In the far northwestern quarter of our continent, Telia, some 350 miles inland from the Hard Coast, lies the enormous woodland we call the Taliswood, what the Elves call Imskíli, or the “High Forest” in their tongue. Their kind has been in our world for over 9,000 years, so they've earned the privilege of calling it what they will.
My name is Tendil Liste Bascombe, Esq. I am Human, come to be among the Elves here in their forest home for a short time. I come from the city of Wikehold on the Hard Coast in the Kingdom of Feersland. Wikehold is the largest city on the coast, a major trading port if you aren't familiar. Home to half a million souls, they say.
I live in Almsbury Court, North Wall District, of course. I come from a family of traders, merchants, and generations of wealth; their connections, along with my legal and negotiating acumen, are what have brought me here in this capacity.
I am the leader, well, the only member actually, of a trade delegation sent at the behest of Charles Maignard, the majority shareholder in the Hard Coast Company. My own father serves on the board.
The mission here for me is to attempt to lock up the trade of amber with the Elves, or at least a large portion of it. That is the gold of this forest kingdom, amber. Specifically, it's what the Elves call Éliks, their word for honey.
They don't use the stuff as currency. No, they make baubles and trinkets for the wealthy dowagers and second wives on the Hard Coast.
I take that back. I'm sorry, but it's been a frustrating few days getting settled in here. I don't travel much.
The Elves I'm dealing with are Gray Elves, the oldest subspecies of that ancient race that first graced our plane so long ago. I'm currently in their city, Nez Ambríl. That means “New Home” in Elvish by the way, with both the Wood Elves and High Elves next on the agenda.
Please, let me take back my earlier comment. The Elves are known for their fine workmanship, especially with metal. The Gray Elves take that to a different level. They make jewelry of such quality as to leave one in awe. It really is extraordinary.
As good as the jewelers are, though, it's the amber, the Éliks, that steals the show. The color is so rich and clean and clear, looking like it's trapped a piece of sunshine in its grasp and isn't giving it up. It quite literally seems to be giving off a living glow. I'm a man poor for words; you must excuse me. I can't do the stuff justice with quill and parchment.
So, allow me to tell you who I'm up against in these negotiations. Firstly there are the High Elves. Their kingdom is mainly the city of Nez Clarë, “New Kingdom,” and its environs, roughly 75 miles to the west of Nez Ambríl on what they call the Inix’Shert, or Wheat Garden. And more like Wheat Planet! By the gods, it's all you see for a day's ride into that city. That's their bargaining chip. Wheat. And military assistance and kinship, and so on. I've an uphill battle there.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
So, the High Elves, party number one. Then there are the Gnolls, the hyena people coming out of their homeland far to the east, the great oasis city of Yis-Gláz. That bustling center of commerce is located on the western terminus of a large trade route that runs across the enormous desert known as the Waste, far to our east. The Gnolls are
not sending an emissary, rather, they are sending their leader, the Witch Queen, Mag’stula, their Láz-Gnádraz or “Great Mother.”
The Gnolls have had a long-running animosity with the Sand Elves of the Waste, thankfully out of the equation, so it should be interesting how that plays out. If I'm not mistaken, and I'm not, Gnolls used to quite prize some tasty Elf flesh when they could get it. I would be an absolute devil to bring it up. I'm sure it's a sore spot.
Speaking of devils, there is also another delegation of Humans, slavers from the South. Their Kingdom of Swalesia is huge, more than twice the size of Feersland with twice as many people. There is much wrong with Swalesia other than slavery. They encourage piracy in their waters, treat women like animals, and are widely known to send out Assassins when things aren't going their way diplomatically. Oh, and they also train, reputedly, the world's greatest Assassins.
The second son of the Khan of Swalesia, who they call the Mouth of God, Prince Anoresti, a slimy creature with no conscience whatsoever, will be representing them in negotiations. I'll have to watch my back, front, and sides with him and the Swalesians present.
Lastly, there is the Wood Elf contingency headed by their monarch, King Mestil, II. These Elves are the most congenial I've come across in my limited travels, but I can't let that interfere with my purpose here. Their Mestil is fast friends with Queen May of the Gray Elves. That may give them an insurmountable advantage. I can't worry about that now. I must first worry about myself and get some sleep after a hot toddy I believe. I have an early start in the morning.
I have rooms at the Royal Palace, beautifully done. The city of the Gray Elves here is built into a forest of massive redwoods. Most every building is in the trees, built around them, and far up. The Elves get around by a network of rope bridges and pulley platforms. Just absolutely stunning.
My valet came promptly when I rang for him. “Hot toddy, Sir? Or perhaps something a touch lighter this evening?”
I wasn't sure I liked his tone. It's certainly not his place to order for me. “The toddy will be fine, Greer, why do you ask?
“Not to stick my nose in, Sir, but your trips to the privy last night woke up the wing. We were all terribly concerned but didn't want to disturb you.”
Greer was an older Gray Elf. Gods knows how long he'd been a valet. Gray Elves can reach 1,000 years old. He struck me as being at least in his 800s. It was in his manner and the slow speed at which he walked. But it's really impossible to tell with the Gray Elves. They all have silvery gray hair, grayish skin, silver eyes. They're shorter than Humans, but not by much. Definitely thinner, with long, pointed ears.
Right now I was to take him to task. “Mister Greer, your impertinence is unnecessary! We don't talk about these matters socially or professionally!”
What he was hinting at was last night. I had more toddies than I should have, and not enough food to absorb the alcohol. I was up for over an hour filling my chamber pot with what food there had been along with regurgitated toddies. Apparently, I was loud.
“Oh, no, Sir! Nothing meant by it. Merely professional concern.”
He turned to go and, over his shoulder, asked, “So it'll be just the one, Sir?”
“Yes, Greer! Just the one!” and I slammed the door to my chambers. The rascal seemed to be implying that I had a problem with drink! Why, the audacity!