It was, with great sadness, that Ulric marched alongside the Elven siblings, so dissimilar in nature. To one side the light. Calm, decisive, steady, even handed, and just. To the other side the darkness. Cold, fickle, dishonest, calculating, and cruel. The only balm on Ulric's wounded soul was that the two of them paced just ahead of him, and he could marvel at the physics of flesh, cloth, shadow, and gravity under motion. The undulation of those hips was hypnotic. His stare also obviously aggravated the Elf huntress lady, princess, he guessed, who had tried to slaughter him like an animal just a bit ago, and that was motivation enough to gawk shamelessly, even if she’d looked like a hag. Ulric wasn't above being a sonofabitch when he had cause, and being ambushed and poisoned felt like a whole lotta cause to him. And so, he took in the sights of the incredible artistry of the Elves, and that included one fine rump under the dappled light of the forest understory.

  "If he keeps looking at me, I will be forced to kill him Lumyt'seit." Said his oppressor, in lilting, musical Elven, not caring if the hateful creature her brother had permitted to taint their homeland understood.

  "He does this because he knows it bothers you and he takes joy in your discomfort.” Brighteyes explained, with a slight tilt to his head, wondering why the man seemed so intent on courting violence, “It is not his fault you are so easy to disturb. It is his nature to probe for weakness, as to be arrogantly thorn bearing beyond reason is yours Geyrt." Replied his compassionate companion, now steward under Elf rules for courtesy.

  Their roles had been reversed, now, it was Ulric who was in another’s care.

  Ulric had to admit a touch of surprise that Brighteyes was so familiar with his secret joy of prodding people who took themselves too seriously. He'd intentionally smoothed his normally abrasive sense of humor during their weeks of close proximity. A scorpion remains a scorpion, he supposed. He pulled his attention from the glorious motion before him, and directed it to the surrounding forest which was clearly inhabited, if curiously empty currently. The game of fucking with people wasn't as fun if they knew about it; the real satisfaction came from finding out how long it took to crack their composure. In the case of this absurdly beautiful, if ultimately toxic, serpent in front of him he was placing bets on another death match before sundown.

  Until Brighteyes went and ruined it for the sake of keeping their journey free of further bloodshed. Spoil sport.

  Now that he wasn't baiting his former, possibly future, enemy, Ulric had time to appreciate the wondrous way that the Elves integrated themselves into their forest domain. So naturally did the Elves occupy their lands that Ulric had not, at first, even noticed that they had entered the abode of the Deep Woods Folk. He was amazed to see that no dwelling was built upon the ground, as if they had divorced themselves from the beasts and bugs that crawled.

  So unlike his people, who were inclined to fold the land around themselves, carving, layering, blasting, and shaping it to their whims; these folk bent their civilization to the contour of the wood. Homes, shops, smithies, all built around or even of, the large trees of the forest. Every structure was made up of wood. Some rough-hewn lumber, some timbers finished, some hand carved, and still other apparently grown of the living flesh of the trees upon which they were anchored. Bridges spanned the trees, connecting one cluster of platforms to another, like little islands. Amongst these, stairs and ramps brought one collection of buildings to another with frequent changes of levels even within the same set of structures. It was a sight beyond beauty to Ulric's mind. This was a people who were as much a part of the forest as clouds were part of the sky. As advertised by Brighteyes, it surely was a wondrous sight to behold.

  If only his kind had learned such unity with the world. Well, to be more precise, the ones who had hadn't been exterminated by the rest in their devouring expansions to rule as much of the world as they could see.

  This arboreal city brought a measure of peace to his heart to witness. These were a people worth protecting, if only to preserve the aesthetic of this fae place. To speak of the people, Ulric was surprised at how few they encountered. Or rather, none. Not a soul. Ever since they'd left the place of their "meeting", returning to the road and traveling at a rather rapid jog, a pace set by the Taipan, to spite Ulric's leg no doubt, they'd entered increasingly "developed" territory. A few crossed rivers, water wheels turning to operate what were probably great lifts into the settlements above to judge by the hanging platforms with their thick ropes and pulleys the size of wagon wheels, had put them squarely in what appeared to be a highly dispersed city of the Iriel’en, the Deep Woods Elves.

  Ulric had never been an architecture nerd, but these fairy tale people were astonishing.

  In some ways their work reminded him of what the Swiss carpenters had done with reliefs and inlays, but where those had tended to lean heavily on geometric straight edges, with spiraling flourishes, the Aes’r carvers clearly waxed natural. Where a building was jutting out from the trunk of a tree, instead of squared platform and straight walls it was, instead, an arching hemisphere, the bracings made to look like layers of branches supporting the structure. The same structure would also have a porch around its exterior that was roofed by the woven limbs of the same tree, branches guided underneath the porch to act as its supports, creating a sort of floating effect. And all the while the exposed surfaces were covered by carvings of leaves, vines, and even small birds or animals so realistic as to look like a picture of the raw forest.

  Round windows, some paned by smoked glass, others shuttered, seemed to be the preferred style, though Ulric saw many arching full exterior walls made up of criss-crossed branches. These had to be sitting rooms or something, how would they heat such a place in the coming cold? How long would it take to create such structures, with such immaculate carving? Ulric's mind was awash with wonder as they crossed underneath this tribute to natural beauty. He lost track of time and direction, barely conscious of where his guides led.

  Still no people though. What in the hell was going on? Where was everybody?

  "Where are all the people? Surely these structures do not sit empty." He voiced his need to know.

  It wasn't Brighteyes that answered though, instead, Taipan broke the silence she had almost completely maintained throughout their trek into Iriel proper. These latest words were delivered in tones exactly as hateful as the first, much as one might toward someone who kicked puppies for fun.

  "They have been moved into the deep places of Elven lands, to wait out the war in safety, thanks to your people. Instead of preparing for our festivals and living our lives in peace, we hide and make ready for war, human. This is your fault. You greedy creatures cannot help but covet our lands and our peoples as if you could live long enough to appreciate them. But more slaves to be carted into your mines, servants to skimp around in service to the affluent, paraded like trophies before litters of piggish children who will then be displayed to their own mewling get, my people to grind into the stones to mortar your hovels, you will not have of the Orlethrem. We will water the forest with your tears before we flog you from our lands." She announced, voice dripping contempt.

  If he didn't know any better, Ulric thought, she might have a grudge against him because he was a human. Or something. That really did rub him raw, he could give her plenty of reason to not like him just for being himself, she didn't have to be a racist to hate him. Well, so long as she was going to hate him on a categorical basis, he didn't mind twisting the knife a little deeper.

  "If the rest of them fight like you, it's a good thing I'm here to help." He declared casually.

  She was reaching for her ornate hilt when Brighteyes stepped between them, scowling.

  "This is enough. You two fight like male Silver Clawed Hill Badgers in a sack. I would breathe air free from the stink of your antagonisms." The boy prince declared, fed up with the harping.

  Turning towards Ulric, he declared flatly "Ulric, you are ignorant. This is not insult, you know nothing of the history of our people or of the goings on between nations. We have held fragile peace for under two hundred years but before, it was frequent there to be war. Even still since “peace” is declared, always the human settlements of Prespang push, always they test, and it is now that they have brought war to our lives again. They do not even remember the last time we fought wars, it was before their time. For us, it was less than a generation. We tire of their constant trying of our patience, the deaths of kin of hundreds of years. I know that you have a grudge against Geyrt but I will have an end to it, I have taken up responsibility for her in this and that makes your grudge with me." He scolded, clearly unwilling to humor either of his traveling companions any longer.

  Ulric took his medicine quietly, knowing he'd earned it through his deliberate taunting.

  Just as Taipan assumed a posture of superiority at seeing him dressed down though, Brighteyes turned to her and, in nearly the same breath, admonished her as well. That he did it in human language was intentional.

  "And you, Eldest Sister, have lived longer than any human, but you behave like their children! You abandon your post by your own admission. You ambush my rescuer, and lose, which should lower your ears if nothing else does.” Brighteyes accused, and his kin’s already sour twist of lips turned even more displeased, his words hitting her in her pride.

  A large target, if Ulric wasn’t mistaken, yet easily damaged. Ears lowered? He had to admit he hadn’t paid any attention to her ears, or the kid's, but it made sense that they would emote with such obvious features.

  He paid closer attention, enjoying listening to the venomous wench receive her brother’s well-deserved raking.

  Lord to be Brighteyes was making slashing gestures with his finger, which seemed to be a commonality of pissed of Aes’r while he raved, losing some of his hard-earned command of human, “If I do not interfere until you are about to die, then you break Guest Right without a single blush of sham! Now you insult again, push our pace to cause an unjust wound given pain on purpose, do not think I do not notice. This is spiteful even for you. In all time together, this human has never once spoken lies. He has offered me his home to be as my own, has cared for me as kin, and risks his life to bring me all this long way from the Plateau of Ancients to my own home, for no gain, has not asked a single compensation for danger. You will not slander him in my hearing again, sister, or I will wear the mud you fling.”

  With finality in the ringing tone of the Elf Prince’s voice he declared, in his own tongue to be certain no misunderstanding would be had, “If you wish to make settlement with him, make the challenge. I will judge it, and account before the Iriel'en. Know now, Sister mine, that I will be sharing tiding of dearest kin has been killed honorably in affair of honor. You try to fight this Valin [Lord of the Ancient Glade], [Destroyer of the Forest Lord],” Brighteyes now invoked Ulric’s titles in his warning, which must have meant serious business, “on even ground with his full powers at the ready, and he will slaughter you. If that stings your outsize pride, then I am gladdened, because it was long since due and might allow you to live a while longer."

  Ouch. The gloves were off. When Ulric got the rundown on that diatribe he was going to take notes, the kid had a mouth on him, if the not a lady Princess over there’s expression was anything to go on. There was something unusually potent in being treated like a teenager caught sneaking out by someone who looks like they might need help up to the monkey bars. Ulric was determined not to laugh at Taipan's obvious discomfort. Not even a grin. It was hard, but he stuffed it down and instead determined to abide by his host's will.

  “How now will it be? Sister? Glade Chief?” Questioned the Lord to be of Iriel, brooking no more nonsense in an echo of his parents’ authority.

  "So be it, Brighteyes. I'll let it go. For you." Ulric intoned deferentially.

  He would not raise the matter again. He owed the little Elf that much, it would be rude to tread on the boy’s honor.

  Taipan was showing her teeth and he was pretty sure she wasn't trying to smile. That woman did more violence with her winsome face than some butchers did with a cleaver.

  "You side with human filth over your own family? What of our dead kin? What of your own friend, murdered by the animals? Father will hear of this Lumyt'seit."

  Ulric was able to follow this a bit better than their previous conversations, the flow of syllables congealing in his mind, a now familiar rhythm to them. She was fighting dirty. Brighteyes actually looked like he might throw down for a second before he took hold of himself visibly.

  The young lord to be laid out his ultimatum with cold clarity.

  "I was captured and my friend killed because of my own weakness, my own overconfidence. I thought I was above some nothing poachers, because of my name. I learned, first hand, what comes of valuing what you think of things over what they are and dear was the cost of that lesson. My name didn't stop them any more than it made the Golden Heckler Monkey and his pack not attack. What gave me vengeance and what protects from enemies? Power, Geyrt. Only my own power. I have seen what not having power amounts to now and will not be seduced by a name’s arrogance again. I have given you the choice, direct your hate towards the ones who have merited it, leave my protector out of it. Or, if you cannot, then lay the challenge to him and I will see it done. Better still, wait to challenge until we have reached Father, so he can see his favored daughter one last time. It is the least you could do for him that loves you most dearly of his offspring."

  There was something going on here, culturally.

  Well, a lot going on, most of it over his head. Brighteyes was implying that Elves settled personal disputes through duels, evidently to the death. If he was understanding things correctly, if both parties would not, or could, not resolve things peacefully they went to the knives. That was a useful bit of information. It also placed his habit of ribbing people who annoyed him into proper social context here. What he would normally do to provoke a reaction from some dickhead he thought needed an attitude adjustment was likely literally fighting words.

  He liked the Elves more and more all the time. They knew how to live with the forest, they knew how to build, and they knew how to settle a fucking problem, once and for all. Now he just needed to not get killed to death by them for an offhanded smartass remark.

  Seems like once it got so far, an outside party could demand that you make an end of it, one way or another. Either put up or shut up, sort of scenario. Ulric was feeling the toll of hard travel, wounds fighting the damned monkeys, and the after effects of being envenomed, but his mana was getting towards restored and, if it went that way, he was going to scatter this Elf chick all over the place, Eldest Sister and banging rack or no. And when the hell had he gotten this aggressive? It was like having an itch down his back made of murdering urges.

  There was a distinct part of him that now definitively looked forward to a fight, even if that included killing the fuck out of something. He'd never hunted for the thrill of the kill, it had never even occurred to him to be glad of ending a life. His times harvesting animals was always about living, even in the Before he’d been trying to connect with his environment, to get closer to it, be more a part of the natural way of things. Just like things used to be.

  The impulses he was experiencing now were not about closeness. More like territoriality, he felt a budding desire to crush any and all challengers. Maybe that's why he'd been so persistent in goading Taipan, she was making herself openly a threat. Ulric did not like spooky instincts cropping up out from nowhere. Not when they were so clearly divergent from his normal thought processes. He was an asshole, not a blood crazed killer. Was this part of the whole [Lord of the Ancient Glade] thing? He distinctly recalled a sort of oddness when that title had gone into his status.

  That bore further investigation. Later. Being ready to do the ultraviolence might be the only thing keeping Brighteyes’ sister at bay. Until he was damned certain she wouldn’t try something, he was going to get his head out of his ass and pay attention to whether or not he was going to have to kill the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen before she opened his stomach while he wasn’t looking.

  What a sonofabitching mess.

  Apparently, something of the eagerness to do some ripping and tearing was evident in his expression. Taipan, for once, was not looking very keen on the idea of getting that knife out. Or maybe it was the disapproval that radiated from her little brother, covering her like a lead blanket. Whichever the case, crisis was averted when she decided to acquiesce to her brother's bid for peace.

  "It is on your head then Lumyn'seit. We will see if Father judges the same. For now, I will bide my time but it will come to pass that this creature you harbor will be a cause for grief. And keep your pet away from me, his gaze feels like acid on my skin."

  Oof. Brutal. Rejection with racist overtones was pretty definitive. Unfortunately, Ulric couldn't respond with his typical needling, he'd given his word. Just going to have to suck it up buttercup, Taipan gets to win this one he lamented, hating to give up the last word so easily.

  Ahh well, the only thing better than getting even was getting ahead, and Ulric wouldn't let this hiccup get him down. After all, hadn't she basically chickened out of fighting him? Which meant, at the very least, that he rated as something to worry about, even for the much-vaunted Elven Hunters and that wasn't a bad feeling.

  Sure thing dude, whatever helps you sleep at night, he mocked himself lightly.

  The travelers began moving again, this time at a pace that didn't cause Ulric's leg to bleed freely. While they did, he tossed around everything he'd heard and observed about the only two members of the peoples who had built this incredible place. One thing that stuck out in his mind. Taipan was, apparently, one of the Elven Hunters. But wasn’t she as much royal curfluffle as Brighteyes?

  Curious that. Everything he'd heard about them made out these Hunters as exceedingly competent and she fit the bill. Taipan, for all her hateful attitude, was no slouch in the fighting department. She could stealth well enough to surprise two paranoid travelers, was a lethal shot with a bow, and was, if anything like her younger sibling, absolute hell with a knife, although he’d shaved dice heavily to avoid finding out personally. Why then, had she backed down from her challenge, her chance to get him? And why had Brighteyes made it out like she had no chance. From his perspective it seemed an awful lot like the other way round.

  Subtlety never being his strong suit, Ulric waved over their resident diplomat for another conference.

  "Brighteyes, I couldn't help but notice, as much as I could follow, you were placing some pretty firm bets on me back there. I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I'm not sure I agree with you. It was pretty much all I had to keep her from putting arrows through my liver and, if she hadn't been too pissed to see straight, I'm not really sure I could have kept her from knifing me up real good like. So why the hell did you seem so sure?"

  The golden-haired Heir of the forest folk widened his gaze, tilted his chin in surprise at Ulric's assessment. After a short contemplation he set about correcting this strange man's assumptions.

  "Ulric, you have weird way of looking at world. You are a single season into your journey and already practicing magics my teachers refuse to show me for being too dangerous. Weapons of weavings, like those of a war-mage. My sister is a Hunter for decades. Despite, you pull her out of trees, were ready to annihilate her. She has not been close to you, but I have, I can feel when you do this thing with mana. Gathering storm clouds. It feels like a readied spear, it is dangerous, even for an experienced warrior." Brighteyes summarized.

  Before he could object, the even keeled Elf Prince continued, speaking almost as if narrating thoughts he’d pondered before, "You are also monstrously fast and strong for a human, and not as clumsy as they normally are. You are obviously not trained, and are sloppy in your movement, but fighting is almost like something you remember, and you press advantages by instinct. Worse, it almost feels like you are not trying, like you are playing. I have not seen you ever tap your deep reserves."

  Now, Ulric did object. Not trying? He'd done everything in his power to avoid being very dead. Well, at least up until Brighteyes had declared her kin, but, even then, he hadn't been sandbagging much.

  "Lookie here, kiddo, that little dustup back there came real, close, we're talking shaving a frog close, to going just how tall, dark, and blood thirsty over there wanted it to." He told the boy.

  "Eagles learning to fly always come close to the ground, is the fastest way to learn. You don't know that you have the power to soar so you flutter, think your talons will not pierce. One day you will learn your strength and many will cower under your shadow. I was not making jest earlier; it is my duty to preserve Orlethrem from your passage." Brighteyes claimed.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  That was a hell of a thing to say.

  He didn't remember the battle that way at all; way more desperation from his end at the least. But Ulric had to admit, even though he was pretty sure he couldn't take Taipan in an even fight, he thought he might be able to rig things in his favor with magic, especially if he saw her coming. Those arrows had been fast but he'd been able to dodge them and now he knew he could dodge her too, just a little. She was quick with a knife but he could see the blade moving, could feel the pulse of things. Maybe he had a sixty-forty against her.

  He shot a glance towards the hateful huntress and remembered her movements in the trees, the flowing boneless grace that would have put metal through him, if not for the Forest Lord bone plates on his chest, in spite of being as ready for her as he possibly could be. No way, he thought, re-evaluating. Not a chance. That’s a twenty-eighty, best case. Brighteyes was a sharp kid, but Ulric knew down to his fingernails he'd just about gotten away with murder earlier. There were too many unknowns. He was too slow to react. There were weaknesses he didn't know he had, gaps in his defenses he couldn't see that an experienced fighter would exploit. So much he needed to learn. Brighteyes was definitely right about one thing: he didn't know how to fly. Yet. But he would. If this kid's family didn't kill him first.

  No good deed goes unpunished Ulric, he reminded himself.

  The pair of, he had a hard time getting his head around it, siblings, had given Ulric much to think on and he withdrew mentally trusting his guides to keep things on track.

  Well, alright, more like, trusting Brighteyes to keep things on track, the other one he was pretty sure would sprinkle poison into her footprints if she thought it would soak through his boots.

  Damn it. Why had life gotten so damned complicated so damned quickly?

  Elf cultural nonsense, a war, the possibility of his having triggered the entire thing by killing the Forest Lord, and lastly, but certainly not leastly, the distinct possibility that he was going batshit. The disturbing internal changes that he was experiencing were occupying Ulric's thoughts more, the longer he entertained them. He couldn't even enjoy properly the incredible diffuse capital city unfolding above him, which was a damned shame because it was, objectively, an absolute treasure. Varda’s Akashic stuff was two way. Just like he’d imprinted on the Ancient Glade, how had it imprinted on him? He was starting to think maybe it wasn’t just with extra numbers on his Status.

  Eventually, they came to a rather large river. Before them, there was the biggest tree he’d seen since leaving the plateau. Majestic, easily towing twice a California Redwood. Wider than three General Sherman’s side by side, it reared up, trunk disappearing into the tops of the lesser forest trees, like a mature oak over maples. Brighteyes told him its name but he wasn't paying enough attention to remember. Iriel-something.

  It took the arrival of a huge lift platform to snap him out of his funk.

  Huge ropes anchored to the sides of the eight meter square—for once—platform, all along the carved in ring anchors, forming a supporting network, like a fishing net for hauling up crab pots, but all Fern Gully style. Ulric noted the lifting cables one from each anchor every meter or so and they were meshed with the others, forming a woven array that, eventually, joined into a single mammoth cable. It must be on an incredibly large spool.

  Ulric may have underestimated the potential for the Elves to move large masses from the forest floor into the arboreal metropolis. That lift was super overkill for just people. Experimentally, he tapped the wood below his feet with the points of his metal trident. A low pitched clang rang out, which left the plank completely unmarked.

  What? Startled, the materials engineer of a distant world tapped the wood again, harder, and saw that it completely resisted the sharp tines of the trident. What the fuck is this? He gaped, incredulous. This timber was harder than his Steelwood trees, maybe harder than whatever the hell metal the trident was made of. Impervious, it seemed. Which begged the question, how the hell had they cut and milled it? Even more questions. Gods he'd love to put this stuff under a hydraulic press and get its stress strain curve. He bet the modulus would be way closer to the gigapascals of tungsten than it would be to the kilopascals of regular timber.

  Magical wood.

  Go ahead, think it. It's fine, we all did. Now that's out of our systems. Even the sound the plank made when struck was sharper than it should be. Lower pitched, granted, than most metals but who the hell knew how the fibers were arranged in there? They wove and knotted in the visible surface grains, almost like Celtic patterns with the saplines contrasting strongly.

  Kneeling down, Ulric drew his fingers across the surface, feeling the distinct grain, though at a very high degree of polish. This platform had been sanded. Sanded fine, that had to be at least a thousand grit finish, maybe more like three thousand. Microgrit grade sanding on a material harder than metal? Gods’ blood, who did they hate enough to give that job to? Though, maybe they didn't even have to sand it, maybe it grew like that...he wasn't in Kansas anymore, that was sure.

  Brighteyes noticed his examination but said nothing. The same was true of Taipan, just with more scowling.

  "Hmmm…." he murmured still crouched, trident held as a resting pole.

  He drew his bone knife and dropped the point against the surface. It bit. Barely. That confirmed some of his suspicions about the mysterious strength of the Forest Lord bones. He could have been more aggressive about dealing with those arrows. They'd never have penetrated the plates of his armor, same with her knife.

  What a monster, to have bones made of something like this.

  Satisfied with that test, he re-sheathed the knife and placed his hand against the grain. This time he drew gently on his core, just touching the mana circulating through his body. He'd practiced this many times back on the plateau, while he'd learned to create his basic elemental spells. The ability had come with his Elementalist class, after an incredible amount of time sitting like a Jedi out in the woods just...feeling...the world with his core.

  Eyes closed, he concentrated, felt the cycle of hot turning cold, the pulse all his of own against the world. Slowly, faintly, there was a…resistance, a counter beat. It was difficult to describe but he found that, with practice, he could use his own core to "sound" mana sort of like a set of tuning forks. The component elements, primordials rang a single note, pure, distinct, and unmistakable. Also scary as fuck for their purity, like they'd destroy you for the arrogance of playing god to touch them. The derived or natural elements were more nuanced, like a chord, safe, stable, workable. Living things were a song, harmonies and melodies interplaying.

  What passed for his spellwork was like a new guitarist trying to figure out how to play by reading taps. Just having the notes wasn't good enough to make music. He understood what the major principles were, but he didn't know the technicality to construct anything truly incredible on his own. Just because you recognize "fire" doesn't mean you can wield it as your own. He'd barely scraped the surface of what his core could do or what possibility might be waiting if only he weren’t so damned ignorant.

  This platform, the substance of it, was a grand orchestra. Whatever tree had produced this timber was a marvel of the elements. It harmonized heavily with the strength of Terra, the solid stone roots of the world, but with Aquae’s fluidity tempering this rigidity with flexibility. Germen, the mana of plant growth, wove into these, pulling them together, like the base beat keeping the cohesive whole, Sano, the essence of health, kept it healthy and strong, and through it all rang out Vita, the purity of life. This wood wasn't dead. It lived still, somehow, without leaves or roots, but, slowly, like it was hibernating.

  Ulric looked up to Brighteyes unable to put his thoughts and sensations into words. "What the hell kind of tree made this platform Brighteyes? I've never felt anything like it."

  The both of them had been watching him intently. The young prince with interest at what surprises his benefactor might offer now with this odd pulsing mana, the viperish Hunter with suspicion at what evils he was enacting. At Ulric's question, Taipan frowned and made a gesture as if to cut Brighteyes off. Now he was really damned curious.

  "What do you feel Ulric? What does the wood say to your senses?" Brighteyes asked, answering question with question.

  Damn, he hated when they went all Socrates on him.

  "It feels like this entire platform is made of a single tree that might as well be living stone. It bends, if you have enough force, but it won't break. Ever. It heals itself. It's alive, which doesn't make any sense, because it's clearly been worked. Sawn, planed, sanded, it's one of the most processed materials I've seen in your structures, but it's still goddamned alive. Just. I dunno…asleep or something. It's like, if you just sit in on the ground for a while it'll put down roots and start growing again."

  He did his best to describe it but he was well beyond his experience. This shit just didn't exist on Earth. It didn't have any analogues either. As a matter of fact, there was a lot of that going around. There was no good reason why the Forest Lord's bone should be as hard as it was without being massively heavy. A wooden deck platform should not be able to hold anything remotely close to the weight suggested that it did by those cables. It had been a little while since Ulric had gotten the pure strangeness of Varda thrown into his face. Impossible materials made his teeth itch.

  However, Brighteyes only expressed agreement with his rambling summary.

  "This is more so than not, Ulric. These lifts, and many of our strongest buildings, they are all made from the same tree. The Heartwood. It only grows here in Iriel. We believe that it is related to the Great Ones of the Plateau of Ancients, perhaps an offshoot. To our tales it was a gift from those who have gone before to the elves. Only Elven craftsmen can work it, Svartalfin try but they say it dulls their tools too quickly to be worth the effort. The wood is still alive, can still grow, when treated properly. This platform, one day, will return to the soil and become a new tree. Long, long after the end of our time. Dead, the wood is worth nothing, it becomes brittle, falls apart. There are several such trees in the deep wood but we learn that making something out of lumber from the same tree causes the pieces to grow together, to join, become a single piece. These are some of the secrets that the Humans who would become our enemies, want to take for themselves."

  Taipan, as usual, objected to Ulric's anything.

  "Yes, and this creature is one of them! These are not secrets to be giving away to an enemy, Lumyt'seit. You have no idea where this animal will run off to, no doubt to sell such knowledge."

  Ulric had been willing to keep the peace. He was purely fine putting the past behind them, and taking the odd jab here or there from this lady to not make trouble beyond what he'd already apologized for. But this Elf was on his last nerve with the animal stuff. Enough was enough.

  Standing upright Ulric threw aside all pretense of amiability. Veins stood out on forearms, his grip on the trident made the weapon vibrate and he radiated threat. He was all but channeling mana, core thrumming with intent. Whatever that thing was that was growing in his skull was making noise like a diesel engine, each rumble a different promise of violence.

  "Hear me well, you vicious kvetch: I gave you a pass, because your brother asked. Because he asked, and for no other reason, Taipan, you are alive when I very much wanted otherwise, and when I definitely could have made it otherwise. You would call me an enemy to this young man for whom I have deepest respect and towards a people with whom I hold no grudge, on the side of the evil ones I killed to keep him from their grasp. I agreed to let offenses of the past slide. But past is past and now I have heard you call me animal for the last time in this life. If you offer me one more insult, I'll come over there and break you like kindling over my knee, you mark my words."

  He meant it. All of it. As quickly as that, she had gone from a person to a thing, a snake in truth. And not one he was going to leave alive to bite him later. He might not be able to win a fair fight, but he wasn't going to give her a fair fight. If one more ugly word crossed those wonderful lips he was going to go after her with every last thing he had, including lightning that he didn’t mind not being able to control, because he’d survived it once, and had no problem discovering if she could. This was why he hated dealing with people, it seemed as if, for every Brighteyes, there were fifty Taipans.

  She was considering it, he saw it in her eyes. Weighing the odds. Pride, contempt, and some flicker of something, worry? Washed through her features almost too fast to discern. He knew because he was already awash with adrenaline, his entire being on the edge of violent motion, and focused on her every move. Ultimately, something settled it in her mind. Whether it was the open hostility in his voice or his posture he did not know. Maybe it was the last dying gasp of her sense of self preservation. Probably it was the disappointment in her kin's eyes, the frown on his face that she would throw aside his feelings. Whatever the case, she turned her back on him, unwilling even to look at him.

  "Fine. I still think you do not belong here. I believe you should go back to wherever you come from and leave Elven land to Elves. But I cannot stop my brother from patronage and he is free to choose his pet…partners even an… a human. This is on your head now, Lumyt'seit, I wash my hands of it."

  Not even waiting for a response from either of them, she activated the lift. It rose rather more quickly than Ulric was expecting. Just a minute later they reached the landing area and the first of the civilization of Iriel Ulric could see from the perspective of their natives. Before the lift even came to rest, Taipan was gone, simply jumping from the lift to bound off across walkways, turning and twisting away between the arboreal alleys.

  Never in two lives had he never been so glad to see someone gone.

  Sonofabitch, what a vile personality he thought. And he would know, he'd never been that companionable a human, but, yikes.

  "Brighteyes, how is it possible that you and that creature, are related?" He asked, with utter sincerity.

  Brighteyes sighed deeply.

  "I am sorry Ulric. This is how she is. Not all Aes’r hateful like that towards the Otherkin. Not even most. We just want to live our lives in peace. It is difficult for, what are you calling my sister, a Taipon?"

  "Taipan, Brighteyes. They're a venomous snake in my old world. Notorious for lethally toxic venom, the most of a land serpent, and extremely high aggression." He corrected.

  "Mmm. This is apt.” the young Elf agreed, even smiling slightly at the comparison, “Sister Geyrt, Taipan as you call, has a deep resentment against Humans and, much lesser, Beastkin.”

  His boyish grin faded, and he continued, more grimly, telling a story he did not wish, but which was immediately important to inform his guest so that unfortunate events might be avoided.

  “This important tale, so listen carefully Glade Chief, it matters for your life,” Began the Princling, so Ulric tuned in completely to the harrowing recounting.

  “Long before I was born, my father, Bald’rt Iriel, [Lord of the Deep Wood], had another son, his first born. He was elder to Geyrt by century, well loved by his kin and respected amongst the other tribes as a worthy heir, and she worshipped him, followed him everywhere is what I have been told. He was visiting the Zellussin, the Riverfolk, carrying messages from father to their chief. A band of Humans and Beastkin pirates raided the boat he was on, mercenaries, hired by Prosper, the powerful city-state that controls the other city-states of Prespang's Human territories. They butchered all the passengers, burned the boat, trying to cover their tracks. Father finds out, and his wrath is great beyond reason. He goes himself to kill them that take son, all of them, and the ones that shelter these from his vengeance. To Prosper itself he goes, and scours it to stone when they refuse to answer his demand for justice with honor. They remember still the Blood Moon, even a hundred years later. After, Father declared Iriel a grave yard to unpermitted travel by Humans or Beastkin. Sister changes, hurt deeply, never forgave the Otherkin who took her brother. She follows her mother’s footsteps, became a Hunter, specifically to kill any who enter Elven land without permit, to be a weapon for her kin. My Father does not look kindly upon the people of Prosper, who would not answer his call to honor, even today, and they who are emissaries must walk a dagger edge in his hall. None of those in the human city where those murderers were from, and who were paying them to steal and slay, are the same as ones that kill first prince of Iriel, but some wounds heal not." Brighteyes explained, an old sadness in his voice.

  Ulric said nothing, not after hearing that tragedy. No wonder they were so sketchy about human folk. And, those sonsofbitches were at it again, this time with the little brother. He sympathized, just the teeniest, tiniest little bit with that vicious, spiteful, bitch of a sister. Clearly not too much, you don’t lay the crimes of one at another’s feet, no matter how appalling, because that was an injustice. He didn’t agree, but, a little bit, he understood.

  Lumyt’seit of Iriel, seeing that the abrasively dignified man had taken the story to heart, he too that was prideful, if not as overbearingly arrogant as Geyrt about it, continued, hoping to forge common ground between this human and his own kind, explaining gently, "It is a thing of Elves to only care deeply for few people. It is hurtful to lose loved ones and long is the grief of one who lives as long as we do. This is why we marry only once or twice even in such a long span of time, and produce few children for all of that time. Even most Aes'r interact with each other as only acquaintances, it is difficult to be accepted into an inner ring or tight social circle. You must normally be introduced by one of the members first, and they will only do this if they trust you completely.”

  Ulric could see the emotional utility of that. He’d lost a sister and it had changed his life. His parents’ lives too, none of them really ever got over that. They’d moved on, but they’d never completely let go of the loss. For someones that had to suffer that grief for hundreds of years, he could well imagine being even more careful with your fondness.

  “I see.” He said, simply, because he didn’t have much more than that to offer.

  Brighteyes nodded, “I explain this to you so you can understand. My sister is more isolated than most, difficult by nature, her brother was one of the only true rings she have, and the one she was closest to most of her life. Then he was taken, and she close self, for a very long time. When I was born, she attached to me and we are as the vine to the tree. I love my sister and she is devoted to me. It would have hurt her savagely to imagine losing me the way she lost her elder brother. I do not excuse her treatment of you, you are right to stand up for yourself, no Iriel’en would swallow such insults, and she knows this. I only tell you this so you understand it is not you she hates, not really. She hates the ones who took her family, her only friends."

  Now that was a bitter tale indeed.

  For all the wonder and fantastic of this world, Varda was no perfect paradise. That did little to ease the sting of being treated like garbage. But, at least, it was almost understandable. Even so. Ulric had given her his word and he intended to keep it. Brighteyes was a good person but his sister was an asshole. It took one to know one.

  "So, explain for me why you two look so different. I haven't seen anyone since we got here so I can't compare. Are there major differences in appearance in Elven folk? Even inside the same families?" Ulric was hoping these questions weren't rude but he was heading deep into foreign lands and he wanted to know enough not to say anything that would get him challenged to a duel every few steps.

  And besides, this was awkward as hell and he needed a distraction badly.

  Brighteyes did look a little more relieved to find a safer topic while they walked through the emptied city. It was sort of creepy, like being watched by the ghosts of the vanished people. Ulric wasn't even sure if that wasn't a real thing. If there was magic, too beautiful fae-folk, and whatnot, who knows what other jeepers creepers were running around from his previous life's folklore.

  "That much is clear if you see our parents. My father has three wives, he is, ummm…unusual in this respect. But it is less uncommon for rulers to marry multiple times, the confederate clans like to solidify ties through kinship. In any case, my mother is third wife, she is daughter of a Great House from the Highlands, Melond, and they have pale skin and hair, it is she I take after, mostly. Geyrt's mother, Vedyr, is from Great House of Iriel, an old line. The Aes’r of Iriel tend to be darker in coloration. Father Bald’rt himself is very similar in appearance to Geyrt, he too from an old line of the Deep Wood, they rule for several generations. The various tribes do intermarry, this is part of the purpose of Winter festival, but there are distinct differences in their appearances, for the most part. Children favor strongly one parent over the other, always, although it is flip of the knife which will be favored. Only the nomadic clan, Narii', who have no home and travel throughout Orlethrem have no definitive appearance, they intermarry too frequently, appear as all the other clans." Brighteyes lectured.

  Ulric was glad of the instruction, it lessened the heavy atmosphere of the empty streets, which should have been teeming with peoples living their lives, and the discord between himself and the lad's terror of a sister. So, there were different clans. And the clans were united under a sort of common banner, which is what Orlethrem was, a confederated nation. Kind of like the Iroquois. That was sort of nifty. He was going to ask about linguistic differences before he realized how dumb that was here. Varda had some kind of species language connection through the Akashic record. They just spoke Elf.

  This Father person sounded like a tough pill. If he was anything like his daughter Ulric was headed for the hills, magic teachers and trade be damned.

  "You've mentioned your dad a lot. What's he like? His name was Bald'rt right?" Ulric asked, as casually as he could manage.

  Brighteyes actually smiled. Ok that was a good sign.

  "Father is chief of Iriel. To be precise, he is [Lord of the Deep Wood], and is much respected in Orlethrem. So much so that in the last moot, some fifty years ago, he was named Crown, the tie breaker for votes and war leader should Orlethrem go to war, which they have, so he is acting lord of Orlethrem at this moment. Father is…the strongest person I know. He is doting on his children but relentless against enemies. Great Houses of Orlethrem respect his rule, some of his Court are terrified of him, and I have heard rumors of his younger days, when he was of wilder temper, but I never see that side of him." Brighteyes instructed, thoroughly scaring the shit out of him.

  "Ah," the golden-haired youth exclaimed, as if remembering something important, "Ulric, you must never instigate rebellion or challenge Father’s rule. Even if you doubt, I believe you would beat my sister, but my father would destroy you and not notice. His is not called Iriel's Blood Moon for nothing. You have a habit of searching for places to put needles, even if you don't drive them as deeply as you might. This is possibly unwise with Father. He might laugh if the jape is well pointed, you two have the same sort of humor, but if you say something insulting out of bounds, from ignorance, he will put you on the challenge floor before the hour and kill you dead. I have seen this myself. A new ambassador, ignorant, puffed up and full of himself, questioned my heritage because of my skin and hair, the fool did not bother seeing my eyes and bones are clearly from the paternal line, and Father ended the drought beneath the man's feet before he was finished speaking." Brighteyes finished narrating, still smiling.

  Alrighty then, Ulric thought. Don't dick around with the Elf king. Actually, the way the kid was still smiling, as if at a funny story about somebody getting a dirt nap, and the way he'd used his knife and bow, maybe don't dick around with the Elf prince either. The sister was no slouch, come to think of it. You know what? Just maybe think twice about fucking around with any of them.

  Wait that drought thing, that was familiar.

  "You know, Brighteyes, your sister threatened me with that. Ending the drought, and all. What does that mean exactly? I have a guess but I'd like to confirm it with you." Ulric prompted.

  "Oh, that means to open the belly so that the organs fall to the ground and perforate the heart, letting the lifeblood empty where they stand. It is considered shameful, because of how badly you fight that an opponent can create such wounds. Most combats are expected to end when one fighter cannot hold a weapon from wounds to the arms and hands, stand from wounds to the legs, or through a fatal stab, or small vital cut if defenses are open. But to take broad disemboweling cut across the body is to fight like a pig." Heir Lumyt’seit said, the child prince talking about gutting someone as if speaking of the weather.

  Sonofabitching Elves just did not play around at all. Might be hope for getting along with these people after all, if they didn't fucking kill him.

  Ulric found himself laughing. Brighteyes asked his question with a raising of his namesake.

  "Nothing little man. Just thinking that you Aes'r are my kind of people after all."

  Brighteyes nodded back at him, his smile turning into a rare grin.

  "I am not a man but you are not wrong. You are worms in head Ulric, but are of a kind with the Elves. It will be a shame if you die young." The young elf told him confidently.

  "Word." Ulric replied.