"That is exactly why there is only one myth about Okado. And that half-elf merchant's so-called cloak was scarcely better than my picnic cloth." Devalosfang Dear's voice carried a hint of mockery. "'A green cloak? No, I distinctly said black cloak. I know that cloak was in your possession, so you might as well tell the truth.' The smile he had worn crumbled away like autumn leaves, leaving his mouth gaping wide enough to swallow his own limbs. 'I truly have no idea what you're referring to, sir,' he stammered, clinging to his pretense. But my men possessed less patience - one kept tapping a steady rhythm on his sword hilt. As you know, elves and half-elves are exquisitely sensitive to rhythm, so his resistance quickly crumbled. 'Yes, sir. That cloak was mine, but it was stolen days ago. I swear by all the gods.' His composure had utterly vanished, hands trembling against his chest. Of course, I knew he spoke truth. I even knew who had taken the cloak - though I kept that knowledge to myself. Later, when I asked about the cloak's origins, his answer proved most unexpected."

"Don't tell me that cloak was stolen too?" Carl Clawyn blurted.

Devalosfang regarded him with surprise. "I didn't realize you were a sorcerer, Carl, capable of reading minds. He admitted quickly enough that yes, the cloak had been stolen. But what truly surprised me wasn't how he acquired it - it was where. Time to test your powers, Carl. Can you guess where that half-elf obtained the cloak?"

Carl shook his head. "That's hardly fair, Captain. It must be somewhere I've never heard of."

"Not just you - I'd wager most in Godma have never heard the name. He told me the cloak was stolen from Perithorio Anaktoro."

For a moment, only bullfrogs broke the silence. Carl pondered, then looked to Tyler, who shook his head, equally mystified.

"Perithorio Anaktoro... that name rings faint bells," Eoch Oberna mused, searching his memory. "When we first reached Crivi, we captured villagers to question about the roads north of Cynthia and the Kulen Mountain. One mentioned this name... though where exactly escapes me." His face darkened. "Damn it all! This memory makes my blood boil. The Friez family never could tell interrogation from slaughter. Of our hundred captured villagers, barely ten would speak with us, yet they beheaded the other ninety in front of everyone. Once they start killing, not even the Emperor's command can halt them. We barely asked three questions before they butchered the rest. Curse them! With more knowledge of the north, perhaps tonight's losses..." He exhaled heavily.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

"'Mad Butchers' Friez - their blood runs with madness," Devalosfang said. "But let us return to the cloak. Through further inquiry, we learned Perithorio Anaktoro is a forest north of the Kulen Mountain, in northern Duviliel."

"Far north then. No wonder I've never heard of it. But why steal a cloak from a forest? Was some army or noble camping there?" Carl asked.

"Congratulations on being completely wrong," Devalosfang chuckled like a schoolboy. "The forest's name is ancient tongue. In our speech, it means 'Forest of Elves.'"

"Forest of Elves?! You mean elves live there?!" Tyler's voice rose sharply. "Impossible. The half-elves I've met swear most elves dwell in their kingdom, Illuviλofer, the 'Flowered Hills.' There can't be an elven forest..."

Eoch smirked. "Let me guess - these half-elves shared their wisdom in a brothel?"

Tyler's neck flushed. "Well..." Devalosfang patted his shoulder. "It seems half-elves aren't skilled liars in bed. According to our merchant, some elves still dwell in this continent's forests. They're called Sylvan Elves."

"Sylvan Elves!" Eoch exclaimed. "Like those legendary creatures that appear as trees until you pass, then sprout faces and whip you with branches?"

"Those are Dryads, sir," Carl laughed, reminded of his daughter's endless curiosity. Eoch waved dismissively. "Aren't they all the same?"

Devalosfang shook his head. "To my knowledge, Sylvan Elves and Dryads are entirely different creatures, sir." The others leaned closer, like children at storytime. "Sylvan Elves are kin to other elves, perhaps distant cousins. Their settlement in Perithorio Anaktoro predates our records. Tales paint them differently: some say they're green-skinned and near naked, dwelling in great oaks. Others claim they match Illuviλofer's High Elves, with porcelain skin and otherworldly beauty. Some say they wear leaves; others describe green-dyed leather like hunters. But all agree they merge with trees and command wood-magic beyond even Druids' power. Some say they control Dryads to redden trespassers' backsides like baboons."

Eoch touched his iron backside reflexively. "With such tales, has anyone actually seen them?"

"If so, it's rare to find record," Devalosfang explained. "Few dare enter Perithorio Anaktoro, and those with ill intent likely lose their memories. They despise human trespassers - any humanoid really. In foul moods, they chase off even sunbathing gnomes, let alone dwarves. Their archery is legendary - they can shoot a feather from your helmet at two hundred yards, Tyler." Tyler mimicked drawing a bow. "That's with plain spruce bows. Give them a whalebone bow from the Free Market or passing merchant, they'll plant arrows in your backside from five hundred yards."