For all that he wasn't recovered from the task of slaying the Lich, he met the current Chief of Zelussin Elves with his back straight, following their guide to the great hall to audience with the gathered lesser and greater houses of the Riverfolk, led by their Lord.
Grey eyes met deep green and golden brown, the inquisitive almond stare of the silver-blond haired lord, pretty, as all Elves were, fine features impassive and the middling tall Elf's hair was kempt in a woven knotted braid that kept silver-blond hair back from his face. A rather impressively trim muscled chest lay half exposed beneath a vest of woven bronze wire and some other substance. Ulric puzzled at the makeup before he realized it was a [Heartwood] cloth, the fibers of those guardian trees somehow spun out so finely that it resembled cloth.
Alright, he had to admit it, that shit was impressive, but he kept his features even and let nothing show. Absent the once wondrous armor of Galed Uldin and most all of his wardrobe destroyed along his journey, Ulric wore a loose, rough robe of light grey wool. His sturdy boots, worn near through in some places on the soles were about as worn as the man himself, but he'd be damned if he showed it. One of the things you learned quickly about being amongst the Elves was that you shouldn't let them think you weak or vulnerable, not if you were in a position of power. Those who couldn't defend their thrones didn't deserve them, or a place at the heads of their people, in the thinking of the Elves. Best leave that to those who could muster the strength to rule. It was somewhat regressive, but there was a simple, straightforward logic to it.
The Lord of Zelussin broke the mutual examination with a short bow and a declaration, "Hail! Elf Friend, Lord of the Ancient Glade, I welcome you to my hall and to the capital of the Aes'r-Zelussin!"
Taipan relaxed a substantial degree and so too then did Ulric. He was being greeted as a friend of the family it would appear. The rules of hospitality were in play and he no longer needed to worry about the majority of what could go wrongly amongst the Riverfolk. By the words of their king he was under Guestright.
Schooled by his former princess wife, Ulric had the right words for the occasion, and he delivered them as he'd been taught, with steady courtesy, "It is my honor to accept such hospitality, I am as at home as in mine own hall. You have my thanks for seeing to those who come in my steps, the Ancient glade remembers this courtesy."
A not so complex sort of bargain, the guarantee to any Riverfolk who should find themselves at his door that they would find the same welcome. He was assured by his Shadow-Wife that this was a very standard kind of exchange and wasn't some great treaty. However, to make no offer of similar treatment for his hosts was viewed as an incredible arrogance and a rudeness that would live long in memories. These were the kinds of games that he had to be careful playing amongst the Aes'r.
The proper response bought him some measure of good will, by the marginally pleased tilt of the
Zelussin King’s fine boned chin, a solidly handsome countenance that would have melted lady folk from
the Before down to their knickers.
Tired as he was, Ulric strove to put up a solid front before the movers and shakers of the Riverfolk, not
entirely because of the advice of his mate, in all her wisdom garnered from having had to run in these circles when she was unable to escape into the wilderness as a Hunter.
Not so very long ago, Ulric had been more or less cornered into a duel against one of the sons of the high houses of the Zelussin, and had killed him quite publicly in Bald’rt’s hall, during one of the major holiday ceilidhs of the year. That that house was now abolished, its head and many of his subordinates having fled for being traitors, did not change that fact. He wasn’t so naïve to think that the youth had had no friends amongst those who now stood attendance in the court of the Riverfolk. That had been back when he was in more or less fantastic condition.
The pendulum had swung, now, here he was threadbare, worn down, ragged out, and generally cranky from repeated, and thoroughly unpleasant, sessions from the healer’s in training. He was providing a quite stark contrast to the Elven fitness assembled around him, and that might get some folk to wondering if they might test him.
It was not fun times to be wearing his skin, that was without question.
“The road wears heavily upon you, Ulric [Lord of the Ancient Glade],” Commented the River Lord, cutting directly to Ulric’s most pressing insecurity, “Last I saw you in the hall of my Deep Woods cousins, you were fresh as first due on spring flowers. It seems you have suffered in your efforts to take the Golden Thrones to task.”
Ulric stuffed down whatever lingering anger that observation sparked. No sense denying the obvious, not in front of people who cared not for lies, where they greatly appreciated subtle misdirection.
“Any blade that has felled so many foes should be so notched, excepting that Galed Uldin crafted it, I find.” Came his response, a reminder that Ulric had well earned his current state hammering the piss out of anything that the servants of Prosper had managed to throw at him, and also a reminder that he wasn’t defenseless.
Nods went around the room in acknowledgement. It was becoming well known what the Glade Chief had gotten up to in the distant lands of their enemy. Word returned by Orlethrem scouts who had gone north, searching for sign that more attacks might come, only to find the Vatyn coast in disarray, to hear rumor of multiple break away factions and rebellions, and, at the heart of them all were tales of a white haired man in dark armor who had come like a thunderbolt into their midst. Messengers bearing request for parley, declaring alliance immediate and unconditional against Prosper from a known entity in the Baron of Kistalfer were also spreading rumor of an Eater of Lightning having discovered a foul web of compulsion on the nobility of Prespang’s city states. All things that had happened even before Ulric had tripped across the Elf Lich who’d manipulated a centuries spanning war to satisfy its grudge against its former kin.
Ulric further cemented in the minds of the gathered Houses, greater and lesser, his position amongst them by a bit of intentional rudeness.
“Forgive my abruptness, but my Shadow and wife is recovering from her wounds, as I am from mine, and her labors on behalf of us all have been as great as they are wearying. To languish in the halls of the Zelussin would be a fine thing, but my own halls call and a chance to lay down arms for us both is needed.”
Thus he had made clear his lack of intent to remain at hand and had put the ball back into the court of King Escer’ha Zelas, with reminder of who he and who his wife was, and what the former princess of Iriel had done for Orlethrem on her great run, and the months of fighting thereafter. By all rights, Taipan was a hero, to say nothing of her role in events outside of the lands of the Elves. By all rights, Ulric might also have been, but he was hoping, in the short term, to settle for forgotten hermit King of the Glade, and, if his ability to channel magic ever recovered, humble bush sorcerer. That status couldn’t last, but he’d settle for a couple of years of not being fucked with, if at all possible.
Lord Zelas was as fast on his feet as any ruler of the enigmatic Elves, and also saw the path opened by Ulric’s rushed diplomacy. Taipan’s guidance was, yet again, safely leading all who followed through the dangerous tangles, bypassing the likely places where lurking predators might lay.
“So it must be, so it must be,” Agreed the ruler, gladly taking the chance to establish good standing with a neighboring Lord, if an unexpectedly round-eared one, and rumored friend of the troublesome Bald’rt Iriel, “Grim indeed was this Spring harvest, and many amongst us carry heavy hearts, scars that do not all show. If you could be compelled, Ulric of the Glade, I would ask that you and your mate, and the cousins we all thought long long lost, be at ease for this day, to sup and to rest for a day or so, before you press onwards to home. It is my honor to keep you and yours within my home, even for so brief a spell.”
And, just like that, Lord Escer’ha Zelas put a bow on the entire situation, placing Ulric and his people under the King’s own roof, which would neatly sever any feelers at a smoldering resentment being able to nip at Ulric’s heels. Taipan had spoken highly of this man, who led with wisdom for all that he was only a few decades older than Bald’rt. It took keen mind and guts to wrangle the vast networks of trade along this continental artery, juggling the needs and wants of all the competing tribes of Elves against the desires of his own clansmen. Gratified was Ulric to know that Morion and his get were outliers in Great Houses of Elves being cutthroat sons of bitches.
Ulric smiled, a genuine thing, full of relief that things had gone so smoothly and bowed deeply before offering honest thanks as well as his intended course, “That kindness is welcome, and accepted, Lord Zelas. A day or two and no longer, in calm and peace, are just what those who follow me need to gain back a measure of their spirits. We will depart then for Iriel, on our way home to the [Plateau of Ancients]. I did give my word to Lord Lumyt’seit Iriel, and to the one day returned Lord Bald’rt Iriel to join them again in their hall, before I made for the Glade.”
If anyone here had thoughts of bypassing their own Lord’s will, a reminder that the Iriel’en were friend to Ulric would put that to bed. Brighteyes had gained big heap standing in the eyes of the Orlethrem for his handling of the war, and his grace in court at such tender age. Ulric always had a feeling the kid was a gem, and Taipan's proud recounting of her youngest sibling’s doings fully validated the suspicion. Then there was, of course, the boy’s parents to be accounted for. Bathe had ravaged blocks of heavy infantry like a tiger set loose on quail, and Bald’rt, from his sick bed, had atomized divisions whenever they tried to consolidate to push the Orlethrem lines. And that was only if the other two wives, Shor and Vedyr stayed passive. Unlikely. Shor would tolerate no slight to her family and Vedyr hadn't left an enemy alive behind her in a century.
Not many would find the stones to play games when they might make enemies of that caliber.
Just like that, without bloodshed, without a single word of protest or a voice lifted in anger, Ulric and his lovely wife, got to sit their tired asses and have a damned fine meal. Dining amongst the River Elves was not quiet, as it was amongst the Iriel’en, nor as boisterous as the Legranel. Instead it was a fine middle ground, where clusters of Elves sat and took their meal together in hushed conversation, but, occasionally, one or three would come to visit briefly with Taipan, almost always with word of thanks or appreciation. Disgraced so recently, only yesterday to the thinking of an Elf, who would live to see hundreds of seasons, she’d come through the fires like tungsten, strong and pure. Hers was a hard growing up, but she’d got there, a true success story.
He was proud of that lady, she'd come a long way from the woman who shot arrows at her brother's guest from ambush, and who'd turned a hate towards all the Otherkin into, at worst a healthy suspicion of motivations that might countermand her Honor's ends. Seeing the esteem the Riverfolk showed her, absent the almost begrudging respect he'd seen at times from her own kin, was a refreshing experience. The Taipan who had been called Geyrt would have viewed such overtures as merely her due. This one, though still highly venomous and prone to biting, held her fangs for the worthy and took her honors with humility.
The Valin sitting at a place normally reserved for visiting heads of state was left mostly to his supper, to enjoy the succulent artistry of the Duties manning the kitchens, and the absence of long held worries and constant vigilance. It felt a little unusual to speak while eating. His first few months of life upon Varda were spent in isolation on the Plateau. The next few were spent amongst the Iriel’en, who eschewed conversation while meal taking.
That being the case, he couldn’t help but lean over to whisper a question to his wife, “How long has it been since last we supped without fear of something or someone creeping up behind us?”
Rapid calculations took place and his lovely Huntress answered, “four Cycles of the Coven, one half Cycle, two Dances of the Twins, and ten Rounds of the Twins’ dance.”
Ulric blinked a couple of times. She’d quoted the exact time, down to the hour since they’d walked from the trunk of great Irielhos. Not so long ago, realistically. A goddamned eternity to his sensibilities. The once upon a time hermetic former engineer felt like he’d lived three lifetimes since leaving the Elven fortress.
“Gods’ blood. It really hasn’t been that long, has it?” He sat back in the cozy chair, astonished.
Sitting there pondering over it, his half-eaten meal forgotten, the bearded man suddenly couldn’t help but feel the weight of the experiences endured. Half a dozen battles flickered behind his grey eyes, blood in the cobbles of Trachn’ir, an enormous Ogran, eyes staring in disbelief at an end unforeseen, criminal barbarians slain in the tall grass of the plains, an old wolf murdered on his grand-daughter’s happiest day, savage reprisal against those responsible for that evil, sinking ships, bearing their soldiers to the deeps, those brave souls loyal to a festering cause, the Bane camps, and more.
Hands balled in his lap, memories eating at him. So much pain. So much dying. The good and the evil alike, all of them bleeding into the soil of Varda. Ulric never could have imagined that he’d end up wading through corpses to make his way back home to his glade. A bridge of bones built by his own hands, his own choices.
A gentle touch on his shoulder pulled him back from the litany of faces burned into his memories. He would never forgot the faces of the ones who had died under his sword or in the fury of his magics. The haunting dead returned to their places, waiting for him to sleep.
Ulric tried to smile and failed, “Sorry, Taipan.” He apologized, not certain what exactly he was being sorry for.
Taipan leaned to place her forehead against his, and her smell was the waters of Lethe in his nostrils, banishing memory, granting him the peace of the now.
“It is nothing to be sorry for, to know what we have done, to regret the need, to lament the loss, the waste, the sorrows that we must carry.” Came her soft whisper, consoling and sweet, both rare for the Hunter of men and beasts.
Her face lifted and those almond eyes penetrating, alien, and beautiful bored into his own and she told him with the full metal of her conviction, “You have done nothing but that which they asked of you. To have made themselves your enemy was their choice, to have made of themselves the tools of a blighted Lich, a servant of the Abyssals, was their folly. Varda punishes mistakes.”
Ulric laughed then, rich and full. Varda does indeed, doesn’t she? Great and terrible things had he done in his brief campaign against the Golden Thrones. And, given the choices before him, the alternatives, and the full weight of now knowing the consequence of his failure had he not finished the task, Ulric Einar couldn’t say that he would go back and change much, if anything, at all. Choices had been made, and he would live with them. Thanks to his choices many deserving people would get to live them too, while many undeserving would not.
So ists leben.
He picked up a fine boned hand and kissed the back of it in thanks for her tending to his lapse in decorum. Taipan’s ears reddened at the display of affection but she didn’t pull away and they finished their meal hip to hip in silence.
When plates had been cleaned and the host of the Zelussin was content that his guests had filled their bellies, he unveiled the surprise that had put the Elf in high spirits that evening. A barrel was dragged from a pantry to the side of the hall’s large kitchen and the King’s Guard Captain levered the lid open with her knife, before kicking it over, spilling out a quite bedraggled Savris Morion. The Elf had been beaten viciously, his hands and feet removed and the stumps burned shut, so that no healer could restore them, and he was too limp to even attempt to stand judgment before his kin.
The sight of the blood traitor was met with a hiss of indrawn breaths and hands went to knives universally. Ulric some may have had grievance with, for slaying an ally at court or a private friend, but the head of the Morion clan was hated to the marrow of the Elves in this hall.
King Zelus prowled over to the killer of the former Chief of the Tribe, the King of the River Elves, his uncle, and the cold smile on his face, teeth bared predatory, promised that Savris Morion’s final day had come.
“I called you all here this day in celebration!” The Elf lord announced to the hall, arms spread wide to the lords and ladies who upheld the laws, creeds, and traditions of the Zelussin Elves.
Cheers roared from Elven throats and the music of it was in stark contrast to the wolfish expressions on their faces.
“On his way to a seaport, a smuggler hired to transport him across the Sea of Storms, a bold heart came forward and intercepted Savris Blood Traitor, killing his armsmen in battle and bringing him all the long leagues from her home across the Heaven’s Reach Mountains to see justice in this hall!”
The handsome King of the Zelussin gestured to a rather abashed looking Highlands Elf woman, urging to rise a warrior who had been seated amongst the King’s guards during the meal, who now stood and waved sort of timidly, despite her armor, “We will welcome among your worthy selves a new House and its new Lord! Come forward, Tamra Sei’lach of House Sei’lach!”
The short Melondi shared the light features of her breed, distinctly golden haired tied in a complex topknot, the sides of her head shaved contrasted greatly compared to her platinum blond cousins, her almond eyes were slightly narrower and vibrantly brown and gold flecked where most of theirs were green flecked with a bronze so deeply saturated as to be nearly brown. She approached the throne with a sturdy step and a straight back, a pair of wicked war axes hanging from her belt, which bore obvious weight from them.
Ulric suddenly had a feeling he knew why the criminal Lord had no hands nor feet.
The leonine grace of the Elf brought her up to the King of the Zelussin and she knelt to receive her honors. A short ceremony conducted in a variant of Elvish that was distinct from the usual dialects, thus only spottily followed by the Reforged man’s comprehension, saw the former Highlands Elf made a formal Lady of the Zelussin. She rose and the Elf King presented her as he would have his favorite cousin.
“For your great service to the throne, to the Orlethrem, the sixty leagues of shoreline most precious to what was once Morion is yours, to oversee, to hold and succor as you see fit! Hail, House Sei’lach!”
The hall raised again their voices to cheer the newest member of their court, one who would have no shortage of resources available to build a respectable House amongst this peerage.
“Take your place, Tamra of the Willows, your valiant role in this drama has ended in glory.” Escer’ha Zelus said warmly, guiding the new Lady to stand amongst her peers.
“Mine is the role of executioner, and, as much as death should not bring pleasure, I find that this one will.” Declared the King, suddenly smoldering.
Anger repressed while he had given a deserving worthy their honors, tainting not the achievement and celebration of that moment for one who had so great a favor done him, was on full display now.
“Savris of no House, you did sell your own blood as lambs to slaughter and worse. You treated the Aes’r as coin to be traded, hoarded, spent, and wasted. You drove a dagger into the heart of a man who called you brother for over two hundred years, rather than face your crimes with honor. I wanted you alive, so that I could see into the eyes of one so loved by my uncle that he refused to see the poison in them, so that I could watch the corruption die out in them. Your roots are severed. The Twins dance longer for you. The Dream will not bear the weight of your sins.”
So pronounced, the Lord of Zelas drove his knife into the chest of the crippled Elf, hand gripped in that one’s hair so that he could stare into the eyes as their light faded.
He released his grip on the hilt of the knife he’d used and Ulric saw that the King’s own belted knife was still sheathed, where had he been keeping the one he’d used to kill the traitor? Shaking his head wryly he was reminded that there were so many things he didn’t know. So many secrets hidden by Varda’s vastness.
“My Uncle’s blade will go sheathed in his murderer’s heart forever further. Tir’na, please pack that stain on our kin back in its barrel and have it thrown overboard by a willing Acktinian Captain in the sea of storms. I would not taint fair Zelas with the traitor’s corpse.” Requested the Elf Lord gently to his chief guardsman.
A brief salute by the woman who’d cracked the barrel was followed by a rather unceremonious stuffing of the body back into the barrel and it was sealed with thick, almost resinous tar. A small cart was brought in and the barrel was escorted from the hall to find its final destination well outside the realm of the Orlethrem.
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Ulric was struck by how decisive it all had been. A book closed for good.
The King looked for a moment as if he might say something, but, instead, he raised a lithe arm above his head and gestured his hand in a flourishing circle before he retreated with dignity from the hall, trailed by his remaining guards.
Duties sprang into action, more barrels were dragged out into the hall, but these sloshed heavily with booze and were tapped rather than cracked, with mugs passed out to the attending. The doors of the halls were then thrown open and the gathered crowd of kinfolk joined in the festivities, which soon couldn’t be contained even in the expanse of that great throne room. Ulric was soon hauled by his arm by Taipan to the streets to join in the festivities. The city, already a diorama of beguiling wonder, was almost on fire for all the celebratory torches lit, the bonfires carefully arranged in wide streets, and paper lanterns that threw caricatures of Elven lore into relief against the walls and doors lining the avenue. It would appear that word of their shame’s symbol being caught had gone viral and the capital of the river folk was gone full tilt.
Bodies dancing sinuous, inhuman steps laden with grace cavorted along sidewalks. A hundred different songs chorused together forming a din of fierce joy.
A rather comely young man dancing playfully away from several suitors was cornered by a trio of bare-chested women and summarily was packed off laughing by the bunch, carried like a captured deer to who knows where. Elves partied hard.
The persistent tiredness meant that Ulric wasn’t up to joining the city in its abandon, he and Taipan spent a couple of fascinating hours nursing a tankard of the good stuff while they roamed slowly up and down an exultant Potem’aal. The capital was being painted red in its entirety, thousands of its citizens tossing inhibitions aside to embrace gaiety. It was, in part, a way to grieve the pains still lingering from the brief, but intense war, a pressure valve to vent the trauma. But, that aside, the Orlethrem just seemed to enjoy a good old fashioned heller from time to time.
In lockstep, they drifted through pockets of Gladefolk who had been subsumed by the chaos and he was glad to see the Elves who had survived hell treated to a little heaven. Raised mugs from the Gladefolk punctuated their meander through Potem’aal right up until Ulric felt like his legs were going to go and he was led back to the King’s estate, where a pair of duties showed them to a cozy little room with a big bed and a large wooden tub full of steaming water. Paradise. Husband and wife helped each other wash, with perhaps a bit more rubbing than was strictly necessary, soaked together until the water started to cool, and retired to bed with the sounds of vibrant sylvan rejoicing serving as lullaby. They both slept until well after dawn the next day.
Warmth, softness, familiar smell, all the joys of bedding down with Taipan were contrasted by the tendency for the tall woman to wrap herself around him. So it was that he was used to coming to consciousness with anaconda strength legs wrapped, and his face stuffed down between a most rocking set of Elf boobs, quietly suffocating in glory. There was a trick to escaping this intimate entrapment, however. Gently, Ulric nuzzled around and then bit the brown nipple before his nose.
“Heayaap!” Rose a melodious shriek, and the woman came awake fully, limbs spasming from the unexpected stimulation to sensitive bits, unwrapping swiftly.
At least he hadn’t bitten an eartip, that really got her attention.
Freed from the narcotic embrace of his dearest wife, now sitting up against the back of the bed, he grinned against the scowling face and enjoyed, yet again, the sight of a hand rubbing an offended nipple while she knuckled an almond shaped eye.
Musical Elvish poured from the rudely woken daughter of Vedyr, “One of these turns of Varda’s sphere, mine knife is going to be nearby when you do that, Ulric Einar. And then-“ She made a stabbing motion with one fine boned hand, which sent violent motion made lovely parts of her jiggle.
Ulric shrugged and replied in his own somewhat less refined version of the feyfolk tongue, “Valhalla will take me to its halls with open arms, who so bravely faced down a [Shadow Pantheress] in her lair.”
It was purely a shame that their healers had vehemently insisted that sexy time be put in abeyance until they had recovered at least another week, seeing the figure of the Huntress bare to her skin still revved his engines in the extreme.
Seeing a glimmer in his eye, Taipan pulled the sheets up over her chest, hiding the alters of his worship.
“Oh no you do not!” Taipan warned, “Very clear were the prohibitions outlined by our tenders. There will be none of that for at least until we are returned to Irielhos, and do not think that I will not leave you a shriveled raisin of a man when such time comes!”
Gods’ blood, I cannot wait for her to make good on that threat, he mused gloomily. After their long separation he was finding it difficult to resist the lure of Taipan’s blistering hotness. Wait! he suddenly realized, am I whipped? Has this temptress of the fey broken my will so easily?
Suspicion painted his features and the Elf woman raised an eyebrow at the obvious reservation in his expression.
“What is it now that crawls through worm eaten tracks in your mind?” She asked reluctantly.
“I’m just trying to decide if you have used your feminine wiles to corrupt my reason and sway my will into agreement with your own.” He baldly declared.
The sheet fell down into her lap and her balled fists rested on hips, chest thrust forward, “Permit this one to assist you in your determination.” She crowed, already confident in her victory.
Morning light glistened across the velvet soft curves of her body, the voluptuousness only further highlighting muscles well-toned by a life of rigorous exertion in the wilds, a body crafted to make of herself a weapon against the enemies of her people.
“Goddess, I will die for you, or kill others!” Ulric cried without reservation, and bowed to the preening Elf woman face down on the bed cover, accepting his servitude until he could find the strength to rebel.
Gay laughter pealed from Taipan at his antics and she began his enslavement by having him gather their clothes, after he completed his mandatory exercise program for her sick amusement. Ulric would tell anyone who asked that he found it so very gratifying that his Shadow-wife enjoyed watching him complete his work out in the buff. As for herself, they had quickly learned that she was not able to complete a similar performance while nude, the sight was maddening to the poor lizard that lived in his brainstem, sending it into a berserk overload.
The morning games of husband and wife, absent the rigors of love making, kept them occupied until well over two rounds of the Twins since those paired stars had risen above the forested horizon. They strode from their guestroom arm in arm and set about finding their charges. A Duty responded to their inquiry by guiding them himself to the correct square shaped compound, through a set of handsomely carved doors depicting a flight of birds rising from treetops, and into a well-tended interior. The Gladefolk, as he couldn’t help but think of them now, were already roused and going about their various tasks.
An improvised charcoal forge had been set up where a half blind Elf smith guided the two-handed hammer strokes of a Lupid beastkin, using a willow switch to indicate on the length of metal being pounded where the next blow should fall. The rhythmic ringing of metal set a tempo to the entire courtyard and Ulric was reminded again how robust these adopted peoples had proven.
The advent of their adopted Lord caused the busy peoples to cease their labors and gather without spoken word, simply migrating to stand before the bemused Reforged man and his Iriel’en bride.
Ulric cleared his throat, still a touch surprised that anyone would defer to him in this way, let alone a whole gaggle of a couple hundred people, and shared the plan with the gathered crowd.
“So, it would seem that we have a couple days here in Potem’aal to rest before we make the journey to Iriel. We will travel by ship from Zelas, there is a river course of tributaries that can take us all the way to the shadow of Irielhos. I do not doubt that we will stop there for a good few days, perhaps even a couple of weeks, before setting out for the [Plateau of Ancients].” He told the assembled peoples.
“You should do what you may to arm and outfit yourselves, I can provide coin for materials and craftsmen, and transport for whatever you may need to establish for yourselves a place of work or whatever you deem best to make a life in the Glade. Do not leave your guard down on the Plateau, the [Forest of the Forgotten] is a wild place, dangerous even for Iriel’en Hunters, and thick with Greater beasts. Until we have fortified a village I do not doubt that keeping the predators and various monsters at bay will be a daily challenge.”
Taipan spoke up, her serious tone leaving no doubt as to the sincerity of Ulric’s warning, “My kin have not thinned the monsters that range in the Plateau, not since the coming of the [Forest Lord], and that creature’s absence has induced many lethal variants of beasts to roam in competition to fill its place. Ware, or you will not long survive your freedom.”
Ulric didn’t want to piss too hard on the gathered folks’ parade so he offered a suggestion he’d been mulling for a fair bit now, “It is not unlikely that I will be able to hire some Hunters and Warriors who are off their duty rotations to help us patrol the immediate vicinity of the Glade. It should be that, so long as you do not wander far from the wall that Mage Brodin will quickly raise, you will not be in immediate danger. Still, my partner is correct, keep your heads on a swivel, there are nasty things up there. I will also show you the plants I know to be toxic or irritating, so that you do not suffer the same pains I did while learning the lay of the Glade.”
Nods went around at that, the Orlethrem amongst them looked obviously relieved to have some Deep Woods braves available to pacify the wilderness. The non-Elf component of his assembled helots were slightly uncomfortable by that news. The Iriel’en had been, for them, something of a boogeyman, fierce killers who came silently from the wood to claim the lives of Otherkin who wandered too far from home. Some prejudices weren’t wholly without basis in reality, Ulric was well aware that his wife had spent a solid half century culling spies, scouts, and too ambitious border patrols from Prespang that crossed into Iriel. He wasn’t going to get them all past the baggage of the past any time soon, but the best way to overcome ignorance was exposure therapy. The same applied for the isolated Iriel’en, they would soon learn that their voluntary enclosure in the deepest, darkest forests of the Orlethrem had left them too isolated.
It would do the Elves good to have neighbors of more egalitarian bent. He would have to make sure the Otherkin knew the rules when dealing with the feyfolk though, the Iriel’en weren’t as tolerant of broaches to their norms as the other tribes. His Elves were teaching them as the groups merged and interacted together, but establishing a shared culture was a process. He would make certain that the Iriel’en understood that these people lived under the aegis of the [Lord of the Ancient Glade], he would not be tolerating bloodletting over minor faux pas.
Just thinking thoughts like that made Ulric tired, but it was what it was.
“Anyhow,” Ulric waved his hand airily, dispelling the funk of responsibility as best he could, “I just wanted you all to know where things stood and to let you know we have a few days to rest in place. Please, go on as you have, it’s been a long road, but we come to the end of it and you deserve to have some peace.”
With that he turned away from the gathering and left without further word. He was famished. Where to find a bite to eat?
“Come Glade Chief, follow me, I could also eat.” Taipan said from his side.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks.” He said, surprised that he’d spoken his question out loud.
Firmly in tow, his Shadow led them surely back to the compound that housed their apartment and, from there, to a dining hall. Low tables with padded cushions to sit on provided the surface on which a fine repast was laid. Duties were miracle workers, casually imposing order and maintaining the comfort of their wards without seeming effort. A fish soup was brought out, along with a bowl of fine grained rice, a fresh egg, and a whole roast bird, a pheasant or something. Ulric wasn’t sure how a rich, fatty, dark meat bird would pair with the rice, egg, and soup, but he needn’t have worried. The Duties tended their culinary business with refined taste and he added another pairing to the arsenal of his prior life’s experiences. He’d be stealing this one for certain.
Post meal bliss inundated him and, coupled with that lingering sense of exhaustion that never quite faded since he’d fried his circuits, he was content to sit there in the dining hall, leaned over the table, chin on one hand, swapping tales with Taipan. She indulged his sloth for a time, herself not particularly motivated since she couldn’t do anything to aggravate her extensive wounds, but, eventually, she decided that her husband needed to do something with himself or he would begin brooding.
“It is time you have learned to read properly Ulric.” Taipan announced suddenly.
Ulric sat up straight, realizing that he did, in fact, finally have time to do just that.
“Damn right! Thanks for remembering Taipan, let’s get to it!” He said, excited for the prospect.
He’d very briefly tried learning the Elf script back in Irielhos but the attack, and the subsequent needs of the following days had curtailed that project completely.
Taipan led her mate, who was almost cublike in his eagerness, to the library and scholarium of their host. The Lords of the River had interests and duties far reaching, thus their library was extensive and broad in its scope. Ulric breathed in the musty smell of aged parchment, let fingers run lightly, lovingly, over clay tablets inscribed with runes documenting trade records, inventory, debts outstanding, and credits extended. He was diverted from these to a rather bulky set of beastkin leather covered books that were so large they filled his lap and occupied an impressive span of the low table Taipan situated them upon.
“Here are a set of treatises on the history of the Zelussin, the coalitions and loose clans that would, eventually consolidate into the great tribe of the River. Since you find histories of particular interest, it will speed your learning to use these as primers.” Judged his wife correctly.
From there they reviewed the basic alphabet and most common grammar. Then Taipan began reading passages to him, while he wrote them, teaching his fingers to make the shapes upon those pages with his own ink dipped brush. It took getting used to, using the fine tipped brush to make the correct strokes to inscribe the characters that made up Elven written language, but he got his head around it relatively quickly.
Sunscrest passed unremarked with Ulric’s face screwed up, tongue ever so pinched between teeth while he concentrated. He was attempting to write a summary of the page Taipan had just read to him, seeing how much of the language he’d managed to internalize. She declared it a passable effort of a youngling child, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Progress was progress.
They rose in unison, both cramped from sitting for so long and took another walk through Potem’aal, letting the heat of the fine spring day soak into their skins while they ambled around through streets jam packed with peoples of all kinds in the throes of trade season. Valin and Otherkin were always more highly represented amongst the Zelussin compared to the other tribes of Elves, given their mercantile natures and the great river’s role in passage from the Southern seas all the way through the continent, to the Vatyn. Ulric found the hustle around him less offensive than in their prior passages through Trachn’ir or the cities of Prespang. A lot of that was that he was no longer looking over his shoulder for a hired killer or looking forward to a battle with enemies.
Around him was just a city, with city folk doing mundane things, even when their features were fantastic. Iriel’en Hunters stood beside sleds layered in furs, hides, and assemblages of organs, horns, teeth, cores, and all the trophies of their quarry. Valin tradesmen, dressed in snug layers of wool with fur trims that suggested they hailed from the far North, those places known as the White Waste, and were South selling the rare pelts of seals, the ivory of tundra roaming mammoths, and a number of unearthly plants that thrived in the frigid North. Ulric enjoyed the sack of berries, each coated with frost, which were hawked aggressively and bought for dear price.
Taipan whispered a running explanation of various haggling interactions, summarizing who was getting fleeced and who was running a sharp game. She eyed several items without a word that Ulric resolved to try to acquire on the sly, to surprise her with later. Women liked it when their men took note of their desires without needing to be spoon fed, he was certain of this, even if he was often bad at it. All in all, for several hours they were able to be a young woman taking her young man for a stroll through the markets.
Window shopping was a giggle when half the shit on display broke several laws of physics as you knew them, he observed in wry humor.
When he was tired, which happened far more rapidly than he liked, they returned to the library and he continued working through the historical texts. They were interrupted by a Duty, bringing word that the Lord of Zelussin would sup with them as guests, a more private affair than the day before. The pair of them shrugged and packed up their kit to go, who turns down dinner with the King?
Dinner was a far more sedate affair than the previous day, although they spent it at the table of King Escher Zelas, who proved an amiable and clever host. Fortunately, the young King lacked Bald’rt’s overt joy in teasing and was a rapt listener to the tale of he and Taipan’s doings, starting from leaving Irielhos and journey through Orlethrem. He frowned at the telling of the slavers, but clapped lightly when Ulric narrated the battle against the Ogran Trade Minister and the dismantling of that stain on Celestin affairs. When the tale of the pair had finished, culminating in Taipan doing a recounting of Ulric’s vanquishing of the Lich in Prosper, the Elf King trilled a whistle in appreciation of the adventure.
“It is a span since I have heard the likes of your walk across Varda, Ulric [Lord of the Ancient Glade].” Breathed the Elf Lord having greater respect for the pair before him now.
Hearing rumors from multiple sources was different than the straightforward narration of incredible events from the ones who lived them.
“It seems Fate did indeed, have a role for your Reforging. To think, one of the Unliving would obtain an Artifact from the time of Ancients, and be so malignant in their plotting. Did you find the creature’s phylactery?” He asked, as if that went without saying.
“Phylacti-what?” Ulric replied, confused.
The Elf King’s head tilted sideways in surprise.
“The phylactery, Glade Chief, is the repository where the Unliving house their twisted cores, to hide them. It is how they avoid being destroyed by Time’s influence. I would have thought that the creature would have kept its soul housed within that magnificent catalyst staff, but your description of that instrument does not match what I know of such things.” Escer’ha Zelas informed him.
Ulric’s face fell and he saw his expression mirrored upon Taipan.
“Are you telling me, Lord Zelas, that the thing I slew may not have been destroyed when I shattered its form?” Ulric asked, disbelieving that such a thing could be possible.
Seriousness in every line of his ageless face underlined the Elf King’s response, and he met Ulric’s eyes to be certain he was being understood.
“A Lich whose phylactery is not destroyed will return, Ulric Einar. It might take time, the lore on such creatures is not clear as they are abominations, whose very being is wrought of Abyssal magic, but, someday, the soul of the Lich will gather itself and it will regain its consciousness. Should a sentient being touch the phylactery, the will of the Unliving might overwhelm that of whoever stumbles across it, and take hold of their form for its own, to be among the living again.”
Ulric sagged against the table, his hand over his eyes. It took basically everything he had to kill that thing the first time, before it knew what he could do. He’d spent most of his strength doing it, too. Could he beat the creature a second time? He honestly doubted it, even if he regained the full use of his core. If the Lich was on its guard, was as methodical as only an immortal could be, Ulric had few reservations saying he wasn’t favored against it. He’d come across a chess master and, instead of sitting down for a game, he’d flipped the board and punched it in the mouth.
If it came down to a battle of maneuver and subtlety he didn’t stand a chance.
“Myert.” Ulric whispered.
Then he shook his head, problems for future Ulric.
“How long does it take, if you can say with any reasonable certainty?” Ulric asked of the Elf Lord.
A shrug and a rueful smile were the Escer’ha Zelas’ response.
Damn.
Ulric turned to Taipan and she answered his unspoken question with determination, “This creature is responsible for untold suffering, the Orlethrem will not permit its rise. It is almost certainly housed somewhere in Prosper, such creatures would not leave their souls where anyone might accidently compromise the wardings that preserve them from Time’s influence. A vault. A hidden treasury. There will be a place all are forbidden from entering and that place will hold the creature’s phylactery.”
The Chief of the Zelussin nodded his affirmation, “This is most likely. Somewhere forbidden entry yet heavily guarded, warded from scry, its existence under stricture of highest secrecy. Such places almost always, by virtue of how determinedly they are hidden, discoverable. I will send word to my peers. If the creature has already subsumed a host, it will be more difficult to find, the body hides the creature.”
One of the recent changes to his status, a sense for those corrupted by their devil's deals with the Abyssals flashed behind his eyes.
"Figures. It seems that I have something of a sense for the mana of creatures tainted by the time demons that spawned the Lich," Ulric revealed, concerned that this great enemy was not vanquished, "I don't know the exact range or precision of this new inflection of my abilities, but it seems I have some hunting yet to do, with the help of whoever will offer it."
The intense green and brown eyes of the Elf Lord widened and he grinned, “This is well, Ulric Glade Chief, you may yourself bring my request of aid to one who should be of paramount assistance to us all in this endeavor: Shor Iriel is renowned for being skilled in the breaking of secrets. Gain her aid in this and I believe that the Unliving will not quickly enough gather its sanity, even if it has obtained a corporeal form, to become a threat again on Varda."
Quest accepted.
“Sure thing, yeah, that makes sense.” Ulric said, more to himself than anyone else.
Bald’rt’s second wife was something of a genius in mage arts and a formidable mind outside of that. When faced with a problem you can’t solve yourself, outsource it to a specialist. He suddenly felt much better about the situation than he had a minute ago.
“Okay, that works out just fine! We’ll be in contact with the Iriels in just a couple of days, from there, Shor can come up with a way to help me locate the Lich’s soul and the Orlethrem can send a group to make certain it doesn’t rise again.” Ulric said, relieved.
He wouldn’t be lying if he said that he was tired of adventure. Learning to read with Taipan was one of the most outright pleasant things that he’d done in recent memory. Dammnit Jim, I’m a Nerd, not a Warlord!
“That will be more than sufficient to the appeal I had intended to send by runner. In any case, the two of you have played your part in the affairs of the Great Houses of the Elves, for now.” Decreed the King of the Zelussin, looking not unkindly on the somewhat ragged couple.
“Your rest you have earned, it is our time now to earn our thrones and titles. I would hope that my cousins in the other tribes feel similarly.” Their host told them, his features slightly chagrinned.
The Elf Lord did one of those brief scans that people do when they don’t want to be overheard saying something, even though Ulric knew for certain that the King’s guardsmen could probably hear the mice in the pantries. Not that the Duties permitted mice in the pantries. Likely because they would hear them if they were there and deal with them. Damnit Ulric! Focus.
Ulric pulled wandering mind back to the Riverfolk Lord as he confided, leaned forward conspiratorially, “It is a matter of no little shame that it took a Valin pup and Bald’rt’s thorny daughter, no offense to yourself, Lady of the Glade, to change the course of the Orlethrem.”
Far from offended Taipan gave a small salute from her seat and made the hand sign, “It is my pleasure”.
She was entirely aware of her thorns, and would proudly display the blood on them if given the opportunity. Fewer thorns than before their marriage, he was willing to admit, but just as sharp, perhaps even sharper for their being scarcer. His Taipan was growing slowly more similar to her mother and it gave him some reason for concern. Vedyr, while often put out with him, managed to effectively keep her husband in line. Often at knife point, because the shifty Elf required that it be so.
He was going to tell Escer’ha not to worry about it, but his Shadow-Wife beat him to the punch.
“Your seats were too comfortable, and left too seldom by Royal withers to make of yourselves the force amongst the Orlethrem that they should have been.” Criticized Taipan, remorseless, “It is the reason my father and his triumvirate combined their efforts to take the reins of the Aes’r, to guide our peoples away from lackadaisical course, to reinvigorate our kin and take a more active role upon Aesvartheim.”
Lord Zelas received that scolding without anger, it was true and his own rise should have come sooner, he was the better ruler for his kin and had set the duty aside to preserve his uncle’s honor, at the detriment of his people as a whole. Taipan softened the blow with her next statement.
“We were all of us at fault. It was Iriel’s complete closure, borne of my parents’ grief and grudge that kept us blind to the outside, that prevented us from seeing the signs that should have been there to be found to prevent the war, instead of respond to it. That the other tribes should also turn inward was a thing my Father should have known would result, perhaps did know, and was content with in his pain. Just because he later tried to correct this mistake doesn’t make it less of one, especially when the Aes’r are a difficult people to induce to change. We are all of us responsible for the state of this world.” Taipan judged, somewhat harshly of her own kind.
Escer’ha nodded his agreement, “We are all of us stewards of the land, the gardener cannot blame the plant for its wilting, or the ship builder the river for the leaks in their boat. All the more reason that you young ones should not have had to carry your elders upon your backs. Still, it is done now, and I, at least, will put the weight of my throne to work. The Zelussin have much to answer for, and we will, to erase Morion’s taint, to reach outward to city states which have sent overture on behalf of the [Lord of the Ancient Glade’s] intervention.”
Clearly, the leader of the river tribe wasn’t done chewing that bone.
“It is good enough a start, Lord Escer’ha, and, if it matters, what I have seen of Potem’aal gives me reason to believe the River folk are going to be fine in your hands. Hopefully, all the Elves will be fine, now that maniac doesn’t have an Empire to swing against them. All I know is, I’m taking a vacation from roaming around, and I’ve got a village to build.” Ulric said, glad to exit the mainstage, other than to tidy up some business with a vengeful Lich.
The Elf Lord raised his cup to that and they drank deep, a silent toast to a peaceful future.
Thereafter, the hearths flickering as new wood was provided, more for atmosphere than heat, Ulric was treated to a set of plays, an artform he hadn’t gotten to witness before. The actors mimed adventures of sailors, set pieces of waves were moved by dark-clad stage hands, and the whole thing was quaintly brilliant. A trio of beautifully voiced singers in white robes, playing the role of the Coven, the three nested moons of Varda, made three passes around the “stage” showing the story that was the first crossing of the Sea of Storms, to find the strange lands beyond them. It was a rousing presentation and he clapped with everyone else when the performers bowed themselves out.
Ulric hadn’t heard much about those lands, called Mismyr by the locals, but he’d like to see them someday. Time permitting. But not for a long while yet, his home called loudly to him.
When the show had ended, Ulric politely excused himself to bed, and was soundly asleep not long after the Twins had passed beneath the horizon, a Taipan coiled around him somnolently.
Rounding up the bramble of his gladefolk and the other refugee freemen of Prespang wasn’t so hard a task, they had spent the time carousing with the Zelussin and, as Ulric well knew, Elf wine was some head cracker shit for the uninitiated. It was midmorning before the group could be roused fully and put to order for travel. Some of them looked nearly as bad as Ulric himself felt. Remorseless was Taipan however, and she harangued the lot into readiness. A few last-minute exchanges of coin had a fair-sized wagon train following Ulric’s party this time. He wasn’t returning to the glade empty-handed, in the wagons were enough building materials to make quick work of establishing a permanent settlement upon the glade. Included in those was the answer to a problem Ulric had pondered for many moonlit nights: how to provide adequate water to a village from his humble little torn stone spring?
The water hole that had been created by the uprooting of the colossus that created the glade was more than adequate for a single man, Ulric had never so much as lowered the water level of the spring. Meeting the needs of some three hundred odd persons was more than he was certain could be handled by only that water source. The answer to the problem was a traditional one: damming.
The large, rolling hills, the prehistoric remains of [God Trees] long since dead and buried by their living brethren, created many valleys and channels through which water ran freely in the somewhat frequent rains that rose from the uplift of air masses laden with moisture fresh off the Vatyn.
By dressing a few of those channels and routing the flow to a couple of the big hollows and damming them, a set of several deep lakes could be formed from which to draw all the water he and these folk would ever need. Elves were artisans at working themselves into nature’s flow, he could trust them to solve through experience many of the problems he hadn’t imagined he’d have to deal with in the Before. Ulric was a materials engineer, not a civil one. He could do the math to solve for the structural anchors and statics of bridges and whatnot, or the gearing ratios to operate turbines, and all sorts of applications for motors and generators, but the Elves could do it all without needing to reinvent industrial machining tools, which would save him years.
There was also cheating ass magic to be considered. Taipan assured him that they would have no shortage of offers from builders and craftsmen amongst the Deep Woods Elves to embark on a journey to their sacred hinterland, a pilgrimage long made impossible thanks to the [Forest Lord]. These would have the skills and knowledge to pit their cores against innumerable weavings of magic and material. Much as Mage Brodin could compel trees to grow into a great green wall barrier against the monsters, the artisans of the Elves would work similar miracles for wells, flowing water sewars, sunlight catching spells to harness the thin light beneath the dense canopy for growing crops, and more. They would go with a strong detachment of Iriel’s much vaunted foresters. Danger still abounded upon the Plateau, the Greater Beasts and monsters were thick in its forests, but he had a feeling the Iriel’en would be happy to send Hunters to cull the creatures, each brave eager for the chance at claiming a trophy for wealth and prestige amongst their peers.
If Taipan was the standard by which the other Hunters were measured, Ulric would be lucky to trip across a greater in a few years hence.