Before reading, please see the trigger warnings in the pre-chapter author note.

The Kravtic Dwarves are a sturdy people native to the mountains around the Silver Lakes. Though their culture may seem cruel and gruff next to most of Hethbarn’s, it has largely developed due to an extensive history of war with the Night Elves. Their existence proves crucial to the stability of modern Hethbarn because they serve as a barrier between the greater continent and the clans of Night Elves living beneath the mountains. In addition, they supply the majority of precious metals and gems across the continent.

Understanding Hethbarn's History

by Bremond Hillcrest, UE 2339

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SYRDIN

They returned to the mostly packed camp with no further harm than embarrassment. Syrdin tucked away the incident in zheir memory. As long as zhe was around these folks, zhe would never let them live this down. It was too laughable.

Krid stomped around the grassy clearing, not understanding. After everyone had answered him “the pixies” a few times each, he’d finally given up asking what creature he’d seen.

But not Fenn. He sat with his head in his hands, groaning as Mell and the flower girl finished exacting every detail. He was right to be embarrassed. For the drake, it made sense; but as an elf, Fenn should have been resistant to their charms. Yet he had been the first taken. Even Mell had not fallen victim–a fact that probably had something to do with the catalyst crowning her head.

“But did we get directions, at least?” His notebook was open on his lap, and Syrdin glimpsed over his shoulder. The magnificent woman on the page appeared nothing like the portly little creature that had been harassing him. Zheir lips twisted in amusement, a silent sneer.

“Now, see, that’s nothing like what I saw,” Krid pointed to the page. “They were thickly built and had the most vibrant scales.” There was a longing in the way he spoke.

“Scales?” Fenn perked up, forgetting his shame in a moment of curiosity. “Could you describe it more precisely?”

Krid’s head tilted in thought and his transparent lids slid sideways over his eyes. “They were thick around their chests,” he gestured around his armored bosom, “and had bright eyes, long horns, and colorful scales.”

“Like dragonfolk?” Fenn glanced up from the sketch he’d begun outlining, “but with horns?”

“No, much prettier! More like some offspring of a dragon and a nymph! Certainly the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen.” He declared it as a fact, though Syrdin did not see the appeal of such a creature. Then Krid appended, “I only mean most beautiful aside from my wife, of course.” He wasn’t even a shade embarrassed to say that so bluntly. To him, that was just another fact.

Syrdin squatted on some lumpy roots nearby and peeled a yuka zhe had snatched from the bunches. Obviously, the charm had affected their perceptions of the pixies, a common Faerie trick. Fenn kept on scribbling. He should know this much. Syrdin shook zheir head. Zhe knew the Etnfrndians no longer practiced magic. Yet, Fenn was supposed to have dedicated his life to studying the enchantments of the Fae. Perhaps only the Night Elves still remembered the old ways: of societies built on magic and trickery, beauty and charm.

Zhe sighed and slouched into a shadowy nook between roots. Zhe took a bite of the fruit. It was soft, sweet, and surprisingly dry inside. As zhe reflected, zhe realized zhe had yet to see Fenn wield magic that was not pinned on an item. Even his shocking spell had been channeled through someone’s sword. His knowledge was mostly theoretical, then. Useless. More and more, Syrdin got the impression that Mell was the only one of the bunch with a true spark of intelligence. The drakeman was skilled in both battle and teamwork, but the Etnfrandians…

“To get back on topic,” Mell was taking the lead again, thankfully, “I did get directions, however reliable they may be.” She sat across from Fenn, with Krid still at his shoulder and Galendria nearby starting the camping stove.

“Thanks to Beauty,” Fenn sighed. “Where do we go?”

“Again, I’m not sure if this is good information, but they pointed us that way, sideways from today.” Mell gritted her teeth. “Judging by how happy they were about it, I’d guess it’s a trap. After all, the deal only required them to listen. But that's all we have.”

Fenn grimaced, finally realizing his ineptitude in handling the pixies.

Galendria inserted herself into the conversation from her place at the stove. “Well, what did they say exactly? It could be a riddle.”

Syrdin’s nose wrinkled like zhe smelled something foul. Zhe hated it, but the doe-eyed she-elf had good instincts. Fae creatures loved riddles. There was at least one in every legend.

“That’s a good point. Let’s see,” Mell mused. “It’ll be easier to translate into Elvish.”

Galendria nodded and stopped her stoking, waiting patiently. Fenn leaned forward with anticipation, dipping his fountain pen.

“Go to the lake. In the deep of the water where the light barely reaches, a mighty creature lives. Ask him the way–or, no, he can lead the way.” Mell’s attention was focused on the distance. “Fenn, how would you translate ‘in the water’s depths where but one ray reaches’?”

Syrdin’s attention snapped into focus.

Fenn scratched his head. “Your translation is pretty good. The Faerish implies a single ray of sunlight.”

It was an idiom, of course. Just enough light to see color, like the last ray of the setting sun at dusk. Syrdin bit zheir tongue. Zhe wanted to ask which word for creature was used. But then zhe would expose zhemself as learned, and in the Fae tongues no less. As a Night Elf, it was a gamble enough to be around highlanders, even if the colonies in Brikhvarnn provided a strong enough cover for Mell and possibly Fenn to accept zhem. Zheir learning would betray something else: an advanced education among the Dark Cavern’s temples. It would be as good as announcing, hey, Hethbarn’s number one enemy has a member in your midst, regardless of the truth. Not exactly welcome news.

No, zhe would let Mell fan the embers of the other elves’ intelligence into a flame.

The drakeman huffed behind them. The entire conversation was lost to him.

“Sorry, Krid,” Fenn turned to him, “we might be speaking Elvish for a while yet.”

Syrdin smelled an opportunity to escape. Zhe hopped up from zheir tree roots, tossing aside zheir empty peel. “Come on, Captain. That stove requires a wood-burning fire, right?” Zhe gestured to the collapsible metal box Galendria had abandoned. “If we can find a source of wood that won’t throw the forest into a fit, we’ll have a lot less to carry on our journey.”

Krid grinned his jagged smile. “Anything but listening to them big-noggins babbling nonsense.”

Syrdin chuckled as zhe relaxed back into the dense brush outside of camp, comforted by the presence of endless hiding places. Big-noggins. The dragonfolk came up with the best terms. “If they’re big-noggins, what do you call us physical types?”

“Depends. I’d be a vira’kjum—a shield-arm, or warrior. You?” His smile curled upwards, exposing his pale gums. “Shai’akhim.”

Syrdin’s brow furrowed. “But what’s that mean?”

Kridarnn kept on walking in long, heavy strides, ducking the lowest bows.

“Hey now, drake,” Syrdin had to walk double-time to keep pace, “what did you call me?”

He stopped and peered down at Syrdin, who was roughly half his height, his lips still curled. “Translates something like,” he scratched his chin in a large, dramatic gesture, and then leaned down and whispered, “Gut-spiller.”

Syrdin squinted and took a confused step backward. “What?”

The drakeman chuckled his throaty laughter. “It’s a pun. You spill guts with your knife, and spill others’ secrets with your work.”

Syrdin felt a smile twitch at zheir cheek despite zhemself. That’s one way to describe mercenary work. He wasn’t wrong, really. Just taking it lightly. Then again, gut-spilling was a very graphic image. Zhe let the humor roll off of zhem.

“I think,” the drakeman continued more seriously, “the manfolk call it a spy.” He rumbled again. “It’s a good pun, right?”

Syrdin allowed zhemself a smile and shook zheir head, a gesture more of incredulity than disapproval. “It’s not a real term, is it?”

The drakeman had stopped, mouth open as his snout worked the thick air. He looked down at Syrdin. “Don’t worry,” he answered, “we Brikhvarnni only make fun of what we like. Your people can do what we can’t, so we hire you and make jokes.”

Syrdin was taken aback by the sincerity of his response. It was a real term, alright. Zhe had never lived among the Brikhvarnni, but zhe found zhemself half-wishing zhe had. If Krid was any indication, they were decent folk.

“We should get busy,” zhe started poking around in the vibrant brush for loose sticks. “Seems like we’re going to have a tough time finding anything dead or flammable in this place.” Zhe had not realized, but the Wildlands, or this part at least, were not only lush but appeared to lack death and decay altogether. A Trueplane forest had sticks, stones, rotting leaves, and the shells of dead bugs and snails. This was all green–well, blue actually–all alive, all snaking patches of tall grass winding between clusters of dense, leafy underbrush. The dirt could only be seen if you lifted a low-lying leaf or parted the grass.

Krid didn’t respond, nose up in the air. He started walking. “I smell old wood this way.”

Syrdin pressed after him. Must be nice having an acute sense of smell.

“You know,” Krid still stared straight ahead. “You can take a joke from me. Even make some talk. Why not the other elves?”

Notice that, did he? “I fail to see what skills have given them merit in your eyes.” It was an appeal to his Brikhvarnni values. Honor was a thing earned through skill. If he truly cares about his comrades' aptitudes, he won’t be able to argue with that.

“Mmm,” he rumbled. “I respect their skills, even if those are strange to me.”

Syrdin scrunched zheir nose. “What capabilities?” Zhe immediately regretted asking. The Captain had led zhem into this topic, and Syrdin was no follower. Zhe needed to wrestle for control of their conversation. Or just stop talking.

Krid scratched his spiney chin. “Fenn pointed me to a career in the military. He convinced me there was nothing wrong with working within my own strengths, no matter what others think of it. I had to be the best of myself. He is clever in that way.”

Syrdin scoffed and batted away a swarm of fluorescent bugs. Telling someone to act against their society's norms didn’t require much cleverness, especially as an outsider. For it to have gone well was a reflection on Krid’s willpower and ability, not Fenn’s.

“You disagree, but you do not know. I know something secret of yours, so I will tell you something of mine. When I was only a recruit, I rescued Fenn from the desert sun.”

Syrdin laughed. Zhe couldn’t help it. What a meet-cute. “You aren’t helping his case.”

“That was only the beginning. He sheltered with my squad while he went out on missions to seek out your people, the Brikhvarnni Dark-Elf newts. We spoke often and began to speak even of bloodclan–family. I told him my troubles: that my bloodclan did not approve of my choice and that I would be forced to return if I did not duel for my right. When I tell you that he did not hesitate to offer himself as my second, I mean it. He jumped from his seat to do so.”

Syrdin squinted. His second? Krid must have meant his partner in those Brikhvarnni two-on-two duels. They were strange. Anyone could fight their way back into honor as long as they had a witness to partner with them. Zhe couldn’t picture Fenn being eager to fight for anything.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“And he did fight at my back, and we won.” Krid chuckled, a wistful smile on his face. “I will admit to you that he does not plan well, or speak well, or fight well. He is okay with a crossbow and a short sword, but that is not much. But he sees,” Krid tapped his chest as he emphasized sees, “and he cares well. He is loyal. I owe him for that.”

Syrdin huffed. Caring never took anyone I knew anywhere but the grave.

“Besides, I hear he learns and writes well. That’s important outside of Brikhvarnn, isn’t it?” Krid stopped walking. “And the Princess, as you call her…”

Syrdin rolled zheir eyes.

“...She is able to do things with magic like I have never seen before. She creates something from nothing. That is special. And she has the fierceness a woman needs.” Krid nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, I think she’s good for Fenn.”

He had a point. Galendria wielded a type of magic Syrdin had rarely seen. Never among zheir own people, though perhaps in a Wood Elf. It made little sense next to Fenn’s lack of talent. Still, that did not make up for her entitled attitude or the way she inserted herself into everything. She assumed her importance to everyone. “Why have you stopped walking?”

“Because we’re here.”

Syrdin surveyed their surroundings. Nothing was dead here. Rather, the nearest tree, smaller than the others, was especially vibrant. Its leaves fluttered softly, their waxy sheen reflecting the too-bright sun. Fluttering. The other trees were unmoving; the wind still. Syrdin stepped forward. Zhe squinted, face less than a handbreadth from a stem. At the base of one of the leaves, a vein took a step. Syrdin blinked.

These aren’t leaves.

Zhe lifted a hand to the branch. A tentative finger tapped it. No sooner had zheir finger brushed the bark than the leaves of that branch rattled. They shifted hues from blue, to green, to an angry red, and then scattered off the branch, dropping to the ground as Syrdin leaped away.

On the rest of the branches, the “leaves” began to quiver. Syrdin snatched zheir dagger, but there was no need. They settled back down. The ones that had “fallen” gathered themselves and marched back toward the short “tree.”

“It’s like the rockbug.” Krid grinned, bending over a shrub to inspect the “tree.”

“The what?” Syrdin sidestepped, rounding the tree opposite Krid.

“A bug that looks like small rocks. They catch smaller bugs and lizards by surprise. When you scare them, they go running, and it looks like a tiny landslide. It’s very fun for young dragonfolk. I’m surprised you don’t know.”

“Ah, those.” Syrdin forced zheir wince into a knowing nod.

Without further testing, Krid shook the trunk. The leaves quivered, turned their angry red, then flew off the small tree. They swirled through the air, as though riding an invisible breeze, and whirled in a flourished twist around Krid before they blew away.

Any sense of danger Syrdin should have felt was dampened by the simple beauty of it. Zhe blinked a few times. “Well, good thing they weren’t stinging bugs.”

“Mm.” Krid pulled the trunk, breaking it off with a hollow crack. “Very good thing.”

By some good fortune, the forest was not offended by this break. Syrdin shook zheir head. Even the drakeman, whom zhe could respect, relied too much on blind luck. And too much on his faith in other people. Oh, realization struck Syrdin. He led the conversation to try and build my faith in the others. He wanted teamwork.

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GALENDRIA

Galendria sighed and shifted her position on the blanket so that she sat on her other hip. Her legs were beginning to tingle and ache without a cushion to sit on. She sat at one corner of a triangle shared with Mell and Fenn amidst their camp of two bright, familiar tents and a layered, tan one of a rounded fashion. The two people in her company were now worrying over what kind of creature might live in the lake.

This debate over the pixies’ riddle had stretched on beyond its season, and their conclusion might as easily have been that mountains are tall and their caves dangerous. In plain language, they intended to follow the pixies’ directions despite the obvious risk. It was foolish, but one could only hope to find a mountain’s roots by searching its caves. If they wanted to find creatures here, they had to search where creatures gathered: a watering hole. Now they knew where to find one. Plus, if Krid approved, a watering hole could make a good camp base while they made expeditions outward daily like Fenn had originally planned.

She stifled a yawn and tried to be subtle when she rubbed a sleepy crumb from her eye. She was tired. Tired from walking, from new wonders and new birdsong, new beasts and new fears, new peoples and new emotions; all of it new. Overwhelming. She was so tired that she hadn’t raised her concerns with their plan to find the lake. The more minor concern was that she would have no change of clothes if she got wet. More importantly, they were going to find a monster that, at the moment, they were only guessing the identity of. Fenn claimed this place was dangerous, and as he riffled through pages of large-clawed monstrosities, she believed him.

She regarded Fenn with concern as he flipped the page to the “Pha” section of his Index of Magical Beasts. In spite of the blood dried on his shirt and the mixed successes and failures of the day, he seemed… fine, absorbed in the study. I hope we find someone–or something–else to ask along the way.

To the hissing of insects and loud rustling of grass, Syrdin and Krid broke through the brush into camp. Syrdin held a handful of sticks, but Krid carried a thin, hollow log. She was almost relieved by the interruption.

Fenn jumped up to inspect it, circling them like a curious puppy. “Where did you find this?”

Krid showed his pointed, reptilian teeth in a too-wide smile. “You’d go book-brain for it. I sniffed it out, but there were little leafy bugs all over it so it looked like a bush. And when we tapped it, they all went flying in a little army. But it was unlike the yuka. Nothing cared when I broke the trunk from the ground.”

“Really?” Fenn ran to a small, painted trunk and pulled out a single eyeglass. He leaned over the log, inspecting it. “What else? Did the bugs seem magical? Did they swarm you? Were there more nearby?” He ran a finger around the inside of the log. “Oh, look! It’s been intentionally hollowed out!”

Gale smiled. She didn’t care about the insects, but seeing Fenn get excited made her happy. He’d been reserved and awkward these past years in Etnfrandia. This excitable Fenn reminded her more of the elfling she’d known who would talk endlessly about something he’d read in a book.

She started placing sticks under the stove as Krid and Fenn kept on talking about the “leaf-mantis” nest. She glanced up to see Syrdin ducking toward a tent.

“And where are you going?” she called out to the little creature. To her best knowledge, Syrdin was a career thief. Gale did not like the idea of it–her?--stealing away and rifling through Fenn’s belongings unobserved. The others hardly glanced over from their conversation. Why am I the only one worried about this?

Syrdin shrugged. “I’m not needed out here, and I should probably keep watch later when you all get tired of,” her hand flicked disdainfully toward the group, “chatting.”

“You shouldn’t keep watch the whole time,” Krid turned from Fenn’s questions to make the sharp command, “That’s too long for one person.”

“True,” Mell added, “but before anyone rests, I think we are going to need to rethink the tenting situation. I don’t mean to assume the limits of Gale’s powers, but we don’t need her wasting energy every time she wants to take a nap. There’s three tents. I think we could squeeze everyone into them.”

[Trigger Warnings Sart]

Gale flushed, both embarrassed to need the help after she invited herself along and also grateful. Her creations didn’t last long enough for her to rest properly under one. Then she felt her stomach tighten. Three tents. Four of us will have to share in pairs of two. She did not enjoy the idea of sleeping next to someone she barely knew. And sharing with Fenn would… not be right. Of the women, there were only Mell and Syrdin, and she wasn’t positive about Syrdin. She only assumed because of how comfortable Mell was with her… him… “zhem?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind, but I doubt anyone should want to share with me.” Krid rumbled, something she was learning was an amused sound. “Not unless he wants to have a tail in his face. Even your elvish double tents are too small.” His tail slithered back and flicked behind him, as if indignant at the insult.

Galendria tried not to shiver at the eerie sentience of the movement. She had, so far, not looked long at it, but his tail was an indigo blue, like his head and back, and had rounded, stone-like spines down the center, their tips a sandy yellow. She would not wish for Fenn to wake with that across his face. She pictured him emerging every morning weary and bruised. Even if it was right for the boys to share, she could not ask it of Fenn.

“But I suppose that was never a thought. It is obvious the couple should share.” Krid finished his thought in all sincerity.

The couple? He means us?!

A wave of shock rippled through Gale, the impropriety ricocheting in her mind. Either the drakeman was an indecent creature, or he was just animal enough not to know the difference between a pending contract and a fulfilled one. In any case, that was not the way of things. She glanced at Fenn, noting that he, too, blushed. The purple shade crossed his nose and crept up to his ears. It was eye-catching. For the briefest moment, she wondered what it might be like to see that blush up close in private. She scolded away the thought.

“Th-th-no,” Fenn was blinking rapidly. He seemed to have forgotten how to speak. “T-that won’t do. It’s not right.” He hesitated, then added, “for Etnfrandians. We–I can’t share with a female, nor she with a male.”

What does he mean “for Etnfrandians?” It was downright improper! Do other societies not think the same? She had heard that humans populated rapidly. Perhaps there was more to it than their brief lifespans. She was thankful Fenn remembered the Etnfrandian ways enough to blush at the thought of sharing a tent.

Krid snorted. “She’s not just some female. She’s your betrothed! The backwards way of the elves makes no sense.” He puffed out his frustration and worked at breaking apart his log.

Backwards ways? Gale gaped.

Syrdin cleared her–their–throat. “If ‘her majesty’ can accept it, I don’t mind sharing with Fenn.”

“That’s true. I suppose Syrdin and I could share.” Fenn was scratching at his temple under the arm of his glasses.

She gawked. He’s uncomfortable… Just uncomfortable?!

Outraged, she wobbled to her feet, which she quickly discovered were half-numb from sitting on them. “Now wait a moment, that depends on what you are, man or woman.” She shot “zhem” her meanest glare, and Syrdin met it, the tension between them palpable like the air before a storm.

Even if “zhe” wasn’t a woman, Galendria hated the idea. Zhe had pulled a dagger on Gale before they’d even properly met. For all she knew, Syrdin could attack Fenn. It–he–could rob him of everything, then escape back through the Door. Everyone else could pretend that Syrdin’s mysterious aura and unfriendly demeanor were perfectly acceptable, but she would not.

Fenn and Mellark exchanged wide-eyed looks of horror. A chill passed in the air, though no breeze stirred the leaves. Galendria set her jaw. She knew she was missing something about Syrdin. They’ll just have to tell me what it is.

Syrdin’s head swiveled around the group, taking them in one at a time, and came to rest on Galendria. Pale orbs glowed from the hood’s shadow, sending ice shooting down her veins.

“Depends on,” Syrdin hissed, “what I am?”

Galendria swallowed.

“I am nothing.” Their voice seemed to slice the air itself. “Nothing. Not to you. Or to anyone.”

The tension prickled like frost on her skin. Gale’s mouth hung half-open, but no response came to her. Nothing? It made no sense. Did they not have…? Galendria shivered. This was something different than someone between genders: not a once-boy or once-girl who grew up to behave as the other, or some other unique personage.

Nothing.

Fenn cleared his throat. “Though I don’t know Syrdin well, I do trust Mell’s judgment about zhem. The most practical arrangement is for Syrdin and I to share.” Fenn’s eyes were on Gale, pleading with her. “Besides, Galendria, I trust you and Mell to get along.”

Gale clenched her teeth. She didn’t like anything about how this had gone. Yet, after the hostility she’d just felt, she got the feeling that if Syrdin meant Fenn harm, “zhe” would have already struck.

The creature disappeared into the tent that stored most of Fenn’s stuff without another word.

Gale gazed between the others. Nothing? “What did…?” The question died there, incomplete as it was.

Mell sighed and got up. “I think I’m done for today.”

Fenn stared an absently at Gale, brow creased. He rubbed his mouth with one hand, deep in thought.

It was the so-called drakeman who spoke up. “Zheir people are in a terrible war and both sides do horrors to their captives. Those who survive have suffered as no other people have, other than perhaps their assailants. If it is your betrothed’s faithfulness you are worried about, I wouldn’t. I would not consider Syrdin a threat to this family agreement of yours. It says much that zhe continues with the identity of the bereft long after freedom. No, zhe is not your rival.” Then, he bared his teeth in what Gale guessed was a grin. “Nor do I consider that one any competition for you.” Then he winked with real, scaled eyelids.

She was shaken, for a moment, by the fact that he could close his eyes. Then his words sunk in. Horrors? Captives? Not a threat to family… bereft. It was vague, but the openness of his words only allowed her mind to create unspeakable scenarios. Families ripped apart. Towns ravaged. Farms and orchards burned. Generations of art destroyed. Captives tortured, mutilated. Things she had only heard of in the legends of the Night Elves attacks. Could it be true?

“Fenn?” Gale turned to him.

He dropped his hands. “Krid’s right. Zhe probably has suffered an unfair amount. And lost everything and more, a time or two. We can’t expect zhem to be what an Etnfrandian would consider ‘normal.’ Certainly not polite.”

Gale pursed her lips like she’d bitten into a sour apple. Not normal was an understatement. At least she’d finally figured out what zhem meant.

Nothing.

She felt queasy. The world she had lived in had already been expanded well beyond her wildest imaginings today. Now, it festered and rotted around her with violence and maiming. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”