don't have to hit'em!" Ulric yelled, a little more breathlessly than he would've liked, coming closer to the would-be killer’s position, safe for a few seconds in its blind spot.

  That bow had some serious draw strength, damned near as much as his own, and he was cheating with pretty advanced laminated solid core technology. The arrows coming in were way too fast, he could barely react to them, had to anticipate them. His armor had many gaps a skilled archer could find, and this was a skilled archer.

  Realizing that Ulric's path was taking him around the trunk where another shot wouldn't be possible, the archer moved. In a single fluid motion secured the bow over their chest and leapt seven meters to the side, two meters upward like a panther, grabbed the limb of the tree in line with Ulric's attempted evasion, and hauled themselves up one handed to a crouch. Unbelievably fast, the sniper readied the bow, nocked, drew, released, within a breath, leaving Ulric completely exposed.

  That was just unfucking fair, was what that was.

  Ulric was forced to stop cold, his legs screamed as his feet dug deeply into the forest floor, the arrow cutting off his retreat. Had he not been as nearly inhumanly fast as he was, had he not trained so hard racing with Brighteyes, learning to use his body's agility to its utmost, he'd be dead. A frantic few seconds ensued. Ulric was forced again to dive aside, the arrow moving through where his legs had been, scrambling briefly before regaining his feet to run. They were targeting his legs now, preventing him from getting to a proper sprint, keeping him off balance. Another bolt pinged off his back and snarled up in his sleeve, and the anger that had built up at the sheer audacity of some fucking punk trying to kill him slipped its leash.

  Ok. Enough. There was a time for being diplomatic, and they were well past that.

  As the Archer drew their next shot Ulric threw up both hands, heaving at his core as he did. He didn't want to do it, kill one of Brighteyes kin folk, but the Plateau had taught him well; Varda plays for keeps and so would he.

  [Hydrocutter]

  A narrow beam of conjured water, eating up his mana at the cost of waiting to gather available water from the air, lanced towards the crouched Archer.

  They evidently knew this spell was more serious than the last one, they respected it enough to roll backwards off the branch, dropping to the forest floor, landing like they'd been standing there all along as the beam of pressurized water pulverized a deep gouge in the bark of the tree above. A mistake, Ulric got his first chance to pressure the ungodly fast assailant as he didn't need to cast again; he simply dragged the water stream down like a liquid carving knife, diagonally, following the falling outline of the Archer, whose hood slipped aside, revealing a flash of brown skin and jet black hair, but he didn’t waste attention on superficial stuff, he was trying to kill them, not draw a picture.

  High pressure water could cut steel and Ulric's spell ripped a thin line out of the tree as he guided it rapidly towards their attacker, who was readying to fire again before they realized that he hadn't stopped the spell. Now they were the one forced to dodge, rolling sideways. But the jet clipped the top handspan off their bow as they did.

  Ulric nearly smiled when he saw the tension in the string of their assailant's bow go slack, the weapon rendered useless. His opponent threw the ruined weapon aside and rose to a fighting posture. He'd used more than half his mana pool on that much water, combined with the rest of the spells, but his body felt light from the combat rush and he moved to keep the attacker's back pinned to the tree to limit their mobility. Eagerness to get his hands on this sonofabitch propelled him forward, but he didn’t rush, kept his eyes darting at the surroundings in case another shitbird decided they needed killing too.

  It would appear the game was still on, as the figure rose from their crouch, evidently thinking he didn’t have any more magic to use—how he was going to just ruin their day for that little error— and drew a fighting fancily hilted knife as long as Ulric's forearm. That was a knife meant for killing things, curved, broad at the hilt while tapering to its tip, and sharpened down both sides. The Hunter began a measured approach, graceful steps well balanced. Ulric could feel the beating pulse of things now, his eyes unfocused, taking everything in, keeping the attacker’s outline in view while absorbing the background in his peripherals, the assassin was ready to dodge, or to leap for a swift thrust. Perhaps they knew he was still magically potent, thinking he was holding something back to open up with when they got closer.

  A belief Ulric intended to make true, he was overcharging a [Flame Crash] that would reduce them to cinders from point blank range with what was left of his mana as soon as they were close enough that he could be certain they wouldn’t do that boneless grace shit out from under it. Fury was in every inch of him now.

  "Stop! Stop! No more, this is done!" Brighteyes yelled, in a mix of Human and Elven.

  Neither combatant paused, this was going to get settled.

  Brighteyes finally got his shit together long enough to put and arrow between the feet of the bushwacking asshole. Then another at his own.

  Hey now! He scowled at the kid. That was very close to a provocation, and Ulric Einar was, just right now, very sorely provoked. But fine, if that’s the way the Prince wanted it, he’d play along. For now.

  The kid's arrows pulled the both of them up short with only a half dozen meters between them. Ulric had honestly mostly forgotten the lad was there in his focus on the fight. Breathing out, he released his hold on his mana, feeling it settle back down into his core. The beating pulse of [Battle Rhythm] in his mind vanished, leaving him feeling a little lost in the sauce, but the anger, that hadn’t gone anywhere. In fact, it was rolling to a fine boil now. Maybe they’d do something stupid and he could go ahead and charcoal them.

  For his part, he'd lost his trident at some point. He wasn't too clear about it but the damned thing was all the way over next to the first two arrows so he'd probably dropped it. Memories under stress were a funny thing. What wasn't funny was what Ulric was thinking about doing to this…this…Huh.

  Ulric stopped where he was, knife—now where had he gotten that?— forgotten in hand.

  He'd been so utterly focused on avoiding the arrows, on trying to mount something close to a counter attack, and they moved like some kind of tiger to make things harder, to the point he had barely registered the form of the attacker at all. Now that they were standing still and he wasn't practicing the five d's of dodgeball against arrows that were moving like crossbow bolts he could see her. And, whoo boy, was it a her. That was a her to end all hers, especially now that he noticed the cloak had gotten slashed so that it hung mostly useless, unexpected success of his wind spells.

  Watcher forgive me, for I worship at alters other than yours, flittered across his battle juiced, half wild mind, inanely.

  Black hair in a waist-length braid, complex weave terminating in a wooden ring, it nearly shimmered blue in the light. She wore dark brown thigh high leather boots that accentuated strong legs that went on forever. Wide hips flared under a far too sensible set of some grey green fabric slacks that looked like it might be canvas, or maybe just a thick wool. Her body, attired in thick doublet of the same material as the slacks over some skintight base layer—maybe silk?— whatever, that figure would have made an Olympic volleyball coach sweat. Tall, lean, with two notable exceptions, and powerful. To top it all off, the jawline, oval face, delicate cheek bones, on a face was locked in a hateful grimace, and that was a shame, she was going to get wrinkles in a few centuries like that. Her small cute nose tied together the long, curved ears, full lips, and almond shaped eyes. Speaking of eyes, they were brilliant veridian jewels cut with burnished bronze flecks and the anger in them did nothing to detract from their beauty. Her skin, what little he could see, was a deeply tanned almost Persian brown that stood in contrast to Brighteyes own pale coloration. Wow, this Elf was smoking hot.

  Pretty. And dangerous. Bestill this heart Ulric thought.

  And here he'd been just about to murder this bewitching creature.

  Were they all like this? Ulric was already pleasantly surprised at this first contact with the Elven peoples. Brighteyes should have been a good indication. Ulric wasn’t a good judge but he was pretty certain that kid was going to be stopping the ladies in their tracks when he grew up. It was enough to make Ulric feel bad about the scars that were probably going to be left by those godsdamned monkeys that had bitten the lad, and the broken nose of his capture. The smooth features of these two members of their race were in total contrast to the harshly angled planes and alien features of some traditions. So, probably the interconnections between worlds had been some kind of Northern Germanic, those tales spoke of otherworldly beauties.

  Oh, shit. They were talking. And something might be wrong with his brain, he was breaking down from stress, rage, fear, and sheer feral attraction. What even the fuck is going on with me right now? He wondered.

  At some point Brighteyes had come to stand next to him, and the lady who could have knifed him all she wanted, if only she had asked nicely, was standing just a few meters away. The two were exchanging words in their native language. He'd been standing where he'd stopped with the blood roaring in his ears, fight juice sluicing through his body, marveling at Artemis over there and maybe losing his fucking mind. Snap out of it old man, he chided, shaking his head.

  Ulric gathered himself to try to follow the heated Elven discussion.

  He didn't sheath the knife though, she still had hers out.

  She didn't look like she would mind using it either. Maybe because he was staring rather intently with a knife of his own. Or maybe she just didn't like him.

  Ulric tried to listen in but this was hopeless. Brighteyes had clearly been going easy on him in their lessons. He was like a kindergartner listening to his parents argue about physics. Some of the words were familiar, and Ulric thought he was getting the overall gist of things but most of it was too fast or too subtle to be able to participate. Besides, he wasn't a hundred percent but he was pretty sure he'd heard Brighteyes use the Elven word for "eldest sister" and Ulric hadn't survived as long as he had, in either world, by jumping into sibling disputes.

  Sister eh? Funny they didn't look much alike, although if the boy had been given to a murderous stare, the eyebrows, chin and the bones of the cheeks might just line up.

  What in the hell kind of odds was it that they'd meet kin of the boy just as soon as they got into Iriel proper? That kind of improbability was too spooky to sit well with him. Got a man to thinking that maybe those Watchers did more than just Watch from time to time. It seemed really unfair to Ulric that they'd gone to all the trouble to put on masks just to run into someone who knew Brighteyes first thing. Ah well, it had made the kid happy, so whatever.

  The debate raged on. Brighteyes was championing him, having positioned himself between them, Ulric was sure. Hopefully he'd put in a good word. For his part Ulric tried to project calm confidence while wondering if he'd be able to stop her from putting that knife to work. Godsdamn she was quick. And graceful. Lithe.

  Fuck. Ulric shook his head to clear the cobwebs, trying to pick up whatever he could from their heated discussion. He was reminded, not for the first time, that a totally healthy body had totally healthy drives. And a cardiovascular system that was going to embarrass him if this went on much longer. Maybe she had a friend or something.

  MMmm…Ulric was pretty sure she'd just mentioned killing, something about discretion, and…corpses? Corpses. No two ways about it, she was lobbying for murdering him and hiding the body. Must be sore about the bow. Or maybe it was the fireball. As if she hadn't started it by trying to see if he could breathe arrows.

  Some people’s kids, the old man in him scoffed.

  Try as he might to stay out of the way, it seemed that Ulric's entirely speculative contemplations regarding the alien beauty’s appearance, which she had no way of knowing were regarding what perhaps those curves looked like without the wool and canvas, maybe keep the boots though, yeah….Ah. Yup. She's pissed.

  Turning to him she jabbed the point of her knife in his direction to underscore her discontent.

  "And what do you think you're looking at you Jakkin’isk ulasta’sti?!” Demanded the irate Iriel’en woman in Elvish faster than he could readily follow, continuing to gesturing with her knife in ways that concerned him more than a little, and she wasn’t done yet.

  “Well? Is there something you have to say? Because I still say your bones belong to the roots and your flesh the worms you three times sisal’sitonen peik’otek! Speak me reason why I don't end the drought under your feet!" Hissed the unfathomably hostile woman, which greatly confused him.

  Hadn’t she been the one to try to kill him here?

  Ulric looked over to Brighteyes, eyebrows lifted, who had raised his mask and wore an apologetic expression, lips pinched. His shrug doubled down on their mutual agreement that this was not at all going as they'd hoped. For his own part, aside from the raw attraction, Ulric was furious in a cold way that he had never experienced. He knew himself to be as close to murder as he'd ever been in his life but he felt it distantly, like it belonged to someone else. This was not the same as with those poachers; he'd felt that as a hot thing, righteous, consuming restraint, pulling him along with its beating temperature. This was a cold reptilian thing, it made him feel like a steel trap, waiting for someone to put their hand too close. She'd tried to kill him and she'd regret it as soon as he could arrange. Restraint and violence warred.

  "Brighteyes. I am aware that we stand in a hole that I will soon dig deeper. I'd like to get some clarification on a couple of those words that sounded a lot like interesting curses you haven't taught me yet before I give my reply."

  Nodding, his Elven ward, turned companion, replied.

  "It is ok Ulric, she like this always. And you killed her bow. She called you barbarian yak stool and claimed that you are kin to thrice inbred trolls. These words we have no use for yet in our lessons. And I apologize, you are none of these."

  It was Ulric's turn to nod his thanks before he went and made things worse. Forty plus years of engaging in modern discourse had prepared him well for this day. He would have to do proud the internet forums that had honed his wordcraft as a young man, where things were said that would provoke a Jesuit priest to murder.

  "Brighteyes, I am sorry that I learn your language so slowly and with incompleteness. Will you translate for me to your sister?"

  The kid gestured his acceptance as the sister in question began to vibrate in anger at having been ignored. With the composure of the Lord he was training to be, Brighteyes translated faithfully and didn't even crack a smile. They'd been together long enough he probably had some idea what was coming.

  "Lady Sister of my friend Brighteyes," Ulric began with as much condescension as he could manage through a translator, "I am looking at the pinnacle of woman, a goddess descended, who is as ugly in spirit as she is wonderful in form, and with a tongue that promises a deeply unhappy husband. I had expected so much more from the loving stories of your brother, and find the disappointing reality of you like salt in my water."

  Sarcasm thick enough to insulate high voltage wire layered his goading diatribe, "Beauty is wasted on fools, sadly, and it is thusly a shame that you are so fumbling in your attempts to greet me, that it almost seemed like you had attempted an ambush, while displaying your lack of courtesy. In comparison to your noble brother, who carries himself as a Lord's son ought, with grand spirit, and has proven himself a comrade of honor, in spite of his youth, you prove that age gives no gifts of grace. Indeed, it grieves me that the Lordling's sister is so ill-bred that she should, to the casual inspection, have failed in the betrayal of the Guestright we share, sneaking and skulking, and was so awkward in her rush to welcome her brother home that it appears that she has clumsily attempted to assail her betters, only to be driven to the ground and disarmed. Easily, I might add."

  As young Brighteyes translated, anger turned to stunned shock, back into anger, and then into a promise of terrible, terrible, vengeance. Judging by her expression, ill set to begin with, he was finding success in his slander.

  It wasn't enough, he found.

  His leg burned where the arrow had traced it in a thin scarlet line and he was still more than angry, was coldly furious that she'd ruined his morning by attempting to murder him from hiding. That ranting voice in the back of his head still called for blood and he found himself agreeing with it just a little. Time to shove her over the edge.

  "But. As I am a man of just heart, I will forgive your transgressions against my own noble person if you will just turn about slowly so that I can get a better look at those wondrous hams."

  It was demeaning. Insulting. Misogynistic. Belittling and objectifying. And, from his perspective at least, it was even mostly true.

  Her immediate reply was to hiss at him, being driven to rage that defied language. Then she tried to stab him.

  All according to keikaku.

  Ulric was never sure how these skills and traits interacted with him as a person. Were they sort of overlayed on top of him, his base personality being added onto as his soul grew? Were they simply manifested as reflections of changes that had occurred in him already? It was a mystery.

  What wasn't at all mysterious was that he'd gone out of his way to bait this sister of Brighteyes into an attempt to kill him. He wasn't sure why, except that he was hurt and furious and every instinct in him screamed that she would be coming for him from behind if he didn't settle her now.

  It didn't matter now though, events were in motion.

  She was every bit as fast as he suspected and it was only Brighteyes acting as a barrier she had to bypass that gave him the time to react, even though he'd been as ready as he could be for her to attack ever since he'd began instigating this situation by saying the worst things he could think of.

  A rapid sidestep took her around her brother, followed by a near seamless lunge, knife rushing towards his chest. One flowing motion. Just as he expected. As soon as she moved, the world crawled to a halt. The silver sheen of sharpened metal seemed to move so slowly, he could count nicks in its edge. His body felt like molten lead, heavy but liquid. Her attack was what he'd hoped it would be, direct, straightforward, and without subtlety. He'd known ever since seeing her move between trees he'd never keep up with her if she fought a tactical, technique oriented fight.

  She was far, far more skilled than he was. He had hoped to use anger to steal that advantage from her, and she, already half-way there through sheer contempt, stopped regarding him as a threat and treated him as a bug to be squashed.

  Varda always punished mistakes.

  At her lunge he threw his knife hand forward, opening his hand so the weapon came free, moving ahead of his arm, while he turned his body by pivoting on his toes. His chest moved from the angle of her knife, and it scraped harmlessly by the hardened bone plate in its murderous passage. His knife skipped hilt first off of her shoulder but it hadn't been intended to wound, only to distract her from his lead hand gripping her triceps underhanded while his other latched onto an overhanded grab of her wrist, screaming when he felt his arm send white hot pain up through his spine.

  Her weight, not insignificant, moved into him with force, driven by her speed as they collided, she grunted when her face smacked into the suddenly unyielding bone plates, stunning her slightly.

  He stepped back, pivoting and pulling her arm, not letting her motion stop completely, as he used that momentum to throw her over his hip, slamming her legs, hip, and side into the earth viciously. He heard her muffled yelp but disregarded it, tightening his hold while he reached again for his core with most of the last he had.

  Triumph roared in his heart as he unleashed his magic to even the scales her for her attempt at taking his life. Distantly, a nagging voice in the back of his thoughts was concerned. He hadn't been this way back on Earth. Had he? Reason was drowned out by visceral need to destroy threats.

  [Voltaic Grip]

  Surging arcs rolled through the limb he held and into its bearer. Muscles spasmed and the knife fell loose to the ground while her spine arched. She made one sound, a strangled growl that cut off as the magic raced through her body. She kicked violently for a moment but without control and Ulric pulled back on the mana flowing into his spell without ending it.

  He didn't want to kill her, well maybe a little but he wouldn't do that to Brighteyes. Pain though, pain was a wonderful teacher and he'd only want to give this lesson once. Could only give this lesson once, after this it would be to the very end. A few moments passed, Ulric's mana was running low now, but he wanted to be sure his point was made.

  Brighteyes had made no move towards the two of them, so quickly had the assault happened. He flinched as if to move towards them when Ulric's spell took hold, but visibly restrained himself. So…not willing to intervene but he didn't look very happy with events.

  As much as Ulric wanted to continue scolding this beautiful, violent, creature he didn't want to alienate his first friend by too gratuitously hurting his family so he released the spell and let her arm drop, kicking the knife away as he stepped away from her. Like dealing with a viper, it was.

  "Apology accepted, Taipan." He told her in her own language.

  Best to rub the salt in the wounds while she couldn't move. If she'd been inclined to kill him before she'd probably be ready to discover time travel to kill his ancestors now, just back to the future him from existence. Serves her right though, he decided, nobody makes me bleed my own blood, you bushwhacking murderess.

  His leg was getting tender. And his arm was pure throbbing fire by this point.

  Ulric stood straight, raised his face to the sky, and let out a deep breath, willing away the urge to finish a fallen opponent. It was surprisingly difficult. It took a few more breaths to return to calm. He was seriously starting to suspect something might be wrong with him, violence wasn't supposed to be satisfying.

  Finally he looked over at the young elf lord and nodded to the panting assassin in the dirt who had rolled to her stomach groaning.

  "Am I going to have any more trouble out of her?" He asked.

  "No, Ulric Glade Chief. This is out of bounds of honor. I told her you were under my protection, that you were my ally. She was not within right to attack without notice, not when we make no aggressive moves, but is excusable for concern about me, and for you being Otherkin in Deep Woods. After though, to attack after I make claim to your safety, even if you say terrible, terrible things, is insult to me, to our family, and to her. We will have recourse, later."

  By his tone Brighteyes was truly pissed, something Ulric had not seen in their time together. He delivered his response in the tone of a judge proclaiming a guilty verdict. He hadn't been this mad when he'd been carving monkeys like pumpkins. Seems Elves took their vouching for someone seriously.

  The two of them shared some words too fast for him to follow, and Sister Taipan didn't seem to like any of them, though she hadn't rebutted her brother, instead glaring at him coldly and remaining seated. Eventually, Brighteyes offered his hand to help her up and she took it, coming easily to her feet. Extremely easily, she was totally fine, even after the electricity. That was sort of concerning to him, she must have been way tougher than she looked.

  The kid came to where he was standing, recovering from the ambush and the aftermath.

  Now that things had settled down Ulric was feeling the gash in his leg as a distinct burning up his veins, like some of the stuff when you got IVs at the medical units. The spreading pain was way beyond what such a narrow slice of a wound warranted. Gods knew he'd had enough recently to know. He was also noticing some nausea and he knew that he wasn't squeamish about blood, he'd gutted too many game animals for that. Even as that took hold, he was also feeling a cold chill that didn't have anything to do with the weather creeping through his body; he'd been toasty from his unprompted tumble routine only a few seconds ago. Ulric was suddenly conscious of the brews he'd put on his arrows back in the woods. The arrows he'd only use to kill monsters he didn't plan on eating.

  "Hey kiddo, what are the odds those arrows were poisoned?" He asked.

  That got Brighteyes' attention. They both looked down at his leg. Around the clean line of blood that marked the wound, which should have been little more than a scratch, veins under the skin were abnormally prominent and dark blue…and spreading. Shit.

  "Ulric this is bad. Arrows not poisoned for hunting, only war. She use [Striped Bark Snake] venom. It is powerful, cause death in an hour or days, depending on dose. First is burning in flesh, then sickness, then fever, then death. At high dose it kills when blood starts to thicken until heart stops. Venom paste is only most potent for a few hours, you may be fine if it is old. Not worth risk, we get antidote."

  Brighteyes furiously turned and approached his kin in a stalk to loomed over her, which shouldn't have worked since he was the shorter by over a head. She had not stopped her baleful glare towards him but gave Brighteyes her attention when he stomped to stand before her.

  Ulric knew the kid said it was over, but that was not really the look of someone who was ready to let bygones be bygones.

  "Geyrt, where is the antidote? I know you would not travel without it, even you are not so bold. And why are you traveling with poisoned arrows? You cannot have been expecting us, we didn't even know when we would arrive. For that matter, you were waiting in the trees, I would not have missed you if you were not using [Conceal], why are you here when there are no other Hunters or Iriel'en attending the wood?" Brighteyes demanded to know.

  She looked in Ulric's direction and spit on the ground before answering.

  "I will not give that bastard antidote for all the fruit on the Tree of Life. And you, you know nothing, Lumyt'seit, about what has transpired. We thought you dead; father went insane with anger. He called on all of the Hunters in Irielhos to find you. They found your blood and the body of your friend. We tracked you all the way to the Ancient's Gate and Hunters even dared the Plateau to face the Forest Lord's wrath, until we found the fate of the vermin who took you, your blood again, and no sign that you had escaped their fate in the boughs of the Forest of the Forgotten."

  Whatever she was saying, she was seriously not happy. Brighteyes grew less happy as well, so it couldn't have been good. He was only picking out bits of sentences though, her molten flow of words was far too fast to follow as she continued whatever diatribe she was spouting.

  "We returned empty handed but with enough blood for Mother Shor to Call the souls of the fallen, of which you were not found, and father gathered his war counsel to deal vengeance to the men and Beastkin who took you when he learned their identity. Killers hired by Prosper, murderers for coin. Father demanded the one responsible to show themselves and face justice. Cowards, all of them, none would answer the call for their deeds. They lie, to father’s very face, in his own hall, to protect the company of supposed poachers who took you, they denied they sent their people into our lands, insulted father. Later, they murdered the emissary we sent, and sent soldiers to start burning the forests of northern tribes. The Otherkin mercenary company from Prespang that were hired to protect the poachers claimed that we murdered the brother of their leader and they will have vengeance. They assassinated the lord of Lagranel, of the Plainsfolk, in his home, with his family. That they have planned this attack for years is clear. Father gave me a Blood Cutting from our family tree to feel if any part of you should return to the wood, to find your killer. When it showed me you had returned I left my post and came, all the way from Zelas, to avenge you. And now I find you, alive, and in the company of one of those animals. We are at war, Lumyt'seit. And we are at war for you."

  All of this was delivered with spiteful tone and various gestures that suggested no good was coming to anybody.

  Ulric, of course, had no idea what they were talking about, he made out maybe one word in three and couldn't piece enough of it together to make heads nor tales of their discussion. It would only be much later that he would be filled in. At the moment, he was retrieving his knife, spear, and pack and giving Brighteyes some room to deal with his kin. That and try to feel if his heart was stopping. Can you even feel that? It seemed like it would hurt.

  Whatever she'd said, Brighteyes had evidently decided he was having none of that shit. He took hold of her collar and started shaking her while screaming into her face. This was why Ulric stayed out of family stuff.

  "I care not for your excuses Eldest Sister, you violated my guest right! If you knew not who we were then I only say you are reckless, but you knew exactly who I was and you attacked anyway. Did I look like I was in danger? Walking as if with a friend of years in a stroll through tamed gardens? Then you try to kill my guardian after I offer my name for protection. That you would deliberately try to kill the Elf friend who took vengeance on my behalf, rescued me from the interlopers, and then gave me protection from the time I healed until we journeyed all this long way, despite my oath of safety, is beyond bounds of honor!" Brighteyes yelled.

  "You have made my word as mud and, if he had not beaten you like a mongrel wolf, I would demand satisfaction. What made you think it was a good idea in the first place? I know you used [Scan], you were always sure to identify targets, Father praised you always for it. You saw that he slew the Forest Lord, what made you think you were going to defeat him in battle? If not for my interference he would have stopped playing with you and called skylances down to turn you to ash. Then what do I tell father? Hmm!? Tell me that idiot sister!"

  Brighteyes punctuated his diatribe with a single finger held vibrating under the Taipan's cute nose. Wonder of wonders she actually looked ashamed. The kid must have unloaded on her, whatever he was yelling.

  "I know now that you are stalling, hoping my guest would die before I asked. You will give the antidote. You will apologize for throwing my honor into the mud. Then you will take us to father and we will make our enemies regret touching flame to Elven lands. On my name I swear this, Geyrt." the young Elven lord hissed at her.

  That pretty much put an end to things, as near as Ulric could tell. Taipan, chastened, maybe, handed Brighteyes a vial from a small pouch in her belt and stood away from him, slightly shaky of step, so maybe the [Voltaic Grip] had been set to stun after all. The Lord to Be came to where he was leaning against a tree, trying to stay as calm as he could knowing that venom was moving through his body and resisting an incredibly powerful urge to vomit his guts.

  The entire situation was awkward as hell.

  Ulric was starting to dearly miss his quiet home in the wild.

  "Ulric Glade Chief, I, Lumyt'seit, son of Bald'rt Iriel Chief, apologize for the attack on you and the break of guest right. Please forgive my eldest sister this attack, she was unreasonable from grief and worry. I bear responsibility and will make good on this, I promise." Brighteyes spoke solemnly.

  Such an earnest kid, Ulric thought. He patted the elf boy's head a couple of times, which made the elf woman's eyes narrow before he replied.

  "It's all good Brighteyes. I, Ulric Einar, [Lord of the Ancient Glade], I guess, accept your apology on behalf of your doting sister. Ah, and, I guess I'm sorry too. For trying to blow her to smithereens. And the insults. And the lightning. She kind of had my blood up, and I'm not good with people to begin with." He admitted sheepishly.

  "It is fine Ulric you did as you must, though, you should consider being less...you. And she gets my blood up too, it is a thing she is good at. Here is antidote, you need drink all of it. It is beyond foul, you need to resist turning it back on the ground." The far more Princely than when they had been alone boy said, putting the vial in Ulric's hand.

  Ulric opened the ceramic vial and downed the contents, trying to get them into his throat without letting them contact his tongue. A wave of the most intense bitterness imaginable washed through his mouth at even the barest taste, and he had to contract his entire body to keep from immediately puking.

  After a couple of aftershocks, some little gagging, and a grimace that wouldn't leave his face it was done with.

  "Holy shit, kid, you weren't kidding. The hell is that made of?" He asked, wiping his mouth.

  "Grind Striped Bark Snake venom glands, dry them, mix with concentrated urine, dry again, then add to boiling Midnight Star herb extract, infuse with Sano, and let cool. It is the best antidote for many poisons if you have venom gland of animal to tune the antidote. If not, a broad antidote used, but these worse and slower." Brighteyes told him, like reciting a lesson from a textbook.

  "Ah. Gross. I did ask though." Ulric said, trying to shove that piece of information into a box in his mind never to be opened again.

  It was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, magical, the nature of this antidote. There was no way it had been able to infiltrate his blood through his stomach lining to disperse. And yet, he felt a wash of gentle fuzziness throughout his body as the toxin was neutralized. Just like that, and the effects vanished, leaving Ulric feeling hale, mostly. The chills and sickness had subsided at least. Aside from the fierce ache in his abused arm, which had not enjoyed the beating it took during his panicked scramble or the following scrap and the slight sting of the new cut.

  At last, his life was returning to its default state of murmuring hazard, rather than blatant pants shitting danger.

  Ulric gathered Brighteyes over to his tree and huddled conspiratorially, eyeing briefly the cause of his most recent discontent, which subject returned his gaze with a flat hostility though she'd lost most of the outright intent to kill. He was pretty shaky but he thought he might be alright.

  "Brighteyes, I know we got off to a bad start, what with the ambush and all, and I know I said some pretty awful stuff to get her too off balance to murder me with any kind of plan, which she was totally going to do you know, but, I wasn't really joking. Your sister is, in the language of my peoples, a complete Amazon babe. Is she single? You think I have a shot?" He whispered.

  Brighteyes mouth fell open and he looked with absolute incredulity, which was fine, Ulric knew this was coming out of left field.

  He'd been alone for a long godsdamned time, and adrenaline, pain, and near dying did fucky things to your head, and you never knew you had a strike unless you threw the pitch right? That little bit of sadness hurt a touch though.

  But Brighteyes was a good kid, with a good head on his shoulders and did, at least, consider the idea before issuing his verdict in a similarly hushed tone.

  "Ulric, there is no cure for the worms in your head. I am truly sorry." the Prince told him sincerely before continuing, "Eldest Sister Geyrt is, how would you say…difficult. She wants no suiters. She fights constantly, scorns offers from Lordlings, beats them bloody, and returns them to their household in shame. I have more fingers than Sister has friends and one of those is her bow, which you kill. She spends all her life Hunting our enemies in the wild. My other sisters do not even speak to her, she would not mind me tell you this, she thinks they are weaklings. Also, I feel it is unfair to not tell you she speaks Human much better than me."

  Oh fuck. He bent even closer and spoke quickly, "Do you think she heard us?"

  Lilting scorn drifted over the woods as the topic of discussion interjected with a voice like a goddess to Ulric's ears and she commanded thusly:

  "Eat your own guts and die, you Human bastard."