Despite the caution the first night inspired in her heart, Tarica thoroughly enjoyed her first week in Florena’s kingdom. The Forest Elves treated her well, and Florena was kind enough to give her a remarkable emerald-green dress. Tarica appreciated the dress, but it she was more accustomed to her shorter combat skirt, she only wore longer dresses during infiltration or safely at home, not in the wild where there were snagging branches and the occasional thorns. She only wore the dress when she was not exploring, since she was afraid that she could not resist the temptation of ripping the seams out to run freely through the brush.

As expected, their clothing were woven primarily from plant matter, spun from fallen leaves and strips of bark from broken limbs. Tarica noted the use of silk and the rare appearance of goat wool. Florena was not the only one Tarica identified as wearing living plants but that choice of garb seemed rare even among Forest Elves. Perhaps it required a special symbiosis.

Florena’s iconography proved the most bearable of the three monarchs so far encountered, using green with white to illustrate a tree.

Jewelry tended to be dropped flowers. They did not seem to use metal or stone of any kind. They sometimes employed claws but they also disturbed no bones. It seemed their rule was they could not harvest something the beast could not live without and did not naturally shed. They did not even appear to use sea shells. Wool still needed to be shorn from some wild goats and sheep and Tarica did not follow them to watch how they procured honey, undoubtedly humanely or else all else she saw would seem to make little sense.

“It suits you,” Florena commented regarding the dress, in one of the rare times the queen directly interacted with her. Tarica made sure not to trouble her host and her host seemed willing to let her roam free after making her edict of “All life is sacred” clear.

It was of little surprise that the queen had a petite drake accompanying her as well. It was becoming a common sight for Tarica, as the orcs gifted all representatives such a creature. Florena’s was emerald green and unlike Satros’s seemed content to follow its mistress yet never seemed to climb upon the queen, usually staying close but moving about.

Tarica gazed into the pool of water that served as a mirror. “Does it?” Tarica’s Dark Elven sensibilities spoke otherwise. Tarica had spent her life garbed in grey and black. Green was an unseemly color, representing the sea and the inevitability of decay. It might have once been tolerable for its value as camouflage but it was associated with the Forest Elves so it fell into disfavor.

Though it was considered better than gold or light blue. Dark Elves avoided azure, only allowed the deepest shades of blue to represent the edges where the stars met the night sky with clean water represented as white. Deep purple was acceptable because of its connection to the morning and evening sky.

Her people’s kin however viewed black and red as ill omens with Light Elves oddly being the ones that tolerated red the most as it could be associated with the dawn. It seemed that perhaps Marine Elves were the least superstitious regarding black but the exact tastes of Forest Elves remained still a mystery.

The three sacred colors were red, black, and white. Grey, from being the merger of black and white, was the norm among ordinary citizens and local militia while military units wore a combination of the sacred colors, usually only one or two together. Tarica’s own robes at home were primarily black with silver lining but she preferred grey.

“It suits me more than a Marine Elf’s uniform would,” Tarica observed, trying to be honest yet agreeable at once. She could not say the same against Malendar’s choices, she could at least wear something primarily white.

Florena smiled politely as if Tarica told a joke. “I hope your voyage with those sailors was a pleasant one.”

“I have no complaints,” Tarica stated. She enjoyed the ride and even found the company of Satros comforting.

“Did Satros regale you with his many adventures?” Florena inquired.

“I did not have the time to hear many from his own mouth.”

Most of the tales he had to share, she likely knew of from one source or another.

“It is fortunate he did not crash his vessel in his first exploration of the skies as he did when he took to the open ocean,” Florena bemused.

“He crashed?” Tarica almost exclaimed as her mind grasped onto the detail. There were not many such tales of Satros’s follys outside her home. However, could having a ship sunk through battle be considered a crash?

“He has been set aground or adrift multiple times,” Florena stated with the certainty only intimacy brought. “The time I speak of was when he first left home for unknown waters. He insists it was not his vessel and likely it was not, still he was the one leading the expedition. But for many years after he first left home, we thought him dead. He and several ships departed only for us at home to find driftwood along the shore. At least one of the vessels was caught by the crystal reefs.”

Tarica could sense the dread that Florena still remembered. There was a faint edge of resentment to the words yet also relief. Tarica imagined the feeling that she might harbor if another thought dead might have been able to simply turn around and return home to settle such worries only to feel a pant in her chest as she imagined the very thing she herself was doing.

Surrounding her people’s original homeland of Olmvan were crystal islands, the tips of much larger structures beneath. Compounded with the tides, they would prove sharp and deadly. From what Tabitga understood, they were far enough away to merit ships to travel around the shores or along rivers but kept those within enclosed.

If Tarica understood her history correctly, Florena left for the mainland shortly after hearing Satros’s proclamation that it existed, before Alfar was even banished as Malendar might claim. Malendar and his Light Elves only left Olmvan in response to the growing threat the Dark Elves posed to their homeland. Regardless of their reasons for departing, they are not welcomed back. The elves of Olmvan fear that those that have set foot outside their lands had been negatively influenced. While Malendar and Florena accepted this decree, Satros allegedly still snuck back every few centuries, if not to secretly visit his family then perhaps to spite the proclamation. His defiant actions only helped to cement their claim that such souls were no longer compatible with their ways.

“Our journey was without incident,” Tarica recalled. “And I imagine if he could sail through the branches of a tree, he will not suffer such an obstacle again.” She said the latter if only to reassure the queen.

The exact ages of Malendar, Satros, and Florena were a mystery even to themselves, members of the second generation of elves born after a great calamity that saw the world be born anew. They existed before current history was measured. All that was universally accepted was that Satros was the oldest of the three. He was allegedly second only to Kírous in age among elves that left the homeland.

Tarica would have thought Florena was the oldest of the three. While Satros felt like he was also moving, the very air around Florena seemed to stand still as if time could no longer touch her.

“The enemy of sailors are storms, not trees,” Florena seemed to jest. It was difficult to tell. Her posture always spoke of an unassailable dignity. “But I believe you are right. If I speak to trees then the winds and waves speak to him. I suppose we both inherited one of Kírous’s secrets.”

Tarica’s pointed ears almost twitched at the familiar name. Most elves could wiggle their ears so that trait was something she learned to hide when among outsiders and being among strange trees made her repress the impulse. Hearing that name so close to home made her feel small. “You two knew Kírous?”she cautioned.

“Everyone knew of Kírous. Whether he remembers us might be different though I imagine he would remember Satros and I would be insulted if he forgot me. I was one of Kírous’s apprentices if you could even call me such but before I left I do not recall him tolerating visitors, let alone students.”

Tarica tried to imagine the lessons the commander of the Purifiers might teach and imagined none that Florena could live by and still dwell in the forest. Perhaps he taught her the occult he was so well known for.

“What did Satros do to warrant remembering?” Tarica inquired, trying to remind herself of her recent voyage to defang her thoughts of home.

“He pestered the elder, asking what laid beyond the crystal reefs.”

“And,” Tarica let the anticipation guide her tongue. “What did the elder say?”

Florena grinned kindly. “You will need to ask Satros the next time he visits. That will give him a reason to stay longer.”

Tarica had contemplated on the sailor’s rush to leave after being patient enough to pace the vessel to arrive at the ideal time and the conclusion she reached was simple. He needed to to return home to prepare. Florena was already home but the Marine Elves had been treating the attack on Malendar as hearsay. Hopefully, next time he would stay longer.

Tarica’s eyes wandered to the drake as she heard a scratching sound. She watched the drake dug to pull out a termite and eat it. She half expected it to be some poor creature forced to follow the same eating habits as the queen. It all transpired in Florena’s field of vision but the queen did not blink.

“I suppose insects do not count as life to you,” Tarica assumed.

Florena regarded her, for a moment silence passed as she failed to comprehend the simplicity of the statement. The corner of her smile subtly wilted. “No, they are each indeed alive. Unfortunately, it would be cruel to force a wolf to eat grass as it would be to force a deer to eat meat.” Her gaze focused on Tarica as if the Dark Elf was a child ready to find some flaw in a parent’s instruction. “But you are no wolf and I expect you to behave accordingly. I expect you to not harm a single soul here.”

Tarica had just left a land where her king was a god. The expectation stirred something in her. “And if I do?” she asked, remembering the consequences she ran from.

“Accidents happen when one lives centuries, that can be overlooked,” Florena assured her. “However, if there was malice in your heart that led to such an occurrence, I can not abide. I can not force you to change your ways nor can you force me to accept your ways.”

In regards to Tarica’s ways, her own people subsisted on a primarily vegetarian diet, complemented by what could be hunted. However, their approach was born of practically rather than compassion.

They tamed animals but livestock for the sake of food was counterproductive. They usually fed the carnivores fish.The space reserved to raise beasts could be used for an orchard.

They certainly ate meat but it was not an everyday occurrence unless one hunted regularly. Compared to Marine Elves that likely had access to fish a majority of the time.

There was no shortage of fruit for her to choose from. For drinks, there was a selection of juices and goat’s milk. She survive there without harming a single creature.

“You mean the ways of a Dark Elf?” Tarica sought clarification.

Florena gestured to the world outside. “The ways of most beyond this realm. Those that that would slay and burn. Those methods are not required here. Since the first frost and the first storm, shelter was needed and the first spark of fire offered refuge from the cold. I would not strip the clothing from the backs of others woven from hide nor snuff out a flame feed from lumber and leave them in the cold hungry. It would be murder to throw another out into the wilderness unprepared, we can be kind because we are able to here. However, if I fail as a monarch and you find yourself cold, thirsty, or hungry then you may disregard my edicts as you see fit.”

“But if you fulfill your obligations and I fail to heed your words, what will it mean to be not accepted here?” Again Tarica asked for the consequences.

“It would mean you are simply no longer welcome here if you choose to repeatedly disregard our few requests. I promise that we would bring no harm to you but nor would you be able to stay with us.”

“That could be a death sentence,” Tarica assessed aloud. She could accept as much.

“For some it could be,” Florena seemed to agree yet disagree. “You made your way here, you can find somewhere else if you must. Though I have found no reason to believe that it should ever come to that.”

“I am an assassin,” Tarica reminded her matter of factly. She held her breath for a moment as those words were being far too often for her own sanity. One of her profession should not be saying such to potential targets.

Florena looked to the west in contemplation as if she could see Malendar and Satros. “So, you say,” the queen weighed. “But that is not what you currently do. Need you call yourself an assassin when all you have done as of late would be speaking to me and leaving two kings that trusted you alive?”

“I did not spare Malendar, he survived.”

“But you had the opportunity to correct that did you not?”

“Yes, but what if I am using the chance to be close to you, someone I might never otherwise meet?” Tarica hypothesized for the queen.

“Then I would say you are quite clever and indeed you are. However, what could be is not what is.” The queen stepped towards Tarica and closed the distance between them. She rested her hands together over her lap to make her stance utterly defenseless. “However, if you have any murderous intent, it is not towards me or else the trees would not let you be so close.”

Killing was a part of instinct as seen with lesser creatures and could be performed for many reasons be it for food or territory. However, Tarica’s own instincts rebelled against the thought of killing the person she saw as even her most primal self reeled at the meaninglessness of such an act. The person before her was no threat and there would be no reward for taking the queen’s life except the ire of the entire world.

The queen should have been vulnerable, to defend herself she would need to lift her hands while Tarica could strike at a moment’s notice. Yet, the thought of attacking the queen failed to cross Tarica’s mind. She noticed her own lack of hostility and tried to imagine striking the queen but those thoughts unraveled themselves against a foreboding sense of dread that swallowed them up. Instead, she admitted to herself that she was afraid to hurt the peaceful monarch, for everyone’s sake. Tarica could only remain silent.

“Do you have any other concerns at this moment?” Florena inquired.

“No, Queen Florena,” Tarica acknowledged.

“Good.” The queen smiled gently. “If you have any further questions for me, the tree will guide you to me.”

As Florena walked away, the world seemed to bend around her. It was a phenomenon Tarica could only fully observe from a distance but the queen rarely needed to turn and she could not imagine the Forest Elf running. In her steady pace, the queen closed distances that Tarica could not match if she sprinted as the Great Tree itself moved with the queen.

Branches lowered or raised and came to meet each other, twigs and other such obstacles parted for her. Tarica imagined that the queen could walk in what should have been a straight line and the forest would reshape itself to bring her to her destination.

For the first few days, Tarica slept in the day and explored at night, but she eventually made the transition to visiting the shadier regions of the Great Tree during the day.

Florena’s realm suited Tarica far more than Malendar’s. The shade of the trees allowed her to move about during the day as well as night. Many of the beauties of the forest were exclusive to the day, so she was compelled to stay awake to appreciate them. Tarica slowly began to sleep more frequently throughout the night.

As Florena made clear, Forest Elves valued all life, even insects, the large silkworms that matured into moths were left unharmed and silk was gathered after they flew away. The locals took the time to plant the seeds of the fruit they ate.

As many marvels as there were to see. She felt content to not explore. Exploration could lead to her meeting new faces and there unlike in Malendar’s realm, she did not disguise herself. If her sisters penetrated so far to find her, they would deserve answers and a disguise would mean little to one that braved the forest.

So, she remained in the Great Tree where a majority of the people there knew of her status as visitor. The Great Tree itself could require at least a year in itself to discover all the secrets within. It was larger than any fortress or palace that still stood and far more complicated for all the hollows and branches.

A majority of animals adapted to accept the treetops as the ground. She was not even certain if the worms were exclusive to the soil. In the nooks of larger trees, she found ponds populated with fish.

She would see deer, rabbits, and goats grazing on the grass below but she would also as often see such creatures racing through the branches, sometimes chased by equally adept wolves.

Predators there were either camouflaged, quick, or nimble. The counterparts of carnivorous creatures that might be seen in the lands outside were often smaller and more slender than their ground bound kin or else their prey simply escape them through the tangles.

The only creatures that seemed to be larger than their more commonplace kin were the insects. Insects such as bees and caterpillars that thrived on the growth of plants were easily twice the size of any breed Tarica saw outside of Deassala. She imagined there might have been even larger samples to be found but they were as restricted in their by their environment as others or at Tarica hoped so. She did not want to find bees the size of people the way she might need to watch for pit traps of antlions able to eat orcs if she journeyed afar.

The ground itself, when she came to set foot on it, proved itself to be rough terrain overall. Swells from the tree roots formed artificial hills and the Great Tree itself was a living mountain.

Smaller shrubs, in competition with the trees survived in their own dedicated groves or more often sprouted within the branches of the larger trees.

Time moved fast in a land that seemed a stranger to seasons. By her estimate, she had been there since before the time for harvest but winter soon came to approach but she had yet to notice a snowflake.

Instead it rained and rained it did with regularity. The trees served as a shelter from such showers that it went barely noticed except the ground being slick with runoff.

It rained so frequently that the air remained humid. Mist would accumulate on the leaves of the Great Tree and fall to the forest floor below. On one occasion, Tarica witnessed the tree do what she could only describe as exhale a vast amount of vapor in the early morning.

The forest was often wrapped in a light, misty veil. The vapor let the sun shine through without issue, making everything seen in the distance of the never-ending greenery appear to be shades of white or gray. After seeing the great tree from the skies above, Tarica should not have been surprised, but she did not fully comprehend the scale of it until several days later. The leaves from the highest branches on the crown of the tree were often caught between the lower branches. Generations of leaves had rotted and became like soil. If she had not known better, she would have thought she was back on the ground, for each branch appeared to have its own dirt floor under it. Bushes, ferns, and smaller trees grew from the soil, and the forest animals, insects, and squirrels that scuttled about reinforced the illusion that they were near the ground. Each branch was like a forest in itself, creating a vast network of independent, yet connected systems.

After being in the ship with Satros’s crew, she needed to be alone if she chose to roam. Fortunately, Forest Elves were solitary. They did not have populated cities and tended to spread out in rural areas, so whenever Tarica explored, she was likely to only run across one or two of them. That was the conclusion she would have reached, if not for the fact that they always found a reason to gather and celebrate. Without fail, a group of Forest Elves gathered at the base of the Great Tree every evening. Although it had existed for years, the view was still apparently precious to them. She went out of her way to avoid them, yet while passing through the crowds, she could not help but notice how they seemed so happy. Seeing their smiling faces only made Tarica feel more alone.

Tarica had yet to discover any articles of metal within the forest. A secret glance into theForest Elf’s quiver revealed their arrowheads to be the same wood as the rest of the shaft and the fletching was leaves. She was disturbed to find the arrows were alive. She only met one elf that she could recognize as a warrior, an elf garbed only in moss and mud, that the others referred to as Tamisri.

The elves living under her rule were expected to follow her tenets, to unnecessarily hunt and kill was ordinarily deemed abhorrent. However, they could not in good conscience trust their defenses entirely to the forest. From what she understood, the few warriors that remained performed their duties keeping watch at the forest’s edge. From what Tarica’s people understood, a majority of Florena’s more proactive elves remained in Deassala. Even Forest Elves became involved in the war and those that could not return to their old ways were assumedly banished to the lands in the south. Of all elves Forest Elves remained the greatest mystery and much relied on speculation, even the happenings in their old homeland was more readily available for them to learn of.

Florena’s following was the least populous of the four primary kingdoms of elves that resided in Ushua and those among them that would call themselves warriors were uncommon. What numbers she could rally for battle were inconsequential compared to the Dark Elves.

Unlike the Dark Elves and Malendar’s forces, her warriors wore no armor. They accommodated their lack of numbers were subterfuge, camouflaging themselves and scattering rather than marching in formation.

Though if they wanted to wear armor, they had the resources most envied. They could likely compile spider silk into solid plates, strange as that might sound for outsiders. Tarica’s own people developed such a technique as Tarica had seen with the edges of Ruhin’s cloak to be just solid enough to be sharp and carry weight like a razor.

The word for king and queen the elves use did not mean the same thing as it did for humans. Elves referred to kings and queens as exemplars, the models for their desired lifestyle, the greatest of their kind. Ordelas who was born a king was closer to the example that the idea that others were more accustomed to as morgar was a sorcerer yet not all Dark Elves aspired to be a sorcerer. His instruction was passed on by word.

The commanders appeared to take her people’s role as examples. Each regiment under them formed their own customs. The commanders selected warriors that were compatible but it seemed as though the soldiers learned the traits of their leaders, Honorbound would be expected to be loyal while Undying would be expected to be disciplined.

Though Ordelas did exhibit three important roles, he was a smith and knew of strength of arms and magic. However few aspired to be like him to those among Florina were in some way trying to learn from her and all Marine Elves were trying to imitate Satros.

Forest Elves seemed to build no structures. Their homes were the seemingly naturally occurring hollows in the massive trees or areas where the canopy was especially thick, forming walls of leaves and branches. The interlinked branches in the canopy itself seemed to what Forest Elves thought as roads. They navigated through the treetops rather than on the ground.

One day when Tarica was beyond the base of the Great Tree, she rested on an inviting branch. She was suddenly alarmed by the sound of something large crashing through a nearby grove. She went to explore but only found a scattered path of freshly displaced dirt. Since she was not sure what had caused the sound, she decided against tracking down the creature that made it.

The next day, while she was resting in the same place to avoid the midday sunlight, Tarica heard a voice say, “That is true, but skyships are superior. I could see everything when we soared above the towns and villages.” She sat still and spotted a human and an orc walking on the trail beneath her.

With broken Elven accents, they discussed the most fantastic sights they had ever seen. The human had a high, nasal voice, and the orc’s voice boomed like a drum. Two odd names formed in the back of her mind, and she realized the strange twosome might have been called Eliseo and Sinker.

Orcs came in a variety of colors as dragons of old might have. It seemed they could be of any complexion unknown to elves, humans, and dwarves from blue to even the rare purple. They could be of many colorations but the most common appeared to be green like natural camouflage or orange to match rocky outcroppings. Sinker as she currently referred to him in her mind without a more dignified name known to her appeared to be of the popular green variety.

Orcs were humanoid shaped but could only be mistaken for a human or elf from a distance, they were usually broad shouldered and thickly muscled, surpassing even the most exaggerated portrayals of heroic figures. Only dwarves seemed capable of rivaling them in that respect. If there was a detail associated with orcs, it was that the orcs most people saw were large and Sinker was no exception though his natural build was shorter than most, which would sound strange since he was inches taller than herself yet seemed stocky. He was clean shaven and gifted as Tarica was with a garb sewn from plants.

In spite of the humidity, the human wore a gentleman’s suit consisting of light red trousers and jacket buttoned over a golden shirt of polychrome silk. The jacket had lines of gold embroidery laced with faint traces of green like heads of wheat stretching along the edges and golden flowerlike buttons on his sleeves. The tails of his jacket reached his knees which were met with thick high length boots that were caked with fresh mud.

The sight of gold was repulsive to her but she had seen far more frivolous designs in her times in Occidtir. The coloration patterns seemed to not add any additional burden to the wearer compared to many the collars and frills she had observed, it seemed to allow him to breath freely.

The human was not like the ones she had dealt with. The monarchs she had encountered in the past were ghastly pale and chose to dress in all the finery their positions could afford. Eliseo was dark-skinned and slightly short. His family must have originated in some part of the south, a region where she had barely interfered.

It took Tarica a moment to process the human and orc’s words. They spoke Elfish with accents but once she understood that, she could ignore that detail and understand them. The orc spoke Elfish very accurately but in a slow and low tone that did not fit the language while the human carried himself with a faster pace but misspoke certain sounds. The human’s short vowel sounds were interchangeable for e and i, o and u, and he seemed to cut ss’s short.

She remembered how Satros had recommended them. Since Tarica trusted the Marine Elf’s judgement, she considered how she should approach them. She flattened herself against the base of the trunk and leaned closer towards them. Then she quietly crouched like an animal, ready to ambush the next thing that crossed her path.

Old habits asserted themselves and she waited until both of her targets were standing right below her. She heard Sinker describe how kavuidens differed from anything else he had ever seen before. She crawled across the limb and leapt down, landing in front of them. Eliseo staggered backwards in surprise, but his orcish companion did not even flinch.

Eliseo soon recovered from his shock and asked, “H...how...how did you do that?”

“Practice,” answered Tarica with a well-prepared smile. She looked at Sinker with interest and asked, “Did you see me before I jumped?”

The human raised his brow as thorough there was something strange about what she said.

Sinker stared at her as if he was mute but eventually answered in a low, strong voice. “No, miss. I’ve worked with goblins. Nothing startles me anymore.”

The human stroked the short stubble on his chin in suspicion. Tarica always thought that the way humans grew hair all over their bodies was a bit disturbing, so she was surprised when he had the audacity to say, “You are not from here, are you? Are you a visitor as well?”

Humans and elves shared similar enough physiology that most methods she developed from studying her own kin could be applied against humans. Humans though were much more fragile and had their hearts on their left side while an elf’s heart was centered.

It might have been a matter of diet as Tarica had met humans of countless shapes and sizes but her impression was that her people’s natural musculature was more dramatic than that of humans. Her kin were lean so where there were muscles, they were much more apparent. Humans also tended to have rounder features while elves were more angular as seen with their faces and ears.

Tarica hid a frown and phrased her words jovially. “How did you know?”

“Your accent is different. You’re easier to understand.”

Tarica’s lips formed words as she silently reviewed her speech patterns.

“There are noticeable gaps between your words. Every syllable is clear and precise,” elaborated Sinker. “The elves here are more melodious, stringing their words together.”

“I see.”

“That and you’re paler than them,” Eliseo added. “I imagine there is not much sunlight to be received beneath the branches but you seem more akin to a ghost.”

Tarica held out her arms and examined them. From her point of view, everyone else was just abnormally tan. “I am,” she admitted.

The human proudly placed a hand over his chest to adjust his ruffled collar. “I am Don Eliseo Arenos y Dotido,” he said, listing both his paternal name and maternal name, then gestured towards his friend. “This big fellow here is my friend, Zarku.”

Tarica had never appreciated how humans had more than one name. One name should have been enough, but they had to differentiate themselves from each other. She spent enough time across the ocean to understand a title usually served as a reference regarding one’s most specific feature or background.

“But you can call me Sinker,” the orc added. “Everyone calls me that.”

Tarica struggled to connect the two names. From what she could discern, Zarku did not translate to Sinker.

They noticed her complexion but if they felt at all endangered, they showed no sign of it. She perhaps had the forest to thank for their lowered defenses. They expected no peril to be found.

With that in mind, after hearing Eliseo’s full name and title Tarica recognized the appearance of someone from the nation now called Descontio. It was south and west of Puerto, where she had spent much time abroad. Puerto was a nation that was rich through both trade and conquest and generally had a darker complexion from those to the north due to their history with those across the sea. Descontians were born from the mingling of the Puertoians and the local peoples.

In spite of being near the capital of the eastern alliance, whatever it was called those days, Descontio had little political sway. Tarica had little reason to interfere in their affairs but still grew familiar through proximity. It was called the Barrens by outsiders. They were a unique culture compared to their neighbors, having Puerto, a stretch of the more successful Neuva Verdia and the Peoples further west, and the Shagh Sea to the south.

“You are?” Tarica laughed half heartedly. “Satros told me about you two.”

“Oh, he did?” asked Eliseo, scratching his head. “I guess we should be honored to be mentioned by the great explorer.”

Tarica noticed a glint of silver near Eliseo’s wrist. It was a welcome sight from his gold. She eyed the pewter icon.

“That is a saint’s medal, is it not?”

“Yes, it’s-“

“The Holy Mother,” she recognized.

It was usually not fashionable for nobility to wear saint medals. Though those of royal blood that were counted among the saints often rejected their noble privileges or were executed. The sight of the medal along with his accent confirmed her assumption he was from the region of Descontia.

All regions in eastern Occidtir under their church’s influence had a patron saint. Most lands chose warriors, prophets, or martyrs but Descontia revered the Holy Mother above all. They were perhaps one of the more noticeably pious areas in Occidtir though they practiced ancient local customs that were unapproved by the Church as a whole.

She looked to his other jewelry and recognized a signet ring. Eliseo was an elector, one of the many that decided the High King. It made sense to Tarica then as to why he was there. He would only be needed after the current High King was dead or deposed and there were enough electors that if he were to disappear, his absence would likely make no difference. Still, he was an integral part of his nation’s structure thus worthy of consideration, not that Satros or Florena likely cared. The two monarchs had welcomed Tarica, they did not seem the kind to be concern themselves with their guest’s political position but humans put a lot of time and effort into their posturing.

The few electors Tarica had slain were in line for higher positions. Killing one or two of them would not have changed the political environment. The only solution to them would have been mass slaughter but Tarica had to be subtle.

The many human regions shared mutual trade and war pacts. The exact details were changing at a rate too swift for an elf to keep pace with. Sometimes it was united, other times it seemed on the brink of collapse. As far as she was aware, the east and west were essentially still conglomerations but the far peoples of south were relatively unconnected to each other due to the necessity of nomadism.

“You have been to human lands?” The orc concluded. “Miss-“ He tried to remember if she offered a name.

Tarica inspected them for concealed weapons. “My name is Tarica.”

They were not armed, as far as she could tell. Eliseo was undoubtedly the weaker of the two, and Sinker had a twinkle in his eye that made her wonder if he could harm anyone. However, there was no way to gauge how Sinker might react if his friend was harmed. Tarica decided that she would need to attack the orc first if anything bad were to happen.

“But you guessed correctly earlier. I am a visitor,” Tarica opened. “I was brought here by Satros as well.”

Tarica planted a smile over her face. It felt more genuine than usual, his enthusiasm seemed infectious. “May I ask under what business Satros brought you two?” She let her eyes drift to Sinker so they knew she was addressing both.

Eliseo looked to Sinker. “You started this journey, how about you start?”

Sinker took a moment to think. “I need a consider what to say. How about you begin?”

“How about we take turns?”

The orc nodded.

Their story was a bit disjointed and out of order chronologically as Eliseo began with how they met at Satros’s ship before Sinker elaborated that he had been visiting human lands at the time. Sinker was chosen because he had a proven disposition to be able to fare under stress and was trusted to be able to endure whatever trials humans might put him through. Eliseo, being from a place referred to the Barrens by others, found common ground to talk about in both homesickness and tiredness with politics. Then they moved onto why they were in Florena’s realm.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Sinker was sent to Florena after meeting his chieftain at a gathering. Tarica held her tongue as she realized it was the very gathering Ordelas had been injured during. They mentioned that detail in passing with fear as if wishing to be done with it as quickly as possible. The plan had freeness for him to return home but as Florena was present in one of the rare times she was outside her forest, the orc was suggested to join Eliseo in her journey back to her realm.

As for the reason why, it was to secure supplies for Oasis Elves. Oasis Elves were a young faction only dating from the Great War from when her own people disrupted the natural balance of Deassala. The displacement of the dragons from the lands long ago removed a key link in its food chain and her people’s manner of warfare aggravated the damaged biom.

It did not mean much to Tarica who had grown up in a fertile lands but it was worth knowing that deserts grew. They spread like an organism, their sand choked out the life around them and made more sand as the wind broke down the stone and dirt.

Forest Elves called Oasis Elves fellow Forest elves, orcs called them Oasis Elves, and Dark Elves called them Waste Elves.

The Drake Fangs tribe Sinker was from was one of two. Sinker was to deliver supplies to his kin who would then offer such to the Oasis Elves as a means to mend relations. The Drake Fangs had long ago advanced beyond the threshold of technology that the Oasis Elves felt comfortable interacting with.

The only beings the Oasis Elves appeared to happily cooperate with were orcs, unindustrialized orcs in particular. Centuries of battling nature itself had left them bitter towards those that might be wasteful.

The Waste Elves still called Florena their queen. It took more than centuries to break bonds of allegiance… or in Tarica’s own case perhaps not. For centuries they waged their war against an aspect of the very world they claimed to cherish. There were strange and terrible things in Deassala. It was not their forest.

Eliseo’s reasons were a bit more general. If he could secure trade agreements with Florena, he would be applauded but he was not expected to accomplish much of anything.

Florena, according to the Queen herself was not an isolationist. By the the measures of others, she was. She allowed no roads and possessed little reason to trade. Tarica would use the word selfsufficient.

However, even if Florena desired nothing, there were products the forest could offer to outsiders. Eliseo seemed most interested in “deathless” silk. Florena “donated” to other nations as long they kept certain regions untouched. It was a difficult arrangement to maintain when the stewardship of such lands changed in a generation.

The regular circulation of silk to insulate armor has resulted in the decline of firearms as silk proved enough to stop a lead ball. That made Satros’s choice of such tools all the more strange. Melee and arrows were proving more efficient in penetrating armor in this era and considering the rancid nature of gunpowder, perhaps that act was purposeful on Florena’s part or a happy coincidence.

The standard most societies implemented was a conventional metal plate with an underlayer of silk stretched across it to “catch” the bullet when it penetrates the metal but not before piercing the person. Ruhin who once was shot in the head a century ago said even if it did not draw blood, it still hurt as she put it, a lot. Her mask took the brunt of the force but she was still left with a bruise. The projectiles still carried enough force to break bones even if stopped from entering the body like a hammerblow

Firearms were still used by humans. There were many that could not afford such armor and it was easier to learn how to pull a trigger than pull a string so easily trained shooters might wipe out expendable footsoldiers.

Though cannons as seen with Satros’s ship would still be a regular sight. Odd that cannons were older than their smaller counterparts yet found more acceptance as if time saw fit to regress. A cannonball did not care what one wore. Though the same could be said for a catapult and those required no gunpowder but were more difficult to transport.

“Diplomacy” with Florena if it could be called that began with representatives trying to set agreements but ended with her entertaining her visitors indefinitely to remind them the glories of nature. Some stayed for years, some never left.

Eliseo was to stay a year, return with Sinker into orc lands, circumvent Tarica’s kind to visit with the dwarves, receive a ride to the human lands in the west, head south past a ridge of mountains into the southern lands and finally return home from the sea in one long tour around the world. Other representatives from other alliances or even other nations from the eastern alliance would likely do something similar, to inform their long lived allies that pacts were still honored or rendered void with the changing of leadership or new proclamations. A messenger might have been sufficient but nobles used it as an opportunity to see the world.

Tarica listened intently. The more they spoke of each other, the less attention they brought to bear on her own origins.

She asked the two fellows about their recent adventures in the forest. Eliseo seemed courteous enough. Actually, he gave a faint sense of timidity at times. The orc when he spoke showed clear signs of education.

“You said you saw a kavuiden. Can you show it to me?” asked as they mentioned that word once again.

Eliseo tilted his head and answered, “Of course we can,” disregarding the fact that they had just met each other. Tarica could feel some excitement, a mix of anticipation and fear. She had thought about meeting the legendary tree folk since she was a youngster, and now it was possible.

“We saw one yesterday, not too far away from here.” The human looked to the sky to estimate the time of day. “We better hurry before he moves to the next garden. Follow me. I’ll lead the way.”

“He?” Tarica asked.

“He is called Old Oak,” replied Sinker. “He is one of the gardeners.”

Eliseo could run remarkably fast for a noble. Tarica kept pace with the two and was impressed at how neither of them tripped over the tangles of roots that twisted across the forest floor. She was surprised that the human was athletic. She also expected Sinker to be clumsy since his frame was so large, but he had time to adjust and ran as fast as the rest of them. It was not long before they reached an astonishing garden. A strange tree bent forward and whispered to another one in the central plot.

Old Oak looked just as his name suggested. He seemed like an ordinary oak tree, except he walked and balanced himself on roots that looked like spider legs. Small bonelike branches that functioned as fingers were attached to his limbs, which moved in a fashion similar to arms. He looked nothing like the monstrous kavuidens of Dark Elven folklore. Instead, he possessed a kind and gracious aura. He turned, saw the three visitors, and said through rustling leaves, “Why, Eliseo and Sinker, it seems you brought a friend.” His breezy voice sounded like an autumn wind. The kavuiden made creaking sounds whenever his roots tore the sod and dug up the ground, stirring up thick clouds of dust wherever he went.

Eliseo introduced the elf to Old Oak. “Our friend’s name is Tarica. She would like to meet you.” He stepped aside, allowing Tarica to approach Old Oak.

“Is that so?” asked Old Oak. There was a small circle in the trunk where some bark seemed to have been scraped off. Ripples formed inside the circle, and much to Tarica’s astonishment, a wrinkled, wooden face took shape. “I have never been sought by an outsider before,” remarked the kavuiden.

Tarica looked at Old Oak in amazement. “Have you always been such a great gardener?” she inquired when she caught a glimpse of tropical flowers blooming on a vine beside her. It seemed like every plant imaginable flourished in the soil that Florena nurtured.

“No,” replied Old Oak. “I used to be a sentry who watched over the borders of our land. Back then, I was called ‘Oak.’”

Tarica took a moment to grasp the connotation. “How many of you are there?”

Kavudins:

Replaced learned to move with “This was was how we always were.The dwarves fought us as did Satros but Florena came and taught us how to speak.”

“Our numbers are few. It takes many years for us to mature. We were just trees when Florena and her elves arrived. She helped us develop our voices and taught us how to speak. We eventually learned for ourselves how to use our roots and branches like limbs while we move and work.” He continued, “We owe a great debt to Florena, so we help her by caring for this dominion. She asks that we only protect its beauty. When we grow old, we rest and retire in the gardens.”

Tarica was so astounded that she was speechless.

Old Oak eventually inquired, “Is there anything else you would like to know, little one?”

Tarica shook her head from left to right. “No, sir, but thank you for speaking with me.”

Eliseo and Sinker had leaned against the same tree and listened while Tarica conversed with the kavuiden. “Was that all you wanted to see?” the human asked.

With a well-rehearsed smile on her lips, Tarica replied, “That was more than enough for one day,” but during that moment, her smile was genuine. Tarica was immortal, and the woodlands would not wither in a day. She decided to wait and explore the rest of the wonders in Florena’s forest at another time.

“Sinker and I will meet at the Musician’s Fountain in the morning. You are welcome to join us,” offered the human.

As the two turned to leave, the orc waved goodbye.

“Farewell.” Tarica waved to them. “I will see you there.”

“See you in ten hours,” Eliseo stated.

Tarica paused for a moment as she reminded herself how long a human hour was.

***

Tarica met Eliseo and Sinker at the Musician’s Fountain the next morning as planned. The fountain was shaped similar to a vase and poured water into the garden around it. Even though the fountain was impressive, it was the plants that made the area so special. The foliage could mimic any instrument or tune by reshaping and using the water and wind to produce whimsical sounds. Eliseo and Sinker were listening to an old folk song that sounded as if it was being played on an ancient flute.

From what she could tell, the two were delighted to see her. She shook their hands, sat down, and listened to a few more songs. Sinker eventually became uninterested and asked, “What should we do today?”

“I heard about a grove that is filled with trees that bear every type of imaginable fruit,” Eliseo whispered, as if it was a scandalous matter. Tarica had not eaten breakfast, so it sounded like a delicious idea.

After asking a few Forest Elves for directions, the three eventually found the grove. There was a kavuiden in its midst, but it was not Old Oak. This kavuiden resembled an elm tree. It stretched out several arm-like branches, completing multiple tasks with ease. The kavuiden made a loud, groaning sound when it moved in their direction.

“Greetings, kavuiden,” Eliseo hailed. “We are guests of the queen. Would you spare us an audience?”

“I am called Old Elm,” the kavuiden greeted. Eliseo chuckled and visibly resisted an impulse to make an inappropriate remark about obviousness, the kavuiden did not seem to notice or chose to be gracious “I am here to make sure that everyone receives their fill. No more. No less. What would your names be?”

The group introduced themselves to Old Elm, and the kavuiden offered to help them up into any tree they desired. Old Elm proceeded to pick them up and placed them in his upper branches. Eliseo asked for an apple and Sinker had a coconut. Tarica sat on a branch below her companions, using their shadows for cover. She was growing used to the sunlight, but out of habit, she still tried to avoid it.

Sinker applied pressure to the huge seed with his massive hands until it cracked open. He pulled a brown chunk off the top and took a thin tube out of his pocket. Tarica’s instincts were alerted, and she almost lunged at the orc. She calmed down after he used the hollow implement to drink the coconut’s milk. Tarica admonished herself for thinking that Sinker would pose a such a threat. The orc and human, who were oblivious to her reaction and the danger they had barely evaded, continued to eat undisturbed.

Assassins were known for using similar tubes to launch poisoned darts. Sinker, detecting that something troubled her, looked at Tarica. She simply grinned, shook her head, and tried to put the incident behind her. Tarica was certain she could overpower both of them, but they were kind to her and gave her no reason for alarm. She saw a large tree in the center of the grove and asked Old Elm to take her there.

“Wise choice, little Tarica. That tree was grown by the queen herself,” praised Old Elm.

The fruit possessed a golden sheen and resembled no other in creation. Old Elm encouraged her to sample the fruit and explained how it would taste like anything she wanted. The fruit’s flavor reminded her of honey when she savored the sweet nectar. She chewed slowly until she discovered a strange seed.

Tarica showed Old Elm the seed, and the kavudin whispered, “The sadness that surrounds this tree is that no one except Florena has ever cultivated one like it. I fear that it is the first and the last of its kind.” Old Elm asked her, Eliseo, and Sinker, “Is there anything else you would like to try?”

“No,” Tarica answered for them. “Thank you for carrying us.”

“It was no trouble at all, dear Tarica.” Somehow, Old Elm was able to convey affection with its rustling voice. “Now, I must return you and your friends to where I found you.”

Old Elm put them down gently. “Come again whenever your bellies rumble,” it offered. It leaned towards Tarica and pointed at the seed in her hand. “Please keep the seed. Maybe, one day, another wondrous tree will sprout from the tender earth.” The group said their farewells, and Old Elm went back to his pruning.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m coming back here tomorrow,” said Eliseo, prompting Tarica and Sinker to nod in agreement. Tarica observed the smooth oval seed in her hand, carefully placed it in her pocket, and went to see more miracles of the forest.

They spent the whole day outside and admired the unique habitat. By the time they returned, a crowd had gathered around the Musician’s Fountain. The three watched as the Forest Elves sang familiar tunes from the past and present. Eventually, one of the elves gathered enough courage to ask Tarica to sing, but she politely refused.

“If you’re shy, we can go first,” prodded Eliseo. Tarica agreed in the spur of the moment, although she was more curious about which song they would perform. In the past, she had never heard a musical composition written by a human and an orc. Eliseo leaned to Sinker’s side and whispered into the orc’s ear. Tarica could almost hear what he said, but the music around them distracted her so much that she could not understand him. When Eliseo and Sinker walked to the platform, some plants near the fountain slowly surrounded Eliseo. The plants took the shape of a drum set, and Eliseo beat a quick, rattling rhythm while Sinker danced in a peculiar manner. Tarica and the Forest Elves alike were fascinated with the odd duet and watched intently.

Tarica recognized the in the background the clashing of cymbals in what reminded her of a parade march. He sang in Eliseo’s native tongue, a dialect of Puertoian.

Sinker sang a human song that Eliseo had most likely taught him. His deep voice was probably never meant to give shape to the human words. The language sounded like a dialect that Tarica was not quite familiar with. She, along with most of the Forest Elves, could not understand the meaning behind the lyrics. The sound was solemn, yet proud, and Sinker waved his arms in the air as if he was painting a scenic backdrop. Even though the writer of the melody never intended the tune to be sung by an orc, Tarica could not help but admire how long Sinker could hold the notes. His large chest allowed him to continue to sing while he barely took a moment to breathe.

Children of Descontia

Rally to the sound of bells

Take up your swords

And raise your voices

At the sound of the bells

Remember the first that gathered

When the dear father called

Brave sons, the first to bleed

For freedom, in the house of the divine

There they fought beneath the bells

At the steps of our lord

Our enemies bled

Our brothers fell

But they never will die

Our lord has them now

Those that answered the bells

They watch us now

Never again shall we allow

Foreign feet to profane this blessed soil

Remember the first that gathered

When the dear father called

Brave sons, the first to bleed

For freedom, in the house of the divine

Resound, resound with the bells

Know why they stood

Know why they fell

For liberty, for liberty

And peace shall we have

For we are by heaven blessed

In each of us will be a soldier

For our god and country

Ready to answer to the bells

Countless heroes ready to die

So let the arrow fly

Remember the first that gathered

When the dear father called

Brave sons, the first to bleed

For freedom, in the house of the divine

And continue the battle

For which the father and sons gave their last

In that church

Twenty to one they fought

By their blood these lands have been watered

Prosperous it will grow

Unstained and unchained

Always listening for the bells

The elves applauded when the spectacle was over and Tarica clapped as well. After they finished, Eliseo and Sinker stepped off the platform and scanned the crowd, looking for Tarica. The Forest Elves asked Sinker to tell them more about his performance, so he explained, “The anthem was about Eliseo’s homeland, but the dance was my own. The translation of the song means ‘The Beautiful Gold Beneath the Dawning Blue.’ I am afraid that the dance doesn’t have a name though.”

Tarica’s understanding of local tongues was not as comprehensive as her knowledge of Common but she could roughly translate it.

The song had some historical basis. Apparently, a cleric was supporting the fledgling revolution of Descontio when the nation was trying to earn its independence from Puerto. He and the rebels were betrayed and rather than run away as advised, he rang the church bells, gathering the locals to make a last stand there. They died at the hands of the Puertoian army but the people remembered them as martyrs.

Tarica imagined it would have been the equivalent of an anthem during that time, carrying on the cause those souls died for. Now, that Descontia had accomplished that goal, it faded in popularity enough for Tarica to have never heard it before. It seemed like something only the Descontians would prefer to sing in their own homeland or else remind their potentials hosts of such grim events.

The song had to be translated for most of the audience. Denizens of Florena’s Forest were not known to venture into human lands so many did not understand Common let alone local tongues. The Forest Elves, being uninvolved in the affair seemed to at least respect the courage of the rebels. They could likely understand the value of independence from their own lifestyles.

The Forest Elves appeared to be as free as anyone could be. Florena was referred to as queen but she did not seem to dictate the actions of any elves that lived with her besides the rules she instructed Tarica in. Most of what could be considered serfs were the plants themselves. The queen’s authority seemed more maternal than that on a monarch, those obeying her laws out of respect towards her rather than duty. Of course, Tarica could be wrong in her assessment, the forest itself was more capable of enforcing order than any policing force from what horror stories her kind had to share of it.

Eliseo poked Sinker in the ribs, redirecting his friend’s attention to Tarica. The human slyly winked at her when Sinker goaded, “It’s your turn now.”

Tarica was extremely reserved in front of crowds, so Eliseo and Sinker gave her a friendly nudge toward the stage. Tarica fretted about what she should sing about before she settled on an old love story from her childhood.

The song was meant to be a duet. She could only provide half of the song. It seemed appropriate. She was unworthy of providing a complete song to the audience. There were gaps where another singer should have completed her lines.

This was only the final sequence of a series of verses that would last for hours. While Forest Elves may understand the concept of a single song lasting so long, Sinker and Eliseo had not as much time to spare.

She translated her words to ordinary Elfish. Her artistic prowess proved insufficient to make it rhyme in such short time but she allowed the original rhythm to carry her through. The fountain remained silent for her, only the water and wind provided her support. It reminded her all the more that she was singing alone.

The event predated her people’s transformation to Dark Elves. The migration to the mainland, short though it was, was not without hardship. As if to rob them of the future they would bring about, the elements resisted them in the form of a storm.

Perhaps, it was the opposite. It was those very winds that drove her predecessors to the cliffs of her homeland.

She led in calmly. “Surely there is a cure for sorrow. Still, I could not save you. The currents of fate are cruel. Without him was one moment of woe. Now, the light fades and our eternal journey begins.”

She raised her voice and lifted her arms as if to offer her words to the sky. “This unneeded world will vanish. In each other’s hearts we found a home. We met, we lived long enough. Now everything can fade.”

She entered the crescendo. “We no longer need to dream. The cruel water recedes and the storm ceases. The veil between us burns and the night answers our prayers. Beyond the sun, our words of love tie us together.”

From then on the song grew slower as her voice gradually dropped. “Look, no flowers bloom. Listen, no birds sing. Beyond the stars, only we endure. When the stars shine no more and all the world rots. We will remain.”

She raised her voice as if in one final act of defiance. “So let our song resound. As we drift in darkness without end.”

She slowly led the final verse as if to whisper. “Forever in this paradise of only us. “

There were several forms of Dark Elven song. Their war chants were the most infamous while their attempts at poetry faintly resembled the music of their kin. Dark Elves were known for even having work songs in a rhythm resembling those of humans and dwarves. Their poetry could be asymmetrical in nature but their work songs were constant in beat and tone, set to the pace of their task.

Her song was sad, but the elves were eager to hear the Dark Elf sing. She listened to hear if those that recognized her let slip her status as their violent kin within earshot of the orc and human. She raised her voice to drown out any that might.

The words slid off her tongue as she remembered the ancient lyrics and once forgotten verses. Since she sang in the common Elvish language instead of her own dialect, she struggled with a few of the words. Before long, a tragic love story between two Dark Elves was told through music, though the names of the lovers had been forgotten. Not wanting to alter the mood, the crowd remained quiet for a few moments after she finished but cheered as she left the stage to join Eliseo and Sinker.

It was one of the more lovely songs she could think of. If Sinker and Eliseo could sing of revolutions, she could sing of doom.

Still Eliseo wore a nervous smile, perhaps her tone added more gravity to the fate with its slower approach than the human’s anthem. “That was beautiful,” the human stated all the same, holding back some barbs but she did not sense a lie.

The orc looked to the human for a moment as if to assess his reaction, trying to find something but then returned to Tarica and nodded in affirmation of his companion’s words. She could see the activity behind the orc’s eyes. He met her gaze searchingly. He knew what she was.

“Can you join us tomorrow as well?” The orc asked.

Yet he accepted her.

Later that evening, Tarica went to her room and took the seed she had received from Old Elm out of her pocket. She hid it when she heard something move and looked around the corner to see Queen Florena stroll by with her drake following behind her. It was strange how each of the creatures adapted to suit the personalities of the ones that cared for them.

Florena noticed Tarica’s gaze. “Is there something that bothers you?”

Tarica wanted to lie and say nothing was wrong, but she could not refrain from speaking the truth. She thought about the miracle of the fountain reacting to Sinker and Eliseo but remained silent for her and how she neglected to speak of her own nature to the two she met.

“I want to learn the magic that you use, so I can raise-“ She stopped herself from saying beautiful. “plants like you do.” She was torn. She had to acknowledge what she beheld as wondrous no matter how much it went against what she once knew.

Florena did not seem surprised at all and beamed at Tarica. “My dear, magic is not required for these plants to grow,” she replied.

“How is that possible?” inquired Tarica, gesturing to the view beyond her window. “I have never been to a place like this. There must be something special, for life flourishes here like nowhere else.”

“When outsiders see this land, they think it is magical because they have forgotten that plants and nature’s bounties are gifts to all of us,” the queen explained as she reached out toward the view in the window. It was as if she was trying to touch the lands beyond her borders. “Perhaps there was some magic involved long ago but if there was, it has long dissipated and would no longer be welcome. What makes this place unique is how others treat the world outside. Dark Elves feed trees to their forges, humans fell trees to build homes, Marine Elves use trees to create more ships, and dwarves show little respect for anything that grows.”

Tarica, trying not to be rude, raised a hand before Florena left. “I am sorry, but I do not think you answered my question.”

“I did,” answered Florena. “The Forest Elves just care for and tend to what has always existed with a greater degree of respect. I suppose it is magic if you believe magic to be anything involving the spirit. However, we do not call on the spiritual to warp the physical. That by itself would go against the definition set by your sorcerers which would be to have the material and spiritual effect each other directly. What we do is simply speak with each other as fellow inhabitants of the same world. We speak and the plants answer, it is a communication between souls but nothing else.”

“We have animal tamers that can speak with beasts but what you are doing is beyond that.”

“How so?”

“Plants do not grow like that on their own.”

Florena smiled. “These do.” Was there a hint of humor in those words as she stated the apparent so matter of factly? Tarica on some level could not interpret anything the queen said as not entirely earnest, the mental image of a supreme monarch superseding any suggestion of whimsy in her tone.

Tarica was no sorceress but she had been around Ordelas long enough to recognize the sensation that came with him casting a spell. It was as if an outside force replaced the established laws of the world with its own authority. That was what allowed impossibilities like cold flames and solid shadows to exist, Ordelas’s magic came from someplace beyond and did not answer to nature. Florena’s plants, no matter how incredible they may have seemed, did nothing that was outside the realm of possibility. They grew overtime, swiftly by any measure of the word but not instantly and when the kavudins spoke there was a rustle to their voices that likely came from some physical means.

Tarica did not care if it was magic or not that made the forest special. However, it did give her some reassurance that her host was not drawing on the same powers that Ordelas did. The distinction allowed her some comfort to believe she was in a realm beyond his influence. Malendar could seemingly repel spells like some acclaimed dwarves and orcs but he had no force to mark his freedom from it beyond its mere absence which could easily be filled to prove otherwise.

Tarica began to understand. “Is it possible then for me to learn? I have disregarded life until now. Would it still be possible if I tried?” She struggled not to lower her head and looked the queen straight in the eyes. When she thought about it, she was not sure if she even valued her own life. Very recently, she would have willingly died to kill Malendar.

“I believe anything is possible if you put your heart into it,” said the queen as she grasped Tarica’s hand.

***

Ordelas was an outsider’s attempt to give him an appropriate name in the native tongue of elves. The roots for blood and child was placed together. Many Dark Elves adopted a similar convention afterwards to glorify him. In olden days were there were not so many, a name could be created and it’s own meaning ascribed to it at birth or in living, inventing an entirely new word just to give it to another.

Ordelas was supposed to interpreted as “child of kinship” but it also referred to his own birth. Vernigen in all his honesty stated that it meant “Orphan.” That was just another reason why the loyal were slow to refer to him by name in his presence.

“Is there something troubling you, my lord?” inquired Ceronus as he leaned over and looked at the untouched food sitting on a tray beside Ordelas. It was a loaf of bread with jam, a thick cut of meat, and a bowl of soup. It was not a kingly meal, but the Darklord thought it was a waste of time and effort to garnish things that were only meant to be eaten.

Ordelas dismissed the thought of food, waved his hand, and nearly knocked the silver tray off its stand. “I am not hungry.”

They were waiting for word from Hílainno or Yavani. Ordelas would happily give them a handful of years to find their sister. Yavani returned at one point to inform him that they were to maintain a vigil and could not tell him when they expected to be finished as they did not know. They asked that he not try to scry them lest their position be exposed to anyone else that might detect his gaze. They would not return again until one of them caught sight of her or he called them back.

He could still watch and sense the two if he tried. A part of his mind itched as it detected that Hílainno was nearby yet in peril. He closed his hands into fists to resist the urge to check upon her safety.

If the danger grew too great, Yavani would surely involve herself if Hílainno could not escape on her own. He told himself he would scry them if he sensed both to be threatened.

Odlig insisted and Ordelas listened that under no circumstances should their armies strike during the onset of winter. Even if they found Tarica’s body the coming day, they would have to wait to avenge her, though the king made no promise. The mountain passes might close to the point that armies would struggle to invade them by land but the Dark Elves would likewise find difficulty mobilizing in mass without relying on ship which the Marines Elves, now undoubtedly aware of the attempt on Malendar’s life could anticipate. They needed to wait until spring or summer, perhaps summer, if they meant for a war of attrition and damage their production so the next winter might bite all the fiercer.

Ordelas watched the advisor grab the top of the pedestal to balance it. Neither would be pleased if this particular meal was ruined. Ordelas simply did not know it at that time. “My lord,” began Ceronus, focusing on the king’s sunken cheeks. “Have you been fasting?”

Ceronus stared at his lord, likely trying to recall the last time he had seen Ordelas eat something. The armor that covered Ordelas’s body made it difficult to determine how much weight he had lost.

The king turned his head and glared at him with black-rimmed eyes, and an indescribable heaviness filled the room when Ordelas projected his anger. “What of it?” fumed the king, irritated more by the words than hunger. Once one went without food long enough, the gnawing grew weaker and one could even forget one should be hungry.

“Not even you can survive like this,” warned Ceronus. “You have not slept, and now you deny yourself sustenance. This can not continue.”

Ordelas shook his head accusingly. “How long has it been since you found me? How is it that after countless years, you still underestimate me? You know that I can not die, not yet.”

The advisor had been with Ordelas for far too long. He was the one who had found the king and served as his voice since the beginning. No matter how much the elf grew, the counselor only viewed him as the child he once watched over.

Ceronus bowed his head in apology. “Yes, but it is not enough for you to stay alive. You must remain strong, for your power is needed.” Ordelas held his peace, silently considering his advisor’s words. Ceronus interpreted that as a cue to continue. “How long have you been abstaining from food?”

“Since I lost sight of her,” he answered. The way he said it so calmly obviously disturbed Ceronus.

He could not locate her, so Ordelas resorted to his faith in Tarica. He starved himself, expecting her to appear at any time to relieve him of his burdens. It would have been an impressive display of devotion if it had not been on one that failed.

She was still alive. That much Ordelas was certain of, even though he did not know her whereabouts.

“If it is a source of worry, my lord. Permit me to dispatch a force to search for her,” the advisor suggested.

“It is out of our hands,” Ordelas snapped. “Tarica’s sisters left the moment I told them the news. Together, those two can accomplish what is impossible for a thousand others.”

Since what the king said was true, Ceronus said nothing. He likely worried that Ordelas placed too much faith in the slayers. After all, he just lost the favored one. Two assassins, working in unison, were a threat unequaled by anything else. Even though they called each other sister, the assassins accomplished their best work when they were separated. One could accuse the king of repeating the same mistake.

Rather than pressing the matter of the lost assassin, Ceronus changed the course of conversation to spare himself more gloom and consequences. “You have been avoiding food for that long? I have seen the servants take out empty plates. Where did it go? It would be unlike you to throw it off the balcony.”

Ordelas looked away. “I have been giving it to him,” Ordelas said with a shrug, motioning toward the blackest edge of the room.

Ceronus’s gaze met the pair of reptilian eyes looking back at him. The creature slipped behind the shadows, backing further away into darkness. “No wonder that thing has grown so big,” remarked Ceronus. The creature was supposed to have been a petite drake. It was meant to be held in one’s arms, but the drake had grown much larger. “It has eaten its own portions in addition to a king’s share.”

“He appreciates it more than I do,” reasoned Ordelas with a thin smile on his face as he peered into the darkness where his pet lurked. At least someone enjoyed it. He could not so easily throw it away otherwise. “This close to the end, prayers will not change anything, but this satisfies me more than waiting ever will.”

Much to the Darklord’s displeasure, the advisor picked up the tray and placed it on the king’s lap. “This, you will appreciate more than him. This meal is not meant to be a drake’s snack.”

As if the creature could understand Ceronus, the drake growled ominously, filling the king’s chamber with reverberating sound. The pet had never liked Ceronus, and the advisor did nothing to win the beast over. Supposedly, the creature’s feelings were a reflection of Ordelas’s inner thoughts, so the implications were unpleasant.

Ordelas silenced the drake with a single look. He leaned his chin against one hand and stared at Ceronus. “And why might that be?” he snarled.

“The child personally wanted to deliver this to you,” Ceronus replied.

In a mix of astonishment and agitation, the king lowered his head and frowned like he was stung. “I told Elda to stay away,” he muttered.

“If you would permit, she still wants to serve you in some small way,” explained Ceronus.

“I know that,” growled Ordelas. “She should cease. I do not want to see her, and a useless attempt like this will not win her any favor.”

Ordelas bit his lip at Ceronus’s attempt to distract him. If it had been any other time Ceronus would have done the opposite. If not for the recent loss of Tarica, Ceronus would have encouraged Ordelas to keep his distance from Elda. Ceronus once inferred that he was concerned about Elda’s state of mind.

It was difficult for others to understand why the king barred her alone out. From what Ceronus could see, she had the potential to comfort him in some form or another. It did not make sense.

“Why do you not want to see her? It is not as if she is connected...” A stern glare from Ordelas stilled Ceronus’s tongue. The advisor corrected himself. “Oh, I see.”

It had been Tarica that found Elda those years ago. To say there was no connection would be a lie. However there were other reasons.

Rather than let Ceronus choke himself with his own words, the king showed mercy to his companion. He nodded at the food on the tray. “Elaborate on what makes this meal so special. Why it is not suitable for the stomach of my royal pet?”

Ceronus, knowing that Ordelas held his temper, bowed his head in gratitude. “She cooked this meal herself. After all these years, it seems that you have reversed roles with the child.”

“She treats me like a child to prove how mature she has become,” the king analyzed. “Her efforts are in vain. It is childish to think that food can win me over. She is talented in anything she might pursue, but she can not hope to match the meals my chefs serve.”

Ceronus pointed to the bread. “Since you are reluctant, should I taste it for you?”

Ordelas, not willing to grant Ceronus any sense of satisfaction, inhaled slowly, suppressed a sneer, and stared at the bread. The king was reluctant to share his precious meal with anyone. The king tore a small piece from the edge of the loaf and handed it to Ceronus. “Here,” he grumbled. It sounded more like a death threat than a food offering.

Ceronus took the piece and ate it. His life would have been endangered had he done otherwise. “It is rather bland,” he noticed.

Ordelas smiled. “She has different tastes from most.”

Ceronus dipped his finger in the layer of pink jam that coated the bread and placed the gel to his tongue. Unable to conceal his surprise, he closed his eyes. “That is the strangest jam I have ever tasted.”

Without tasting it, Ordelas replied, “She did not sweeten it. I never liked sweet things and neither does she. She did not prepare it for someone who enjoys exotic sugars and syrups.” He inhaled and let the familiar scent speak to him. “She could have done better, but she used petals from the garden and made this for me.”

“Elda may not be as experienced as your chefs, but I can not deny that she made an effort.”

“It is good to hear you refer to Elda by name,” observed Ordelas, his smile apparent. It had been a habit to refer to her as “the child.”

“It was you who chose her, my lord. I am only showing her the respect she deserves.” Though Ceronus smiled at Ordelas, his expression lacked warmth.

The advisor gestured to the tray resting on the king’s lap, and Ordelas frowned, looking at the meal as if it was an enemy to overcome. Without warning, he ravenously devoured what was in front of him, every other bite earning a peculiar look. Moments later, Ordelas leaned forward, covered his mouth, and gagged.

His body, no longer accustomed to digesting normal meals, functioned on the same level as an infant’s. He swallowed what he could before his stomach rejected its contents.

The advisor began to speak, but the king raised his hand. “Do not say a word. I know what I need to do. Give me one more instruction regarding simple matters, and I will have you thrown out.” The Darklord resumed his meal, chewing slowly, almost grudgingly. Despite his struggle with Ceronus, he was hungry after all. “She should not have done this.” He grimaced between bites.

In the Darklord’s eyes, Elda was his daughter. Ordelas, having been reared by those who were not related to him by blood, did not fully understand what it meant to be a parent. He supported her, but his methods lacked something of vital importance. Sometimes, he felt a slight taint of something a father should never feel for his child, regret.

He did the unforgivable three centuries ago. He made her live. He had been performing his penance for three centuries failing to gift her with a proper demise.

He cared for her, still he allowed her to see the one thing that never should have existed in his heart: regret that she had lived.

Elda was his child but she was not his heir. The king was not the only one who built his kingdom, authority was to be transferred to Ceronus and the commanders at Ordelas’s demise. Hopefully, Elda’s current position would be preserved, there was no one he could imagine abandoning her. She would still have her place in the palace.

He treated her well, and with his words, he made her seem special. He kept his distance, and understood her well enough to keep her away from some of the other assassins. Ordelas left her primarily in the care of Ruhin and Syicho, he placed them with Elda and hoped their calmer demenors would not come to clash with her more spirited outlook.

When Elda was very young, Ordelas had saved her from dying. Had he fully considered the situation, he would have taken pity and killed her himself. She was the sole survivor of a disaster that had swallowed up her village, and Tarica was the one who had found her, crushed beneath the bodies of her parents.

Ordelas did the same to Elda as dwarves did to him over a thousand before they met. Yet, she forgave him. That was what he could not overlook.

He could not have her present in such a crucial time because her resolve made him question his own. He could not afford to be near her when he was already weak or risk being caught in her determination.

He could not let himself stop. Not after all he had done. He could never say he caused more good than harm so he had to press forward so there was some meaning to it all.

Elda forgave him and that made him tempted to forgive the world. But even if he forgave the world, he could never forgive himself. The blood and tears he shed had yet to bear fruit and if he stopped then all that had been lost would be for nothing. He let go of the very possibility of stopping himself and gave that responsibility to those he trusted, among those would be the one he called a daughter.

Elda has never discouraged him from seeking his vengeance. If anything, she was among those eager to avenge him. She considered anyone who had hurt him her enemy. Still, there were times in the three centuries since he met her that he considered forgetting his grand endeavor, if only to remove her from danger.

Even though he acted on a whim, he decidedly took responsibility for Elda. She was a troublesome child at first. She had no will to live, so Ordelas nursed her to health and kept her alive. Later, he acknowledged it was cruel and wondered if he should have let her die, but it was too late. After the near-death experience, seeds of appreciation for Ordelas grew in Elda’s heart, but her feelings surpassed ordinary gratitude.

It was not enough that he saved her. A life, so easily given back, held no meaning, so she chose to claim purpose for herself. She had many natural talents, and Ordelas would have let her be anything. She wanted to repay him with a life of service, so the king allowed her to become an assassin. He wished she would have pursued something else, but that was the choice she made. He withdrew, hoping she would change her mind. It did no good, for the killing arts came naturally to Elda. She was adept, having awareness and senses beyond those of her sisters, so it would have been a shame had she not met her full potential.

“At least let the one you insist to call daughter speak to you, my lord,” Ceronus pleaded. “Forget for now who is missing from your side.”

“Just because I have Elda does not mean I have not lost Tarica,” argued Ordelas. “Each and every one of my assassins are special. They are not interchangeable, and they most certainly can not replace each other.”

“But what they are to you can change,” argued Ceronus.

Ordelas slammed his fist against the armrest. “No matter how much time comes to pass, nothing changes!”

“But you have!” Ceronus shouted back. Being careful, the advisor lowered his voice, but his intent was the same. “When you were first released, you were worse than you are now.”

Ordelas’s spark of anger vanished. “Was I truly that difficult?”

“Yes, you had grown distant. You fought with Odlig and...” Ceronus stopped when Ordelas’s eyes darkened.

“Vernigen was not there to stop me,” Ordelas finished for him and looked away. “I hate you, Ceronus. I truly hate you. I would kill you, but that would change nothing.”

“I know,” Ceronus apologized. That was all he could say. No words could force the king’s downward spiral to a halt.

Unable to look at Ceronus any longer, the king covered his face with his hands. “I hate everything with all my heart.” Without a doubt, Ordelas would have destroyed everything in sight, if his eyes had been open.

“I know,” his advisor sighed.