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Chapter 26: Calm Eye Tea

THE VILLAGE

Loriven, long ago

Forgotten by the living, lamented by the dead. The vanished village. The erased footnote of history. This is the way it was.

The tall man stood back up from the freshly tilled earth and wiped his brow. The sun was bearing down on him, making his sweat evaporate almost as quickly as it stained the simple wool tunic. He scratched at his jet-black hair, and then shielded his eyes from that bright sun with his other hand. It was far, but he could make out people beginning to gather at the centre of the village. He looked down at the basket of seeds. It wouldn't hurt the harvest to wait until the next day. Despite the brightness, the day was not long this early in the year, and evening would soon be upon them.

He used the rag in his pocket to clean his hands while he walked towards where people were standing, trying to see what was going on. Someone was standing on a cart, addressing the crowd. Once he got close enough, he recognised the woman.

"...and yet, today, we are still not free from the mountain's shadow! How long must this go on? How long must we stand by and accept the misrule of those self-aggrandising relics of a bygone era?" She stood tall, and spoke with conviction. Her sandy hair was braided back so all could see the fervour in her amber eyes. Her clothes were clearly meant for a court, rather than a field.

One of the men hanging furthest back turned around when he got close enough, arms folded with a patient expression. The ash-blonde hair was shorn closely, showing some of the scars that went along the back of his head down his neck. Claw marks.

"Ho there, Jed. Come to bear witness to the sky's own truth?" Rannoch greeted the black-haired man with one hand clasped on the other's shoulder, giving a friendly squeeze. His voice was thick with humour, even a touch of sarcasm.

"Is Ykela at it again? You'd think that it would be enough to be away from the Tal, or whatever they call themselves now." Jed didn’t know what made the woman keep at it. The time had come to look ahead, rather than remain in the past.

"She was the heir to a House. Methinks she has her eyes set higher than a publicus of a simple village," the other man said with a gesture at the buildings around them.

"We should be grateful for what we have. We're alive. We can practice our own ways here." Jed looked at the woman up on the cart, still calling for action, to pick up weapons in a war long since lost. "I mean, I agree with her in essence. Our people should still be following the old ways. An empty chalice should be allowed to become full."

"The dragons and the Tal say otherwise. Conform, or accept exile. So we left, and here we are." Rannoch said, as they began to walk away from the crowd.

"Here we are," Jed agreed.

"How's the planting coming along?" Rannoch changed the subject to something they could more easily deal with.

"It's going well. The soil here is fertile, and once we reap the fields we should have plenty enough to see us through winter. It is mild this far down anyway. I doubt we will see snow this year either." The black-haired man pointed out towards his homestead. "I'm thinking about breaking in a new field next season. Maybe some pumpkins or watermelons?"

"Just check with Opolo before you get too greedy, my friend. We have heard that more might come down to join us, and we'll be looking to add more houses before soon." It had all begun with a few buildings, hastily assembled to keep people warm during the first year. After that, they had added a house there, or a structure there. Before they knew it, their little enclave had become a proper community.

"Maybe it won't be a simple village for much longer, then?" It would never be the place they had to leave behind, but maybe it could be home? Jed looked towards the west. Maybe one day.

"Only the sky knows, Jed." Rannoch held up three fingers to the heavens in a sign of the morning, midday and evening rays. "Speaking of knowing, have you heard from your sister yet?"

Something dark came over Jed's face, as if a cloud had passed over the sun in his heart. It was a sore subject for him. A family should stick together.

"No, not since her last letter," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I can't imagine what went through her head, returning back to that place. Just to be with him."

"Take comfort in that Jacie gave her heart to an honourable man, at least. Maybe we don't see eye to eye with him, but-"

"That's putting it lightly!" Jed shot back.

"-BUT you know he'll treat her right." Rannoch raised his voice a little to make his point. He didn't look angry, just tired. He had been fighting harder than most.

Their disagreement with that man went beyond a simple difference in opinion. There had been sides. Jed and everyone who had ended up in the village had been on the other side. There was a line drawn that his sister just couldn't seem to see. Love truly made people blind.

This was the way it had to be

If the Odar River was the natural border between Alband and Olmar, the edge of the wildlands formed the line between the kingdoms of man and the realm of the elves. The unmistakable point where the two worlds met was where the forest opened up in a wide, natural tunnel with the trees reaching up to form the roof with their leaf-rich boughs. If the wildlands was a castle, this was the gate.

En Sonaleum is distinct from both imperial roads and the country roads. Where man drew their lines in slabs of stone, or settled for trampled dirt, the elven path was seemingly wrought from interlocking roots, smooth and flat like handcrafted floor shingles. Despite this, it was neither hard like dry wood, nor showed any real sign of wear or damage. Perhaps it was dutifully maintained by elven shapers or maybe the road grew itself out like a living thing. The noise of their horses' hooves turned to a soft clopping as they crossed the boundary where the imperial stones ended and handed the journey over to the Sona road.

There was a subtle change in the air when they rode through the forest along en Sonaleum. It was something that changed out of sight of the conscious mind. A feeling, more than anything else, that they had left a part of the ordinary world behind. The colours seemed slightly more vibrant; a scent of wilderness on the wind.

Jaden looked around at her friends. Each of them had reacted in their own ways to the changes. Alisan rode straighter, like she could breathe easier. Like some part of her was finally able to relax. Jaden had seen the same thing happen when Mirena returned to Tier. It was the face of a woman who was coming home. Jaden wondered if she would look like that when she finally climbed the last bit of the old mountain road leading to the gates of Talraman?

Contrary to the elf, the Northmen looked more tense. Stann had a hand on the pommel of his sword and twisted around in his saddle, as if he was anticipating some beast charging out of the thicket the moment he let his guard down. Kellen was rubbing the warding tattoos on his arms, and mumbling a Northern prayer of some sort.

Oleander didn't look like she could make her mind up. She was a child of the streets of Tarad, having grown up with fantastic stories about the elven lands, but this was the first time she had actually been here in person. She was torn between excitement and nervousness. Rhyce, who rode on Jaden's other side, was stonefaced. If the mystic didn't know better, she would say he almost looked a little sad. She didn't know what memories these forests evoked in the archer, but what little she knew about him led her to no happy places.

"Jaden? Aside from Alisan, you're the only one of us who have spent any significant time in Ral Sona," Mirena called from the front of the line of horses. No doubt she had visited the elven capital before, given the wealth and influence of her family, but it was likely she had seen very little of the city itself instead of the interior of some oligarch's manse. "Is there anything you can tell us about what we can expect, as outsiders?"

The mystic nodded, and then gathered her thoughts. She had been to Ral Sona a few times before. Each visit had been for a couple of weeks at a time. She had a reasonable amount of familiarity with the city. However, her most recent visit had been in capacity as a mystic initiate receiving instruction from elven teachers in various subjects. Jaden was sure that the Talramani youths had been treated with special care by the Ral Sona representatives to avoid an incident with their allied nation, so she couldn't say for sure if the elves were truly as patient and polite as she recalled.

Jaden thought back further. The first time she had seen the city deep in the wildlands had been as a child, accompanying her mother there on some sort of official business as the diplomatic envoy. She remembered spending a lot of time in gardens waiting for meetings to be concluded. Lilya had instead gone with their father when Garen had been called upon to broker an agreement between the dragons of the northern mountains and a borderland settlement. Something about sheep in return for protection against orc raiders, if she recalled correctly.

"Hey, Jay? Are you still with us in there?" Oleander leaned from her saddle to swat at the mystic's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just considering something, and my thoughts ran away with me." Jaden smiled apologetically, and tried to focus on what was ahead of them.

"Yeah, we kind of noticed you staring emptily at a horse butt," the redhead snorted.

"I couldn't help but think that it was still smaller than yours." Jaden and Oleander exchanged some stuck-out tongues before getting back on track. "Anyway, the best advice I can give you is to remember that elves are not humans."

"Gee, thanks, Jay!"

"No, what I mean is: Etrians, Gionese, even Kasmani can seem strange to us, right? But they're still human. Even with all the cultural differences, there is still that common ground.” Jaden took a breath, and tried to form her experiences into words. “Elves live for hundreds and hundreds of years. That means they relate to things differently. How wouldn't your perspective change if you had to consider generations rather than years? Everything you make is made with the intention of lasting for... for a thousand years. Consequences spanning ages are considered before making any big decisions."

"A reason, perhaps, why Sorun has remained neutral in the last number of conflicts between the allied North and Alband? Historically, the elves tended to side with the Albander people, since we are friendly with some of the orc tribes. Strom and Grimstone have remained close allies for a long time, even since before the time of the second empire. But we should really talk with Morkgha, a fellow scholar of the past, if we want to know more about that." Kellen began to explain, going on an academic tangent as he sometimes did.

"We were actually talking about elves at the moment, Kellen, not orcs," Mirena gently reminded the huge man.

"Ah, yes. Humm." Kellen stroked his moustache.

"I mean, try to keep an open mind. Elves will likely react differently than how you expect to certain things," Jaden finished awkwardly. Her face felt hot, like she was blushing. But what had she to be embarrassed about? Now she felt embarrassed about being embarrassed.

"Alisan? What were the biggest hurdles for you when you first visited another nation outside the wildlands?" The knight turned the question to the real expert on elves.

"All the touching," the pale elf immediately responded. "Everywhere my steps took me, humans are touching all the time. Squeezing past each other in your crowded, narrow streets. Shaking hands. Grabbing-"

"Punching!" Stann added with a smile.

"Eh. Yes. Always touching. This seems strange to me. Why is that?" Alisan had pulled her hands closer to her chest, as if envisioning all the pushing humans she had come across.

"It helps us make connection with other people. It can be a gesture of intimacy, or used to emphasise something. Don't you touch one another?" Mirena asked, wondering what a society would be like if they kept everyone at arm’s length.

"Not nearly as much, no. It seems enough to simply see each other, yes?" The elf tilted her head to the side.

"Is that part of the whole 'learn by moving' thing you talked about earlier?" Stann asked.

"Yes! It is pleasing to me that you kept this memory." Alisan looked happy.

"Sometimes people don't take the time to truly see one another," Mirena said, mostly to herself. "Anything else you can think of?"

"There was no dawn within me for a long time to shed light upon how your societies could function. I now know more about your noble people and common people, as well as the roles of your divine servants and traders. From a perspective of the castes, it seemed very chaotic to me how a person could move from one strata to another, yet a certain group is gifted their roles from their parents." Alisan was frowning, clearly struggling to unite the two concepts.

"Heredity is a big part of our society. I suppose it is our way of living on through our descendants? Compared to the elves, we live such short lives, so we seek to extend our existence through dynasties both large and small." The knight was only too familiar with the importance some families put on following in the footsteps of your parents.

"Very strange," Alisan merely shook her head.

"How does it work for your people?" Kellen took the opportunity to learn more about elven culture. He always enjoyed researching a subject thoroughly before attempting any practical applications. In a way, he was researching the elves now.

"When a child is old enough, she is tested to see what her aptitudes are.” The pale elf spoke with a clear voice, despite her accent. “They are then groomed towards that role, until the day of their casting. From that day and forward, they are a part of their given caste for the rest of their lives - barring certain exceptions, of course."

"I see. And you are..?" The tall Northman asked, taking notes inside his head.

"I belong to the Shaper Caste, next to Guardian, Wisdom and Ruler.” Alisan touched her chest with a graceful hand, proud of her place in the world. “A Shaper excels within a given field of study, like truth, song or words. We also have practical shapers, like our warshapers? You call them black smiths?"

"Wait... you have TRUTHshapers?" Oleander sat up straighter in her saddle. She didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

"Yes? They, and lawshapers, are a part of the judicial system alongside certain members of the Wisdom Caste."

"Uh-huh. Okay." Oleander blew some hair out of her face. It had been too good to be true, hoping that the stories about how the elven lands were free of constabularies and judges were more than just dreams spun by wistful thieves.

"That is another thing!" Alisan held up a finger in the air with an indignant expression. "Your laws are interpreted by a single person? One of your noble people decides whether leniency or punishment is called for. How can you accept the perspective on just one in these matters? That is just one pair of eyes short of being blind!"

"Justice is blind," Mirena replied with a confused expression. "Ideally, all are equal before it."

"No, justice should watch from many points of view. How else can fair judgement be rendered unless every angle is accounted for?" The elf immediately argued.

Their voices echoed between the trees as the Sona road brought them ever deeper into the wildlands.

Stann rode at the back of the group now that Rhyce was scouting ahead. Since the warrior was the one of the few wearing armour, it was a sensible precaution in case anyone had the bright idea of trying to ambush them. It had happened a few times before, during previous adventures, and since then Mirena and he had worked out a rough marching order to provide the best and most flexible defence should it come to it. The group wasn't large enough that they could hold off any greater number of opponents, but with their many magicians they rarely needed more than a few moments to get their bearing before fireballs and earthquakes sorted everything out.

He looked at the people riding in front of him. Mirena was wearing one of her marine blue divided skirts common among Tierin riders. When she sat up in the saddle, the outer skirt parted to either side of the horse, keeping her legs covered the whole time. Stann figured she could probably hide her armour's leg plates under those skirts without anyone noticing, but today she seemed content with wearing just her light travelling chainmail hauberk and a simple temple surcoat to cover it.

Kellen, clearly explaining something to their fox-like little redhead, pointing at what clouds could be seen through the cover of the trees. It hadn't been raining since they passed Rosehaven. Stann was thankful of how it had eased up the further inland they got. Traveling while it rained was miserable. The town they had recently left behind, Tarad, was about at the same latitude as Tier, but ever since entering the wildlands they had been moving in a north-western direction. Still, they were yet far enough inlands that the rains that often beset the coastal regions wouldn’t reach here, even less with all those trees.

The warrior watched his cousin gesturing with his arms again. The rune seeker's tunic had no sleeves and showed the tattoos where his protective runes were ready to break the swords of any who dared fight him. Stann noticed that his cousin's moustache was starting to droop over his lips, a sure sight that they had been riding for a while. Kellen was a genius with magic, clever with books and strong as an ox, but he was as clumsy as said ox as well. Growing up, Stann had seen his older cousin visit the herbalist in Strom several times for a poultice for the cuts he gave himself trying to shave.

Then there were the elven girls. One with her midnight black hair tied back in a tail, the other with a wealth of cream tumbling down her shoulders. Ebony and ivory. Alisan had that natural grace to every movement, and an ageless beauty to her face. Stann turned his eyes to the dark mystic. Jaden, on the other hand, seemed so awkward but was shapely in ways that would put any Northern maiden to shame. When a summer breeze found its way around the trees, it made the mystic's jacket flutter up a little, revealing the smooth skin of her bare back. Stann squirmed in his saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position. This wouldn't be an easy journey, he decided.

"Think of something else, old bear," he muttered to himself. "Ships. Right. Wind from the port side. Turn the sails. Make sure the knots are tight."

Stann distracted himself with thoughts of sailing, so focused that he didn't notice the wind changing suddenly. In the North it was regarded as a bad omen, a warning of danger or death. His father always said that when the winds turned on you, misfortune would visit before the night was done.

The previous times Jaden had visited Ral Sona, they had arrived by air. The wildlands had just been a blanket stretching out for as long as the eye could see. An ocean of treetops and glimpses of clearings. Riding through the deep woodlands, now, was a very different experience.

Jaden had her fair share of traveling through forests. The dry thicket before entering the desert on their way to the Khuul Barrows or when they had to hunt an elder Ghaunt in the great Albar Woods, and of course most recently, the journey through the Ealbourne Forest to Redwall. This felt like something else entirely. The Sorun forest wasn’t like the Ealbourne, all open and relatively level. There was a reason they call it the wildlands. The woods of Alband were tame and civil. The sylvan reaches of Sorun was a force of nature.

This became even more apparent when the day was starting to come to an end and the question of where they would set up camp was raised. The forest gave no impression of welcoming anyone. Alisan looked genuinely surprised that there would even be any question about this, which led to her explaining about the several molan enan leum, wayhome trees, positioned along the Sona road. Sleeping out in the wild was nothing short of asking to get eaten, whereas the natural tents created by the thick, low-hanging boughs of certain marked trees was safe ground. Parting the curtain-like leaves, there was even a firepit dug down among the roots, logs worn smooth where travellers could sit down, and space for several people to roll out their blankets if they wanted to sleep. Jaden could imagine a dozen people sharing a single wayhome tree without having to lie closely at all, and once she knew what to look for, she realised they must have passed a few of them every mile.

Alisan went on explaining how Outsiders would find it hard to traverse the wilderness of Sorun. The smell of man and cities would draw the ire of the things that dwelled in the dark forest. Perhaps Jaden would be spared, the pale elf reasoned, due to her lineage, and maybe Oleander and Rhyce since they had grown up so close to the wildlands. But Mirena, a child of the golden city and a paragon of humanity, would likely be mauled if she strayed from the path. Alisan couldn’t say how Northmen would fare in general, but was pretty sure Stann would get eaten by the most dire and awful creature in the whole wilds. She told him so repeatedly throughout the evening.

As it grew later and darker, they had a small fire going in the deep pit. Despite being mostly covered, it cast a warm light that reflected off the shiny leaves and illuminating the living tent to a surprising degree.

Despite Alisan’s insistence that guards weren’t really necessary, they had set up their usual arrangement, and Jaden was just waiting for the others to go to bed before it was her usual job to take the first turn. At least, she hoped that a certain redhead would head off to bed soon, instead of pestering her with increasingly uncomfortable questions.

"Nirido... eluron..." Alisand stalked past where Oleander and Jaden were sitting. Those were not the kind of words anyone would expect out of such a beautiful face. The mystic shied back a bit at the vicious tirade, bumping into Oleander.

Stann came hurrying after the elven woman, awkwardly as he was only wearing one of his boots.

"Hey, what did I say?" The winter warrior turned to look at Jaden. "Wait, what did SHE say?"

“Uhm.” The black-haired mystic glanced down at the warrior’s feet. “Where is your other boot?”

“She makes me take them off, after the first time,” Stann said, as though that explained everything.

Jaden considered how to reply to that, but thankfully the Northman didn’t stop to listen but instead gave up on waiting for a translation and chased after the elf.

Oleander barely gave those two a second thought, sitting straddled over the log they were using as a seat. The redhead was looking intently at the mystic.

“So, what you said just then…” She continued with their previous conversation.

“I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.” Jaden was regretting her decision to share things.

"Does that… You're really on... You can do that? I mean..." Her raincloud grey eyes went even wider than before.

"I know what you mean, Ollie. And, apparently yes. Can we not talk about this?" Jaden had her shoulders drawn up, feeling very uncomfortable with the entire situation.

"Sure! I mean, wow, that means you've really-" Oleander glanced down at Jaden’s lap.

"Can we not talk about it? Please?" The mystic whined.

"Sorry." Oleander squeezed her lips close for a little while, looking to the side. "So, do you need anything? I've got some things I nicked from Mirena..."

"Ollie!"

"Okay, okay! Dropping the subject!" A twinkle came to the Olman girl's eyes. "We can talk about something else when you feel red-y. We can just go with the flow."

Jaden groaned with exasperation, dragging her fingers down her cheeks. Garda’s Fires! Sometimes, she swore, this girl could drive her nuts.

"Wad about that bloody mess back in-" Oleander enunciated each pun excessively.

"You're dead!" Jaden sprang up to grab the redhead, who just barely managed to duck back, running giggling out of reach with the mystic in pursuit.

Mirena just shook her head slightly at their antics, taking another sip of her tea, reminding herself to buy enough for three, the next time they had the chance to get the monthly necessities.

"Those two look to be in good spirits again," Kellen rumbled in what passed for a murmur. "I was just about having quite enough of them moping around."

"The heart will find a way, my friend. It always does," the knight said with a gentle smile.

"Strange though it may be," the Northman agreed.

"We live in strange days, Kellen. Who can say what is normal anymore?"

"Not us, that's for sure," he laughed and sat down to pour a cup for himself as well. “Also, one has noticed two other people finding each other.”

“Are you talking about Stann and Alisan? I’m not so sure about those two,” Mirena eyed the elf and the warrior standing to the side. They were gesturing vigorously at each other, the elf shaking what looked like one of Stann’s boots in front of his face.

The evening was quickly turning into night, and it was only due to the few lanterns hanging from posts around the streets that it was possible to see further than a couple of yards. The moon had taken to hiding behind thick clouds that had blown in from the east over the course of the day, and was sharing none of its light with the world below.

The stocky man hoisting the rest of the wares into his cart bit back a curse as he bumped his foot into a wheel for the second time. It was his own fault, really. He had enjoyed a pint with some of his friends over at the Cat’s Moon, discussing how a recent accident over at a local cheese producer had increased demands coming from the various taverns around town on bringing back more cheese than usual with any trips coming in from Veren. It was good to coordinate a bit with the other traveling merchants, to avoid stepping on each other’s toes too much. That’s how he ended up with the elven route. He didn’t much mind going to the elven city in the wildlands. It was a pretty enough place, with nice enough people, as far as elves go. What he never got used to was that feeling of being smothered when he entered the wilds. It was almost oppressive the way the forest closed in around him.

“Word is you’re going to Ral Sona?”

The voice behind him made the merchant almost drop the heavy sack of barley he was wrestling aboard the cart. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. Maybe he had just been too preoccupied to notice? Turning around and leaning on the cart, he saw a man in a hooded cloak that looked just a little too warm for the late summer.

“That I am, stranger. What’s it to you?”

“I was wondering if I could ride along? Might be safer with a second pair of eyes on that road,” the other man spoke with a hoarse voice, but his accent was clearly Olman enough for the merchant to relax a little.

“Appreciating the offer, neighbour, but that road isn’t all that dangerous to be honest. I’m more likely to end up in trouble around here than out there.” The merchant wasn’t exaggerating. Tarad was a good place to go if you wanted to get robbed or cheated. It was an awful town, but it was home.

“Might I could change your mind?” The stranger made a flourish with a hand, and held up a coin that gleamed with a golden shine in the lantern light. This marked the man as a newcomer more than anything else. You didn’t flaunt your gold in Tarad.

“Well, if you’re offering that, I’m not going to say-“ The merchant couldn’t help but smile. A gold crown just to give someone a lift? Sure, it was a five day ride, but a gold coin and some company might make it go quicker. It was then he noticed something on the stranger’s wrist. Holding up that coin made the sleeve fall back far enough to show a tattoo on the lower arm. It looked like a sheaf. A bead of cold sweat trickled down his back. He knew what that meant. You didn’t travel the roads of Olmar as long as he had without hearing about the Sons.

The stranger noticed him trailing off, and followed his gaze to the exposed wrist. There was a pause when everything was suddenly very quiet. All the noises of the town seemed to fade away. Then, the merchant drew a deep breath to shout. He didn’t get that far before those strong hands closed in around his throat. The grip was vice-like; thumbs crushing his windpipe like a reed. His struggling grew weaker as the night crept in around his vision. The last thing he saw were those intense eyes staring into his.

The stranger counted slowly to twenty before letting the body fall to the ground with a dull thud. He looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed what had been done, but the street was dark and empty. Anyone with good intentions were either at home or at work, and those who were otherwise would not interfere.

He leaned down and dragged the body of the merchant into an alley and hid it behind some crates. It would be found in the morning, no doubt, but by then he would be far away. The stranger grabbed the hat that had fallen off the merchant’s head during the brief scuffle. He pushed his hood back and donned the hat. It was a good hat. It would be a shame to waste it.

With practiced ease, the stranger wheeled the cart around and hitched it to a horse he had found in a nearby stable. Yes, by morning he would be far gone. He had to move quickly if he wanted to catch up.

As the cart rolled away up the street, an unusually fat rat shuffled back from its perch by the roof. Its beady black eyes followed the cart until it moved out of sight.

Dawn came all too soon, leaving only ghosts of strange dreams behind. Oleander didn’t make too much of a fuss about how she apparently wasn’t due for breakfast duty for another couple of days yet – in fact, there would probably not be time for her to cook anything before they reached the city. Since the meal was quick and uneventful, they soon began to ready themselves for another day of traveling. It was almost as far from Tarad to Ral Sona, as it was from Farcrest to Rosehaven, so they expected another two days on the road yet.

"So, uh, Jaden?" Stann buckled on his swordbelt, and bent to pick up the scabbard from where it had been sitting next to his pack, waiting to be hooked into place. The warrior made a habit of checking his tools of fighting every day, whether he needed to or not. As magicians had certain rituals, warriors had theirs.

The mystic looked up from where she was rummaging through her own bags. She hastily pushed some silky looking things back to the bottom. She felt a blush creep to her cheeks before she realised how she was wearing some of those very things right now. Not that the Northman could see it, at the moment, but she became all too aware of how the fabric clung to her.

"Yeah, Bear?" She cleared her throat, hoping her friend hadn’t caught the nervous note.

"I've been meaning to ask, since you naturally know elf-speak-" Stann gestured toward Jaden's ears, as if they explained everything.

"I'm not an elf, Stann." Jaden slumped down a little. At least the embarrassment was gone; annoyance was its natural predator.

"-so I figured you'd be the one to go to?" The warrior continued, regardless of the mystic's protest.

"Fine. What did you want to know?" The mystic rolled her eyes with resignation.

"I've been talking to Alisan a lot, and she keeps saying a word to me." Stann rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his long, blonde hair in the process. A part of Jaden wanted to sit the warrior down and take a brush to that tangle. She wished the Northman would take as good care of it as he did with his beard.

"Okay. What was it?" Jaden felt reasonably confident in her Sorunese, having had plenty of training and experience with it growing up - although not for the reasons people kept assuming.

"It's 'parrot'. Not the bird, though. That wouldn't make any sense." At least Stann assumed it wasn't that. However, with elves, who could tell? Live as long as they do, and maybe words take on new meanings just like they do with crazy people?

"Wait, 'perot'? Are you sure?" Jaden stopped tying her pack together, looking up to make sure she had heard right.

"Yeah. She says it to me, like, all the time. I've heard it plenty."

"Well, Elvish is very different from Midland Trade, and some of the cultural significance might be lost..." The mystic trailed off, trying to think of a diplomatic way to deliver the meaning. She rose to her feet and slung the pack over her shoulder.

"Just tell me already," Stann groaned, not wanting to hear another lecture the same day. "It's something bad, isn't it?"

Jaden glanced at where the others were, and then leaned in closer to Stann and whispered it into his ear. The large Northman stood up straight with his ice-blue eyes as wide as they would go.

"That filthy-mouthed wench!"

On the second day underneath the canopy of the wildlands they began to get used to the softer illumination. There was no glare from the sun. Just a presence of day that found its way through the forest, a whisper of light that caressed rather than stung.

Jaden was starting to feel a little claustrophobic, having grown up in the mountains with nothing but sky as far as the eyes could see. The trees here blocked sight, and it was rare to see more than a few dozen yards ahead at a time. Even the road wound around like a river rather than the straight, imperial highways they were used to.

Despite the almost oppressive feeling of the wildlands pushing in against the sides of the road, there was also something calming about moving along with the pulse of the forest. When she closed her eyes, Jaden could almost imagine feeling the earth breathe with each breeze that ran through her hair.

"I'm bored! Nothing but trees all day!" Oleander scratched her head with both hands. "Kel? Kel! Tell us a story."

"What would you like to hear?" The rune seeker paused in his polishing of one of his inscribed stones.

"Something with adventure! Treasure! Horses." The redhead leaned forward in her saddle and hugged the neck of her pinto. The horse snorted a little, and tossed its head. The people of Olmar loved their horses. The animals returned the sentiment on a horse by horse basis.

"What about the time before the Empire?" Jaden suggested, riding up on the other side of the large Northman.

"And horses," Oleander demanded, making a little finger-wave at the mystic from where she rode.

"Sure. And horses." Jaden returned the wave with a small smile.

Kellen took a deep breath, and furrowed his brow in thought. When he released his air, it became the first syllable in a rich tapestry of history being woven with each word that left his lips.

"Before the kingdoms of man set foot on this continent, during the time when the first empire still ruled the six islands in the far west, there was not one, but four great civilisations close to where we tread today. There were the proud and strong Tuaz Dhe orcs to the north and east, sharing their lands with the small clans of my ancestors. To the west and reaching across the area we now call the Midlands, were the great forest and the Cea elves, guardians of the land and its wisdom. To the south, beyond the Isanduar mountains, was the land of the Kirn, small of stature but big of heart. And below the surface stretched the vast dwarven underkingdom of the Atmer, digging into the earth and crafting things of legend.

"In the ancient time, the Tuaz Dhe was the largest nation, an empire in its own right, being the just and fair rulers of half this continent under their law of earth and sky; the rule of balance and evenhandedness. During that time, their cities stood tall and majestic, with grand temples reaching up to the heavens. It was this faith in the elements and the spirits of the land that they passed on to us, the sons and daughters of the North, and we kept it safe when the Tuaz Dhe empire collapsed into savagery. To this day, historians are uncertain what triggered their descent into ruin, but something turned them from their enlightened society into the tribes we know today.

"During the civilised times, the Tuaz Dhe and the Cea lived in peace with one another. One sought to serve the sky, and the other was content to care for the land. The Tuaz's primary foe were the dragons that lived in the Erbor mountains that divided their empire. Many great battles were fought against the wyrms, with many champions rising to challenge the deadly creatures.

"It was during those times when the great shaman Mag Naruz, at behest of the high ruler of the Tuaz Dhe, led the rest of the most renowned magicians of the empire in performing the great spirit call. According to legend they were successful in bringing some of their gods to our world, to Aden, to help them defeat the dragons.

"Some say that this marked one of the points where the Tuaz Dhe began to decline. Whether it was through their constant warring with the dragons, some manner of corruption from within, or the very presence of their gods in their midst, within a few generations the empire had broken apart into city-states that fought more with each other, than their ancient enemies.

"Did their gods abandon them when that happened? Today, nobody knows. We can only study the once-great ruins, and listen to the songs the Orcs remember, to try to unravel one of the great mysteries that history left for us: What truly happened to the Tuaz Dhe orcs?"

Jaden sat silent, digesting the story. Something about it felt strangely familiar, somehow, but she couldn't put her finger on what, precisely. A memory, itching just below consciousness. Jaden touched the side of her head. It felt warm.

"Hey, Kel? There were no horses in that story!" Oleander said suddenly.

"Oh? Well. Hrmm. Dragons are known to eat horses. Will that do it?" The rune seeker blinked, and shifted a little in his saddle, much to the protest of his shaggy Northern horse.

Oleander's eyes went wide, looking the image of a child whose sweetroll had been stolen away.

"Say, Kellen, do you know anything about the ruins of Kaunath?" Jaden said, heading off any potentially loud voices before it came to that. The ruins were half a continent away, but it was what had sprung to mind.

"Oh, that is another fascinating tale. The Eldritch Walkers of Kaunath. It all began when the wildlands covered most of the Midlands, somewhere inside the region we call the Albar woods today. You see, during the time of the Tuaz Dhe city-king Harad the Heavy-hearted, signs of a new star had appeared on the night sky..."

The Northman's voice reached far and deep into the wildlands, each step along their journey also a step into history.

The chamber was large not because its master needed to prove something. It was large because it had to be. It was a work of art in of itself. Filigree of silver interlaced with wooden lattices that formed patterns forgotten by the outside world. Only here, in this sanctum, could he still hear the song of the true people.

Water flowed into the chamber through hidden pipes, drawing directly from the pools of the ancients nearby. Through the waters could the vast reservoirs of power be focused into what was needed.

A robe lay precisely folded the same way it always had for countless seasons while the elf waded into the waist-high water. As he reached the centre of the chamber, he raised his hands wide and looked up at the nexus stone in the ceiling. Drawing upon the source was more than second nature by now. It was instinct. The power seeped through the patterns, making them alight with magic, before emptying out into the water. An imperfection, a small leftover flaw from a bygone age, allowed an almost unnoticeable disharmony in the vast network of energy. Nearby, a freshly planted flower withered and dried up.

Revitalised, the elf left the waters and dried almost immediately as the moisture evaporated from his skin. He donned his robe while walking the smooth stone path towards the round door. Sometimes it took a concentrated effort of will to make himself leave the chamber. He knew he couldn’t linger. There was work to be done. There was always more work to be done.

Outside, the air felt weaker, less satisfying. Even in the presence of the pools and the beautiful architecture surrounding them, it was but a pale echo of the world that had been. As always, one of his attendants awaited his arrival. The face was familiar, but the name eluded him. There had been so many names throughout the seasons.

«Report,» he commanded, as always. His voice was perfectly resounded by the ivy-covered walls, as always.

«Continuing from yesterday, Exarch Sunstorm moves to address the lawshapers regarding the recent delays in the budgetary referendum, » the attendant began. The list of current events went on for several minutes, pausing only when the older elf asked for a clarification.

«And that is all of the reports, most ancient, » the attendant lowered her head respectfully.

«Good. Is the meeting hall prepared? » He asked unnecessarily. It always was.

«It is, most ancient. The Videre’s advisors await your arrival. »

They always were.

It was like Jaden remembered it, yet it was not.

"Be welcome to the everlasting Ral Sona," Alisan said with a proud smile on her face as she turned to her new friends and gestured grandly towards the living city. It was indeed a place where nature and civilisation peacefully coexisted. The trees stood five or more stories high, forming a green dome canopy with their branches and thick leaves. The houses rose around, rather than through, using the great oaks, ash and willows as support for their winding structures. The city was made out of curves and waves, rather than straight angles and lines. It gave visitors the impression that it was just resting between its movements, like a wave breaking on the beach before it pulls back into the sea.

Kellen looked around with fascination, nodding to himself as he followed some building's organic dance with its tree. Rhyce, on the other hand, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He was quiet, even for being Rhyce, and kept his head low as they got further into the city.

It wasn't right calling them roads or streets. They were made out of stone as in any city, but rather than cobblestones or bricks, it seemed like the bedrock itself had risen to provide a solid surface for wagons to be moved. From these rocky veins spread paths as would any side streets or alleyways in a human town, with colourful flowers marking the sides. It often took newly arrived people some time to realise that each path had its own unique flowers. Where the tigerlily path may lead to the stoneshaper's workhalls, the snowdrops would guide someone to a series of private residences. Many wondered how the residents could find their way during winter, when the flowers were not in bloom, but forgot how the elves of Ral Sona have had many years to learn the petal paths intimately.

Where the larger streets were of stone, there was also small rivulets of water running freely throughout the city. No bridges spanned these small brooks. Instead, there were flat stones wide enough for two people to walk side by side, with enough of a distance between them to let the water flow freely but close enough that a child's stride could safely cross the lilypad stones.

"I didn't expect this," Oleander said with open amazement.

"What were you expecting?" Jaden asked out of curiosity.

"I have no idea, but not this. I always heard that Ral Sona had these big towers or something, but all I'm seeing are trees." The redhead squinted up at the verdant dome overhead.

"The sentinel spires form a rough circumference of the inner city. If you so desire, I shall choose a path that will lead us past one of them?" Alisan offered, indicating a particular vein of flowers.

"Sure, okay." The redhead leaned in toward Stann, who was closest at the moment. "I'd hate to be the gardener here. Imagine raking up all these leaves come autumn?"

To Jaden, it looked the same. Everlasting meant neverchanging in some ways. Like the times she had been here before, as a younger man, she opened her eyes to the mystic's sight like her mother had suggested. It was a completely different experience from in human settlements. There was no fading to grey backdrop where only some magic threads became visible against the stark difference. No, in Ral Sona magic and life were as one, with the large trees equally vibrant. Strong, pulsing ribbons of magic ran under the ground like arcane arteries, following the small rivers like a glowing undercurrent. Looking up, the canopy of leaves had transformed into a starry sky where each light was a nurturing or protective spell. Not even Talraman had this beautiful harmony of magic, growing seamlessly into the mundane world. She could literally see what made this city so special.

Arriving to the great elven city had almost come as a surprise. At the top of a short rise, the trees had all but pulled to the side like the curtains of a verdant theatre. Suddenly, there were buildings and people where there had only been the wildlands earlier. It was impressive how something so big could be hidden like that, even in the middle of a vast forest. The elves truly didn’t force nature to conform to their design. Here, nature and people stood side by side.

Alisan led them along one of the main, smooth slab stone roads where they passed a small group of elves garbed in light steel and leather armour. They were astride light grey elven horses, keeping silvery sword-lances resting against a stirrup. Their eyes followed the newcomers, but they made no movement to stop the humans.

“Guardian caste. Halaya. It seems to be similar to your soldiers. Knights, but not of your temples?” Alisan explained as the riders left along the same road Jaden and her friends had arrived on.

“I’ve seen that kind of spear before,” Oleander mused. “Oh! I think I saw your sister with one of those, in Farcrest. She was hanging around outside an inn, or something.”

“She picked up a qalitar of her own after she had been here, training with the exarchs as an initiate. It’s her favourite weapon.” Jaden remembered how excited Lilya had been when she had returned home after her training trip to Ral Sona when they had been younger. Lilya had always embraced their elven heritage much more than Jaden had. It was almost as if her sister was ashamed of their human side.

Jaden looked around from her saddle, trying to see any landmarks she recognised to orient herself a little. It was no good, though. She had been much younger last time, and hadn’t really paid any attention to where they were going.

"Taking the risk to sound like the dull voice of reason – that is, like my ugly cousin - where are we going to stay while we're here?" The winter warrior asked the rest of the group in general, even if he was looking in Alisan’s direction.

"Ral Sona has taverns and inns, just like any other big city, Stann," Mirena said with a gesture at the many buildings that surrounded the trees of the eternal city.

"Oh, I just thought... It all looks so, uh, you know..." Stann trailed off, trying to find a good word for what he wanted to say.

"They also use actual money here, I’m told, rather than flowers or bunnies for currency," Oleander teased the blonde Northman with a grin.

"Hey, I didn't think that!" He objected.

Jaden couldn't help but giggle, but immediately cleared her throat with a frown, silently berating herself. She did not like when that happened. Men didn’t giggle. They laughed. Or guffawed. Or.. or… well, they didn’t giggle, that’s for sure!

"If you seek something closer to what you may be accustomed to, there is a special accommodation in the Outsider's grove, not far from the embassies," Alisan suggested. She had found that many of the renen who spent time in her city were as unnerved about it as she had been when she first saw the human settlements.

"Uh. We should take one of the elven inns, don't you think? This is a chance to really experience Ral Sona for many of us, so why hide in the human quarters?" Jaden had a selfish reason for avoiding the embassies, but wrapped it up in the guise of generosity.

"A sound suggestion, Jaden! I too would like to learn more about the city and its people." Kellen welcomed the opportunity.

"As you desire," Alisan nodded. "I can provide some recommendations. The Dananlien and the Kalanesiria both seem to be very pleasant. My friends and I visit either at times."

The scroll and song will set you on your path

"The Kalan e Siria sounds nice. I feel like I've heard about it before. Maybe someone mentioned it when I was here six or so years ago?" The mystic looked into the distance, trying to remember what the circumstances had been.

"We'll trust your judgement in this, Alisan. We're in your hands now." Mirena smiled.

The pale elf looked at the black-haired mystic, whose slightly unfocused eyes were turned towards the northeast, in the direction of the Kalanesiria. She mentally shrugged, and gestured in that direction. Soon, they were leading their horses along a winding road hedged by small bushes with orange flowers.

The ground-level of the inn was dominated by a large, circular hall with a slightly domed ceiling. From the centre spiralled two gently sloping ramps up to an upper balcony overlooking the floor below. From underneath the ramps there were a number of triangular paper lanterns in different colours, providing most of the illumination and leaving the circumference in a cosy dimness.

It was also along the edges of the hall where most of the tables were, leaving the middle of the floor open for patrons and attendants to move freely. These tables also came in different heights, where people either stood, and sat either on chairs or directly on the floor. There was no symmetry in the room, but instead a wave-form harmony.

"We bid you to enter freely into the shade of Kalanesiria, that which appears as the Scroll and the Song in your tongue," said a friendly, but somewhat sleepy-looking elven man with grey hair. It wasn't the sign of age, instead it was as if someone had spun stone into fine strands. A rich grey, strange as the notion was. He was wearing a light green smock with brown decorations that reminded Jaden of acorns. His presence was also reminiscent of a strong pillar, carrying the roof of a house.

"I offer greetings, Hearthwarden. Would you provide shelter for these Outsiders?" Alisan stepped forward.

"It is my calling and pleasure to do so, Shaper Summercross," the grey-haired elf touched the tips of his fingers together and bowed. With that, he backed away and called a few attendants closer to give them their instructions.

"Nice place. Woodsy, but nice," Stann commented, following a young attendant with his eyes as she brought out a large wooden pitcher of wine from an inner room. "Yeah, very nice."

"Do you know that Keeper from before?" Oleander asked the pale elf.

"My friends and I have spent many evenings under his roof, but more likely I am known by reputation," Alisan said vaguely. Perhaps it was just the way she spoke.

"Oooh. Are you famous, Creampuff?" The redhead leaned in and grinned at her.

"Ta viela, not as such. My mentor seems to carry a measure of recognition amongst my kind." Alisan’s face was marred by a brief frown, but she quickly smoothened her features into stillness.

Jaden looked around at the decorations inside the tavern. She was pretty sure she hadn't been here before, but something seemed... right about being here, now. Moving to the side to see more of the ramps, she noted how they weren't entirely smooth. They were also covered with Serecean letters. Jaden realised that from above, they must look like two unrolled scrolls tumbling down from the balcony level to the hall.

The mystic had unwittingly backed closer to one of the tables, and snippets of the conversation caught her ear. She didn't mean to listen in, but there was something in the body language of the two people sitting to the side, cast in a slight purple light by a lantern, that peaked her curiosity. They looked a little too formal, a little too stiff, sitting opposite of one another with their hands on the table, spread apart with their palms against the surface. Their eyes had that infuriatingly, elvishly calm look.

«The fields are empty of stems and kernels,» said the woman, her black hair falling down either side of her face like a midnight waterfall. Her eyes looked straight at the man at the other side of the table.

«The harvest will see us through the winter,» he replied. They both nodded and pulled their hands away from the table.

Jaden shrugged and went back to admiring the beautiful details in the carvings that adorned the walls and ceiling high above. She could almost make out each individual leaf and petal. The very building was a work of art in of itself, one that must have taken a hundred years to complete. It was easy to get lost in the whirls and loops that made the entire ceiling almost come to life when the soft light from the lanterns played across the dome. She didn’t know how long she had been staring up at it, but a hand touching her elbow brought her back to the here and now.

“Jaden? We are about to be shown our quarters,” Mirena said, gesturing with her other hand to where the rest of them were standing by one of those ramps leading to the balcony and further up to where the guest rooms would be. Nobody had seemed to notice the mystic’s entrancement. Perhaps she hadn’t been dreaming that long?

The rooms rose along the main tree like interconnected treehouses, each unlike the previous one. It was as if someone had brought together several small shacks made by craftsmen who had never shared a word with one another. The very floor plan was an artwork in of itself, and an expression of the heart of the elven people - harmony in individualism.

"I can't find my bed," Oleander said, peeking out from behind her door into the corridor. "All I’ve got in here is a pile of deer pelts."

"That's probably where you’re supposed to sleep, then. Last time I was here, I slept in a large trough with a thin mattress. Kind of like half of a big, hollowed-out log. It wasn't that bad, really. It felt a little like a cradle, I guess." Jaden couldn't imagine one of the Northmen in a bed like that, though. Their arms and legs would spill over the sides.

"Huh. What do you have in your room now?" The redhead wondered, eyeing the sleeping arrangements in her own room with suspicion.

"Oh, I've got a bed." The mystic had been both pleased and disappointed.

"A normal bed?"

"Yeah." Jaden nodded. The pillows were a little thin, though. But that was alright. It made it easier for her to sleep on her stomach. Well, weren’t it for the other things that got squished while doing that.

"Wanna trade?" Oleander said hopefully, even batting her eyelashes a little.

No

"You know, I kind of like the idea of you sprawled out across the floor on a heap of furs. No trade." Jaden leaned back and rubbed her chin with an appraising look.

"Dirty mind." Oleander stuck her tongue out and snuck back into her room.

"Well, it certainly is now," the mystic mumbled to herself as she returned to her own quarters to unpack, trying to get rid of the mental image of a disrobed redhead spread out across a bear pelt with a come-hither look on her face. Maybe even with a beckoning finger. It sent all the right tingles to the wrong places. Her cheeks were definitely warm.

The windows in her room showed both the street passing around the tavern, as well as letting her partly see into a room further down the corridor. He glimpsed movement beyond that window, and leaned to the side to get a better view of who it was. She was greeted by an eyeful of a muscled back of Stann, presently changing out of his heavy Northern chainmail for some lighter city clothing. Jaden was about to pull back, ashamed of spying on her friend, but something made her stay and watch him continuing undressing. It was his own fault, really, for not pulling his curtains shut. Those tingling sensations returned again. What was wrong with her?

Jaden forced herself to turn around. Repeating some of the calming mantras every initiate of the mountain were taught as part of mastering their meditative techniques helped clear her mind, one image at a time. The mountain stands strong against the coldest wind. Fire. The mountain stands fast against every wave and tremor. Burning. The mountain stands proud when all else falls. Hot. Eventually, her inner sky was clear once more, the last thoughts expelled along with her hot breath.

She untied the flap that covered her pack, and began to pull out the rolled-up bundles of clothes. Mirena had been very clear about the importance of hanging her clothes as soon as she could, to avoid wrinkles. There was also her sword, secured to the side of her pack instead of at her hip while riding. It was a good enough weapon, but not a Talram protector's blade. She should really get back into practicing with it, she promised herself. Maybe tomorrow.

Jaden rolled on to her back on the bed, staring up at the knotholes in the ceiling. There were so many of them. Like stars on a night sky, they formed small constellations.

"So, are everyone settled in?" Mirena looked at the group of people she had brought together over the last couple of years. Friends. Strange friends, but friends nonetheless.

"I don't have any bed-" Oleander began, pointing in the rough direction of where her room was.

"Have you seen the wine cellar here?" Stann interrupted, his face beaming with excitement. "I asked the Keeper-"

"Hearthwarden," Jaden corrected the Northman.

"-about what they had to drink around here, and we got talking. Turns out, they've got this... this VAULT of bottles from all over the world. They've even got kulsu. Real kulsu, from before the time my grandfather was born!" Stann finished, hardly noticing the interruption this time.

"Won't that beer have gone bad by now?" The redhead cocked her head to the side, looking askance.

"No-no, little fox. You see, true Northern ale only gather more character with each passing season. A brew this old must be powerful indeed!" There was no doubt that Kellen shared his cousin's spirit of alcoholic adventure. He even put a big arm around the small Olman girl’s shoulders, and gestured into the air like he was showing her a grand display.

"The stuff of legends," Stann readily agreed, nodding with the kind of seriousness only the best drink could bring about. "We've asked him to bring a few friends for the uncorking. We'll give them a taste of what true Northman drink is like!"

"That's very nice, you two, but let's make the most of the time we have before you drag half of the city into a drunken stupor." The knight had a bit of resigned amusement in her voice, like a mother being told all about the frogs her children had brought home after a day playing in the forest.

"This is where I have words to share," Alisan said with a raised hand.

"Anything you can offer, Alisan, will be appreciated," Mirena nodded and stepped back a little to give everyone a clear view of the pale elf.

"I have spoken of how my friends and I have spent effort to uncover what we could about the increased signs of feyland exploitation." Alisan paused to take a breath, taking a look around to make sure they were relatively private. When she continued, she did so with a slightly lower voice. "The one directing our efforts seems to be Ranath Dawnrider, and we should pay visit to his home so that I can introduce you. We will be working with him to coordinate our efforts, most likely, and hopefully learn what else has been brought into light in my absence."

"Can you tell us anything else about this Ranath fellow?" Stann asked, propped against the table on an elbow.

"He is a... friend. I have known him for more than half of a hundred summers. He is in a position to enact some changes, should we provide him with... ah, what is a word? Quel Tivanon?" Alisan turned to Jaden with her question.

"Proof?" The mystic replied, after finding a matching concept in Midland Trade.

"Yes. If we can give proof enough for him to do so," Alisan finished explaining.

"Hang on, what? Half a... fifty years? How old are you, anyway?" The warrior looked shaken.

"Stann!" Oleander smacked the Northman on the arm, glaring at him.

"I will need see twenty more springs come and go before I have followed the seasons two hundred times," Alisan said without blinking.

"You're... you..." Stann looked like he had choked on something.

"You were alive during the wars of the second empire?" Kellen looked like he was having an unexpected birthday. "I have so many questions!"

"Boys? Later." Mirena put an end to the tangent, dragging her herd of cats back on track. "Did you have anything else to add, Alisan?"

"Nothing that is of importance. We should speak with Ranath as soon as possible, and decide on a new path once all words have been shared," the elf said.

"No time like the present. Can we meet him right now, do you think?" The knight asked her.

"Ris," she said with a nod after considering briefly. "He is likely present at this time of day."

According to Alisan her group of friends often met at another location, a house belonging to one of the member’s relative who was no longer living in the city, but having moved to the second largest elven settlement, Bul Isra, to be closer to the misty sea in the west. This made that house their unofficial clubhouse, so to speak, even if some of their get-togethers happened at various venues across the city. Lately, however, Ranath had begun to voice concerns about their security as they had begun to amass incidental evidence of foul play, and the implications they contained. Alisan didn’t know much more than that, since this was about the time she chose to follow up on the lead that took her across the land to Farcrest in the east.

When they were about to leave, the redhead found herself next to the pale elf as they stepped outside.

"Between you and me, creampuff? You don't look a day over hundred-fifty," Oleander said with a grin, nudging Alisan with an elbow.

"I will accept this in the spirit it was offered," the elf replied with a lopsided smile.

"Aw, you're no fun when you're catching on. I may just have to go back to teasing Jay full-time, then. At least he's still gullible." The redhead shrugged.

"Ah, I see that you are still playing that game with me, yes?"

"What game?" Oleander blinked.

"When you attempted to give me the thought that Jaden was a man?" Alisan reminded the Olman girl.

"No, he really is. You see-"

Alisan just smiled and walked on ahead, shaking her head at renen humour. It would take her many summers yet before she understood it.

Some stray light of the sun still found its way through the canopy as they stepped on to the petal path leading away from The Scroll and the Song, as the hearthwarden had translated the name of his inn to the outsider guests. The flower-hedged road brought them in a roundabout way back to the main, almost hub-like centre near the Sonaleum entrance to the city, before their pale guide selected a new winding way to follow.

There were other people heading in either direction, but there was no sense of being cramped together in a street as in many human cities or villages. Everything was very open and spacy. In fact, most elves seemed to take steps to avoid bumping into one another. Even those standing together while talking did so at slightly further distance than expected. Just slightly out of reach of one another. Elves intentionally moved to opposite sides of the path when they met.

"Red, yellow, blue, blue," Stann muttered to himself as they walked.

"What are you grumbling about, my witless cousin?" Kellen asked.

"Just trying to remember the roads we took from that elf-inn to here. They've got no signs, and every house just looks like someone stirred a thick dough up around a wooden spoon. Red, yellow, blue, blue." The younger of the Northmen gave a particularly offending blossom a glare as they passed by.

"Good idea, but remember to reverse the order when we're going back," the rune seeker said with an encouraging nod.

Jaden looked back over her shoulder at the two Northmen, debating whether she should say anything.

"Men!" Oleander made the decision for her. "There are several flowers that are yellow. Can you tell the difference between a sundrop and a calarome? And don't get me started on the blues! Nightbloom, skyblossom, starflower, forget-me-not. The list just goes on and on!"

"Yeah, so?" Stann shrugged at the redhead. "Red, yellow, blue, blue. Uh. Pink?"

"Fuchsia," Kellen said after considering the flower on the new path.

"The hell?" Stann stared at his cousin.

"Why are you surprised? I know things." The rune seeker was never embarrassed of knowledge. But, sometimes, he would be careful with who he shared it.

"What I'm trying to tell you two jugheads, there are many different flowers, not just colours!" Oleander threw her hands in the air.

"Don't throw me off, Red. Red, yellow, blue, blue, uh..." Stann glanced down at the side of the path.

"Fuchsia."

"Damnit, Kel!" The winter warrior growled at his cousin.

"Can't we just ask someone for directions, if we get lost?" Jaden suggested. "I bet most who've lived here for a hundred years or so know the way to Kalan e Siria."

The Northmen just stared at the mystic like she had claimed that the moon was green, then exchanged a slow look.

“I could always put a breadcrumb enchantment on some stones along our route,” Kellen suggested, digging into one of his many beltpouches.

“Good thinking. Nice to know that some of us are still being reasonable.” Stann turned back to his cousin, dismissing the strange notion the young Lacunai was bringing into their world.

Jaden let her shoulders drop down in defeat, resisting the urge to yell at them. How could the Northmen be such successful sailors and travellers with that kind of mindset?

"Hey, Ali? Do you have any oleander paths here?" Oleander asked, her thoughts still on the many kinds of flowers they had seen since coming to the city.

"Of course. They lead from the temple of the ancestors to one of our burial grounds." Alisan turned around a little as if to orient herself, and then indicated a direction roughly towards the northeast.

"Awesome!" The redhead grinned. Ever since learning what her name meant in Serecean, she had taken on a new interest in elven matters.

"Humans are strange," the elf confided to the mystic.

"Does that mean I'm only two fifths strange?" Jaden replied with a wry smile.

"I thought you said you were two fifths elf?" Oleander tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes a little and pointing a little at Jaden’s ears.

"According to Lilya's calculations, we are, yeah,” the black-haired mystic replied.

"… blue, blue… Wait, if you're two fifths elf, and two fifths human... what's the last fifth?" Stann looked up from where he was helping Kellen put a runic beacon on one of the decorative stones lining the path.

"It should be obvious, looking at him. Clearly it's 'breasts'." Oleander made a grand gesture with both hands at Jaden’s upper chest area.

"Ollie, for the love of..." Jaden groaned, feeling another blush rushing up her cheeks.

“I… I think I lost my count on the flowers.” Stann rubbed his neck, looking away from the hinted cleavage.

With the certainty of one who had a lifetime of familiarity with a city, Alisan lead them along one path after another until they reached a three storied building bridging the space between two trees small by Sorun standards. That meant either not reaching up far enough to become part of the vast canopy, merely standing a six or seven yards high.

She didn’t pause to knock on the door, but simply let herself in and announced her presence by striking a glass bell on a silver frame standing on a small table near the entrance. It sent a crystalline peal throughout the hall, quickly summoning a blonde elf with his hair falling down to his shoulders. It was kept in place by a golden headband with a stylised swan decorating his forehead. The clothes were unlike Alisan’s, robes of bold red colours and with snugly fitting sleeves of one who wielded an instrument of writing rather than one for music.

"Alisan Shonmirellis! En helon!." The elven man fondly embraced Alisan with a closeness the rest had not seen among elves during their brief visit. "Lien paral suma!"

"Flowers and sweet song will not join two paths as one, Ranath," Alisan chided him in Midland Trade for her new friends' benefit.

"I shall make attempts to curb my elation at your return. Will you share these people's names with me?" He asked, indicating the strangers in his home.

"It seems as if I have found some allies during my journey." Alisan turned to the rest and began to introduce them. "This is my old friend Ranath Dawnrider. He serves as an assistant to one of the Wisdoms attending our Videre. Ranath, these are our new friends."

Ranath bowed at Oleander and Mirena as each was introduced, and awkwardly shook hands with the Winterhearts. He seemed both pleased and puzzled by the action. Rhyce merely exchanged a look with the elven man, whose eyes darted towards the black bow on the archer's back. Ranath quickly looked away, and continued to pretend that Rhyce didn't exist for the rest of the evening. Once Alisan brought him in front of Jaden, his smile grew wider.

"En helon, laman alparal sa-" Ranath was about to make a smooth bow when Jaden's finger shot up in his face quick enough to make him bend backwards instead. His expression went from surprised to confused, his eyes darting to either side for any sign of help.

"No! None of that! Let's make one thing clear straight from the start: I'm not-" The black-haired mystic began in no nonsense terms, starting to feel the fire on her tongue once again, but was pulled to the side by Oleander.

"Whaaat my dear friend here is trying to say, is that we're positively enchanted by your marvellous home! Is that a sculpture by someone famous?" The redhead swung Jaden around and pointed toward a random decoration, and then gave her a push in that direction.

"I... yes, well," Ranath looked pleadingly at Alisan, who held a hand to her mouth to hide a smile.

«Her name is Jaden Tarasov, Ranath. She is a half-blood, despite how she presents, » Alisan informed her friend while the redheaded thief led the black-haired mystic away on a house tour.

«Tarasov? As in Irissa Tarasov, the ambassador from Talraman? » Ranath did a double-take at the person in question. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the resemblance. The dark hair had thrown him off, since Irissa's tresses were like moonlight rather than shadows.

«It is not known to me. Mayhap they are related? Who can truly know with those of the mountain?» Alisan could only shake her head. Despite having visited the Outside, she could barely understand the renen, and the children of the Isanduar Mountain even less.

Ranath glanced again at the black-haired mystic. Yes. The features were there. Working closely with the ruling caste, he frequently handled official documents and agreements, and was present in meetings with representatives of other nations. Ranath had been involved in more than one introductory speech when their southern neighbours sent a new group of their youths to study at the side of Sona Exarchs or peruse the knowledge of their grand library. He had been there – perhaps seven or eight years ago – when the daughter of the Talraman envoy had been among those exchange students. But hadn’t she been introduced by another name, back then?

Ranath shook his head. It was not important. What was, though, was how this presented an interesting opportunity. However, that would have to wait. While talking, they had moved to one of the house’s sitting rooms. It was an open place, more akin to a covered porch where the large windows let in enough of the faint light for the mirrored panels spaced along the walls to fully illuminate the place. It was clearly meant for large gatherings, so it was no problem for everyone to find somewhere to sit down. Rather the opposite, even with all of them seated, there was still room for at least as many again. As soon as one of Ranath’s attendants left the room after pouring tea for everyone, their blonde host pulled his eyebrows together in a worried frown when he once more turned to Alisan.

"On a more sombre note, summer warms my heart to see that you are safe, Alisan," Ranath said, looking serious but switching back to faintly accented Trade so as not to be rude to the guests. "I sent word to you, but I fear you may have already left Alband by the time it arrived. We have had several... setbacks since you left the city."

"Setbacks? What manner of setbacks?" She looked surprised, clearly wondering what could have happened.

"It is the reason why so few of the others are here today. We did not wish to risk more attention at the moment.” Ranath glanced to the side, pressing his lips together. “Alisan, Tinris was found murdered at our… other meeting hall."

"What? No!" Alisan’s hands flew up to her mouth.

"I can but offer my hands and my thoughts. He will be missed by all who knew him." Ranath lightly touched his forehead, lips and chest with a hand.

"Have others of your group been targeted?" Mirena asked, looking to the side as Rhyce stood up from his chair.

The archer moved to the side of one of the windows, keeping a watch as if he expected assassins to emerge out of the forest at any point. The only thing that moved was a pair of black birds settling down on some branches nearby.

"Not like this. At first, we suspected nothing. There had been accidents, yes, but those things could have happened to anyone. With Tinris' death, we were forced to open our eyes." Ranath clenched his jaw, but managed to keep his hands from balling up with some effort. Elves of his station often put a great deal of pride in their calm composure. It wouldn’t do to show such lack of control in front of guests.

"Do you suspect anyone?" The knight had lapsed into full investigative mindset, already making mental lists.

"Anyone and no one. There are powerful wills in the city who seek to hide the crimes being perpetrated in the Feylands." The blonde elf spread his hands.

"When was your friend killed, and who was the first to find him?" Mirena followed up. She spared a quick glance at Rhyce, who just made a barely noticeable shake of his head.

"A week has passed since the light left his eyes. It was I who saw his body before anyone else. He had asked both Lienide and I to meet him that day, mentioning that he had come across something interesting but he needed to confirm matters before sharing his knowledge."

"Was there anything strange when you got there? Anything out of place." She asked.

Kellen had not said anything to this point, instead listening intently and committing the details to his vast memory. From a room upstairs, there was the faint murmur of Oleander and Jaden bickering. The only words that reached down to the sitting hall was something about a lockpick. Ranath furrowed his brow in thought, staring at the floor like he was peeling back the layer of days into the past.

"I cannot say. He had been strangled with a wire. It looked like he was about to make tea. I wonder if he was making it for himself, or for a guest?" Ranath’s eyes were unfocused, as if he was reliving the scene.

Alisan merely made a choking noise, hugging herself. She had known Tinris for most of her life, and suddenly losing him felt like losing a part of her own body.

"Do you think he knew his attacker?" Stann said, looking a little uncomfortable in the delicate chairs. The woodwork was beautifully carved, but the Northmen’s bulk looked out of place upon those artful creations.

"It is possible," Ranath looked equally uncomfortable, but for different reasons.

"We should probably speak with your other friend, as well. What was their name? Lienide?" Mirena added it to her mental list.

"Yes. I will ask for her to come here as soon as she can. She is wisdom caste, as was Tinris, but assigned to surveying the… ah, ‘wildlands’, yes? I believe she will be back within the next few days." Ranath barely paused when searching for the appropriate Trade words. He clearly had more practice than Alisan in speaking with humans.

"Finally, do you mind if we use your home here as a base of operations, so to speak? It might be a good idea to keep this close to our chest if you have enemies willing to kill to keep their secrets." Mirena stood up as she made her request, making a small grimace at the large windows. While aesthetically pleasing, they made the house harder to keep secure. However, at this point their best defence was subtlety.

During the conversation, Rhyce had moved from one side of the room to the other, constantly keeping a watch at the outside. He made a slight nod, and soon afterwards the black birds flew off.

"I welcome you to share my roof, my wine, and my path for as long as you have need of either." Their host gestured at his home with a hand.

"Some of that wine would sure be nice about now," Stann twisted around in his seat, as if expecting assassins to materialise from the shadows.

"Indeed," Ranath agreed, looking suddenly tired.

"Who should we turn to, if we wanted to know more about the deep wildlands where they fey creatures live?"

"If you are interested in the seasons before us, the Hall of the Wordshapers will provide some knowledge. For more recent affairs, it might be prudent to seek one of the ruling caste who maintains the edicts regarding the feylands."

"We were planning a trip to your library anyway, so there's that." Mirena had a considering look in her eyes. "However, if we did want to get in touch with the... minister in question?"

"Fortune sees you, paladin. Normally it would be... complicated for Outsiders to see one of the ruling caste. There are some things that tips the balance in your favour. One of which is how there is a dance being held tomorrow evening in memory of one of our… ah, folk heroes, Imagonen Atar, where many important personages will attend. Both Liriel Willowstone and Tsirnys Solaman of the ruling caste, who have influence over the Wildwardens and make decisions regarding export policies, are known to frequent such events."

"How will we go about getting an invitation?"

"That is where Fortune turns a mere look into a smile. You seem to have a child of an ambassador in your company. I could let the wind carry my words of how Irissa's daughter is visiting the Eternal City. No doubt reside in my heart that you will be welcomed at the dance!"

It was a while later, once Jaden and Oleander had finally finished their exploration of Ranath’s home, when everyone but Rhyce were gathered in the sitting room. One of Ranath’s attendants brought in a few trays with fruit, snacks very reminiscent of tiny pies and a refill for their tea. She was a cute woman with light blonde hair that curled almost to her shoulders and a bust that was unusually large for an elf betraying that there was more than a few drops of human blood in her ancestry. Stann’s eyes lingered on the attendant as she made her way around the table with the tray of refreshments. The chair Rhyce had used earlier was still vacant. The archer had left earlier, mumbling about how this house wasn’t secure enough and that he would be keeping watch.

"Why do we have to go to a fancy party?" Oleander pouted, with a slice of cake in each hand. She had a lot of prejudice about the life that the ‘rich folk’ lead. It had been hard to go cold and hungry and see those happy silhouettes against the lit windows, hear the music and laughter, smell the food.

"Because we don't know many people in Ral Sona, but we do know these people." Mirena nodded to where their host was entertaining the Northmen with a tale of the time in his youth when he was overseeing some boatbuilding in the Bul Isran wharves. The men used their arms to pantomime measuring the girth and length of various nautical construction material. Alisan was sitting nearby, happy for the distraction from her mourning of her lost childhood friend. “And they seem to believe that this is a good way to proceed. Have faith, Oleander.”

"Can't we just send out Stann and let him do his thing? He's proven to be quite the sleuth." The redhead looked at the warrior, who was standing up straight and reaching as high as he could with a hand, as if to show the size of something.

"You really want to give Stann free reign to do his... thing? In Ral Sona? With all the elven girls around?" The knight raised an eyebrow. She loved her friends, both despite and because of their shortcomings.

"..." Oleander paused.

"Really?" Mirena raised her other eyebrow, going as far as to put her hands on her hips.

"Perhaps we should explore other options." The Olman redhead said with uncharacteristic diplomacy.

"Maybe we should." Mirena agreed.

“I don’t really have a dress, though. If it’s such a fine shindig we’re expected to wear dresses, right? Jay? What’s elf custom for these kinda things?” Oleander looked over at the mystic, who was twirling her black hair around a finger while looking at the men and their bragging.

“Huh? Dancing?” Jaden mentally relived the last minute of conversation that had happened next to her. “Ah. Yeah. The styles are, well, different from the coastlands, but men still wear jackets and women still wear dresses. Mostly.”

Jaden hadn’t attended such an event herself, on any of her previous visits, but she had heard about the parties her mother had been expected to go to in her capacity as envoy. Mirena, on the other hand, proved to be more knowledgeable.

“Indeed. When I was allowed to accompany my parents here, oh, some ten years ago now, the embassies held a dance as well. I suppose it was less… ethnic, on account of the many human guests, but I didn’t find it all that different from what I was used to in Tier or Olmar,” she said, recalling one of the more exciting trips of her youth. It had only been a year later when she had disappointed her parents by joining the temple of Telum.

“So, where will we find clothes?” Oleander wondered again.

“’We’?” Jaden caught the hidden implication.

“Unless you’ve squirreled away something special in your bags?” The redhead teased with a grin.

“No, of course not,” Jaden lied without blinking.

“Perhaps we can ask our host for suggestions? The dance is tomorrow night, so it might be difficult for us to find a seamstress that can provide what we need,” Mirena said, ever the voice of reason.

It turned out that he could do them one better. His other attendant, who was responsible for keeping the house in a presentable state, led them to a room Jaden and Oleander had only briefly inspected during their tour. Miri, as their host had introduced her as, was a tall woman with dark blonde hair falling down her back in three braids, and with large, pointed ears sticking out to either side of a sharp but elfishly attractive face.

The room was revealed to have been the dressing room of Ranath’s mother and sister, while they still lived in this house, explaining the many mirrors and closets. Now, it was mainly an extra room for storing the odds and ends of a household, but still more than large enough to accommodate the four women.

"Remind me again. This time, make it good: why do we need to go to this dance?" Jaden asked as she looked around for the second time. She didn’t particularly like mirrors. They never showed her what she wanted to see.

"Several reasons: We will be invited, and turning it down would be rude. Also, we suspect some of the higher echelons of the Sorun society to be involved, which means that this is a good opportunity to find out who. And finally-" Mirena leaned in a little closer to one mirror, and touched the side of an eye with a frown. Was that a wrinkle?

"We want to see you in a pretty dress!" Oleander interrupted the knight, before she could continue.

"Do what now?" The mystic stared at the redhead like she had pulled a knife.

"That's not it, Jaden. I was going to say, 'a way to find allies if we're going up against powerful members of the elven hierarchy'," Mirena corrected the thief with a disapproving look.

"Oh."

"Will you be in need of formal wear?" Miri said, after clearing her throat politely. The elven attendant looked on the women, a look of appraisal in her eyes. She was clearly measuring them up for sizes.

"If it is acceptable, I will be using a Tierin ballgown," Mirena’s slight frown turned into a fond expression as she thought about her unpacked clothes hanging in her room back at the inn.

"Wait, you've been lugging a ballgown around all this time, on the off-chance we'd be invited to a dance?" Oleander looked askance.

"I picked it up from my family's tailor when we stayed in Tier last time, but, yes." The knight did not allow herself many luxuries in life, but if she had one fault it would be her being a little bit of a clothes-horse.

"... you have a private tailor?" Oleander crossed her arms.

"Not exclusively, but, yes master Tilver is a marvel to behold when he performs his needlework," the knight explained.

The attendant cleared her throat again, casually. It got their attention, turning it back to the matter at hand.

"Do you even have anything that would fit me?" The redhead looked at herself with a self-deprecating smirk.

"That will not present a barrier. From what I can tell, you conform to the common measurements of a young Serecean woman,” Miri said, but then pointed at Jaden with an upturned finger. “I am more concerned about your friend there."

"But Jay's one of you!" Oleander protested.

"Ollie, I'm not-"

"We will see what can be done. I recall there being the unfortunate case of a daughter of House Qarelya who had an ill-fated passion for Olman sweetrolls. We could take in the... expansive waist of one of those gowns. The stars know that it has not seen the light of day since she left the city." Miri shook her head slightly at the memory, but then bowed slightly and began to walk to the door.

"What happened to her?" Oleander wondered. She always liked stories.

"Lady Isilien? I believe she moved to Asova and is pursuing a career as a singer in one of their theatres. Her mother is both pleased and concerned."

Once the attendant had left the chamber, ostensibly to check on the dresses for Jaden and Oleander, the mystic suddenly looked up from where she had been slumping down on a ornate stool.

"Wait, did that woman suggest I am fat?" Jaden asked her friends.

"Well, you do have a pretty generous behind,” Oleander said with a smirk. All that magic and reading could make a person lazy and plump.

"I refuse to be upset about that,” Jaden replied. She still found herself looking at her reflection, and wondered if she shouldn’t start doing her sword exercises again, anyway.

"I've noted how a number of men we've met share that sentiment." The redhead winked.

"I'm considering being upset about this, however,” the mystic mumbled, resting her chin on her hands. Trust Oleander to find a way to make you feel self-conscious.

"You're welcome." She grinned, just before seeing Mirena massage the bridge of her nose.

“Telum, grant me strength,” the knight prayed.

They had returned to the inn just before nightfall, having spent most of the evening in conversation with Ranath and being briefed about the tangled political situation in Ral Sona. It had taken longer time than necessary, since their host pretty much had to start at the beginning and explain some of the societal structures of the elves, and how it differed from the human nations. Positions of authority were neither inherited nor elected, they were earned and granted by other members of that caste. To Jaden, it wasn’t all that different from the system used in Talraman, but to those from the feudal Olmar or the clan-oriented Northern Lands, it seemed like madness.

Looking out through her window, Jaden saw how the faint light was fading away from the Eternal City, being pushed away by the arrival of night. She idly ran her fingers through the still damp hair. The quick freshening up they had done before visiting Alisan's friend had been nice, and necessary considering the several days they had spent riding here from Tarad. But, it had been no replacement for a real bath, or so Mirena had claimed when she had asked the hearthwarden of the inn to make sure there was enough hot water for everyone, before the Northmen reduced the patrons to a state of drunken delirium in their effort to prove that Northern ale was better than anything the elven nation could produce.

Jaden tilted her head to the side. She didn't have Rhyce's keen hearing, but even she could hear the sound of carousing coming from somewhere below her room. She felt a momentary pang of pity for the archer, who had been dragged into the merriment. A part of Jaden was upset that Stann hadn't made more of an effort to include her as well, as he had done in Rosehaven. But now he knew what Jaden had tried to hide, and now everything was different. Angrily throwing the towel against the wall didn't really give her any outlet for what she was feeling. The girls had only made it worse with their incessant talk about that dance. They wanted to dress her up in a fancy gown! She wasn’t a doll for them to play with! The thought made her seethe.

And then there was the ring. Jaden reached down into her nightdress - one of her old shirts, really - and pulled out the simple band she kept on a leather strap, hidden beneath her clothes and nestled between her breasts. She felt the anger flare again. It was a symbol of her life, how she had constantly been manipulated by people around her. Her father, Master Hetagon, even her friends. Anger turned to a brief burst of rage, and the strap caught fire. The flame quickly consumed the leather and sent the ring, no longer bound to her, clinking to the floor. Jaden followed the ring with her eyes as it rolled a distance and then stopped, still on its end. The light from the candle in her room, reflected against the glass of the window, made the ring cast twin shadows. Just like her horizons. The anger faded away as quickly as it had come upon her, leaving her with just a familiar tired resignation.

With a sight, Jaden finally got up from where she sat at the edge of her bed, and knelt down to pick it up. As she was standing up again with the ring in her palm, she saw a motion in the corner of her eye. Someone walking below her window, along the petal path that would bring the traveller further into the city. Out of idle curiosity she kept watching. Whoever they were, they looked too tall to be an elf, and wore a hood even during the summer warmth. The figure suddenly stopped and looked around, even though there were no other people in sight. On a strange impulse, Jaden ducked down below the window. A chill ran down her spine, but she quickly dismissed it as being silly. If Oleander had seen her, the redhead would never have let Jaden hear the end of it.

She stretched out in her bed again, staring at the ceiling for a while before she felt sleep began to overcome her. Just as her mind drifted away, she heard a gentle singing just soft enough that she couldn’t understand the words. The song made her feel safe and warm. Raindrops on a window. Arms around her, holding her close. It reminded her of home, somehow. The home she missed, rather than the home she feared.

All are one and the same

When dawn once more found a way to caress the grass and stones that made up the open areas of the eternal city, Jaden rolled over to the side and blinked against the light coming through the nearly diaphanous curtains. She could almost feel the lingering heat on her skin, from her dreams. Maybe it was her imagination, but they were growing more vivid with each night. She kept dreaming of the fire.

As she got up and prepared herself for the day, her eyes fell on the ring resting next to her other valuables. With its old strap destroyed, she looked around to find a suitable replacement. In the end, she only had two things that would serve: the leather strap she usually tied back her hair with, and the brass chain that served as the focus for her meditation. Jaden’s golden eyes narrowed at the thought of keeping that chain next to her heart an entire day, and tied the remaining strap in a loop around the ring. She would just have to let her hair hang free today, or maybe ask if Mirena would lend her one of those silk ribbons. The mystic made a face at the idea, both at how feminine it would look, and the fact that Mirena usually only kept blues and greens. Jaden much preferred reds and blacks. Or yellows. Yellow was nice.

Breakfast was served down in the common room of the inn, that barely showed any signs of the state it had been in after the debauchery of last night. Only some dark rings under the eyes of the innkeeper and a forgotten tankard underneath a chair spoke of what had happened when the Winterhearts had offered to teach the elves all about Northern culture – most of which Jaden knew involved drinking to the point of blindness, and singing songs that would make any modest person blush. Of course, both cousins sat bright-eyed and in high spirits, enjoying their cold cuts and slices of bread thick with nuts and fruits. It was unfair in so many ways. Jaden brushed some of her dark hair over an ear and reached for the pitcher of water.

“-and that, as the legends has it, is why elves live for such a long time,” Kellen finished the story he had been spinning for the last quarter of an hour. Jaden had barely paid any attention to it. She liked the Lacunai version better, anyway.

"The secret to a long life is being able to laugh at it from time to time," Stann said with certainty, giving the table a small bump with his fist to emphasise his stance. It was a philosophy he lived by most of the time, and had served him through the ups and downs so far. He had seen too many fellow warriors grow bitter and hard over the years, and did not want to end up like the greybeards at the longhouse back home in Strom, who only kept company with anger and regret.

"Laughing at the wrong person is a good way to cut it short, though," Oleander offered her opinion, and then took a bite of her apple and grinned at the warrior while chewing with her mouth open.

“Table-manners, Oleander,” Mirena chided the redhead. “We are supposed to attend a high-class party tonight. I expect all of us to be on our best behaviour.”

“Yes mom,” Oleander managed to say through her mouthful of food.

“I still think it would be dull to live for aeons. I say, life is too good to water down like cheap ale. It should be rich and intense, filled with adventure and glory!” Stann said, turning to his cousin.

“Like kulsu!” Kellen agreed, tapping his mug against Stann’s.

Jaden looked at Rhyce, who had stayed up with the Northmen. There was only the barest sign of tightness around the archer’s eyes, and he seemed to take his time eating. First, Jaden thought that Rhyce looked away when their eyes met, but she followed his gaze and realised that he was paying attention to a small group of elves sitting two tables over. The mystic didn’t doubt that the archer’s keen ears allowed him to pick up on what was being said.

Words are only one part of what is being said. Feelings and gestures speak as loudly as a voice, and sometimes more clearly. Listen with your heart.

A memory came unbidden to her mind, when Alisan had spoken about the elven way of reading body language. Jaden focused on the other group, tuning out the conversation happening around her. Suddenly, it was as if the essence of the other discussion was brought into clarity.

«Did you hear the High Warden's report before the wisdoms last evening?» The dark-haired Cealon elf stroked his chin, and tapped the table with a finger.

«Disturbing. The wildlands becomes smaller with each season.» Another elven man, his nearly white hair cut shorter and wilder than the first, clenched a fist.

«Soon, it will be too small to sustain the population. What will the rulers do then?» The first elf tilted his head slightly backwards, and turned one palm open on the table.

«There will be conflict with the Outside. It will be inevitable, if they continue to encroach on our domain.» The third elf, a blonde Seren, leaned forward in his chair, his eyebrows drawing together.

«Is war the only way?» The wild-haired, pale Seren returned the frown.

«It is either that, or do as our forebears and bow to the humans once again.» The blonde one put both his hands on the table, fingers splayed wide.

«The Two People would never accept that. The Seren have regained the pride they lost during the great diaspora, and the Cealon are not capable of recognising a higher authority.» The dark elf smirked a little.

«Then there will be war.» The wild-haired one lowered his head a fraction.

«Pity. My brother has half-blood kin in Radent.» The blonde turned his head slightly to the east.

«My thoughts will be with them.» The first Seren closed his eyes.

Jaden was brought out of her trance when Rhyce touched her elbow. Suddenly, the noise of the common room came rushing back to her. Noise became words, and words once more held meaning. She could feel that the archer knew that she had heard what he had heard, and they exchanged almost expressionless concern. War.

When Mirena called for volunteers to see to their mounts, in case they would be needed during the day, nobody was surprised when Rhyce raised his hand as a volunteer. The knight’s eyebrows twitched a little when the archer used his other to grab and raise Jaden’s as well. That was how the mystic found herself in the stables next to the inn a short time later, where their horses were kept in separate stalls, next to a couple of dappled grey elven horses.

Not knowing why she had been brought here Jaden began to putter about the stall, and the borderlander being who he was, not exactly speaking his mind either. Or speaking at all. Rhyce went about the routine of caring for their horses with more care than he treated his friends. Jaden found herself basically talking to herself, wondering out loud what they would find should they decide to venture out into the wildlands proper. She had only ever seen the city itself, not all that was Sorun.

Rhyce eventually let the brush fall down from combing the mane of Mirena’s warhorse, looking over his shoulder at Jaden.

"Why make new mistakes when you can keep repeating old ones?" He said, enigmatically.

"What do you mean by that?" Jaden wondered. She forced herself to stop tugging at the reins she was untangling, where they hung looped by the bits and bridles.

"That we all have our reasons for being here, Jaden. Do you know yours?" Rhyce began to brush the horse again.

"I... We came here to see if we could put an end to the-" She began.

"No. That's our excuse.” The archer interrupted. He turned around, but didn’t look directly at Jaden. “Mirena is here to prove something. Kellen is here to find what he lost. Stann wants to belong somewhere. Oleander is afraid of losing what she has."

"And you?" She asked, softly.

"I'm here because I don't want to forget." Now he was looking her in the eyes. She almost wished he hadn’t.

Jaden stood silent for what felt like minutes, searching herself for her own reason. Why did anyone do anything? Did she want to prove something to her father? Was she looking for something?

Don't you remember?

"I... I want to remember something," Jaden finally confessed. She hadn’t realised it until the words left her lips. But what was it? Her face? Her real face? Or was it something else?

Rhyce just nodded and put the brush away.

"Good. Now we can go on."

The Wordshapers' Hall, like most buildings in Ral Sona, did not use straight lines. It was a winding, turning and twisting place with hemispherical chambers and chimney-like places with spiral stairs leading up along ever-turning bookshelves. There was an order to the place, that much was clear, but it was a rhythm hidden from logic, a labyrinth of words.

Kellen was delighted, of course. The look on his face that of a child who was told by the baker to pick any pasty they wanted. Oleander was his mirror opposite, hands clutching at her hair in budding despair.

"How will we ever find anything in here?" She whimpered, looking this way and that, trying to figure the place out.

"It will be a seeking worthy of any scholar," the big Northman reached out and gave the small redhead a one-armed hug.

"I'm not a scholar! Jay, save me?"

"How about we go look this way, and you take the other side, Kel?" Jaden tried diplomacy.

"Yeah, sounds good," Kellen didn't seem to entirely hear them, and strode off with a finger running along the spines of the countless tomes. If they left him here, he would no doubt try to read every book he could get his hands on. Jaden just hoped the rune seeker would stay on task.

The mystic and the street-rat remained by the entrance long enough, looking lost enough, to make one of the nearby librarians approach with her hands steepled and a face like a serene forest lake.

"Be welcomed, Outsiders. What path leads you to the Wordshapers' Hall?" She asked in the lilting Sorunese accent of one who had never left the elven lands.

"Uh..." Jaden looked around a little. "So, where do we find books about the wildlands?"

"A single flower hides well in a meadow," the wordshaper replied with a softly reprimanding tone.

"What." Oleander stared blankly. "Critters, not flowers. We want your books on beasts and monsters!"

"I think she asked us to be more specific, Ollie." Jaden turned back to the wordshaper. "Let's try that again: Where can we learn more about the beings in the... what was the name she used? Feylands?"

"Yes. As decided by the third addendum to the concord of the two people, the Feyland shall be recognised as its own domain within the Serecean wilds." She turned and beckoned for them to follow, all while talking in that halting Midland Trade. "Many of the works on that region are kept in the... how do you say? Moon hollow? A chamber not far."

Oleander made a face behind the librarian's back as they followed along a curving passage. Through arcs and doorways they saw several other elves studying old scriptures or with their heads together in hushed conversations. It was a place of education and philosophy, two concepts that the Olman girl had grown up resenting. She valued what she called 'street-smarts' more than the wisdom found in books.

The signs they passed made little sense to Jaden or, she suspected, anybody else except for the custodians of this place. The wordshapers probably made it like that intentionally.

The chamber called the moon hollow was a basin-like, rounded room with a large window set in the ceiling. It gave a strange impression of being on the bottom of a very large well, looking up along the high walls toward the sky. Like everywhere else, the circumference of the room was either lined with bookshelves or had shelves simply carved into those seamless wooden walls.

"One would do well to begin one's search in this section here," their librarian guide said, and indicated a number of ledges that ran in decorative arcs around a knothole holding an illuminating glass globe. Books and scrolls were carefully arranged along those ledges, more according to an artistic eye than any alphabetical organisation.

"Thank you, Wordshaper. Can we call upon you again, should we require more aid?" Jaden asked with a respectful bow.

"Or to just, you know, find our way back out?" Oleander added.

"I will tend to the vestibules by this root today," the elf nodded. "If there is need, I will share my knowledge."

With that, the woman turned with a swish of those robes and drifted off to a side corridor, leaving the two youths alone in a cavern of learning.

"But how will we find you!?" Oleander called down the passageway, receiving no response. She turned back to Jaden, who just shrugged.

"Guess we'd better get to work," the mystic said, eyeing the many shelves with apprehension. She decided to trust in the librarian's suggestion, and began looking over the books on the curved ledges first. The titles were almost exclusively in Sorunese, and none she had seen before.

"Hey, these are all in elven. I can't make out any of these squiggles," the redhead eventually said, having pawed through a number of random books as well.

"Yeah, I guess we should've seen that coming, this being an elven library. I'm sorry," Jaden said, giving her friend a sympathetic smile.

"Well, more work for you. I'm going to build a fortress out of books, or something." Oleander put her hands on her hips and sized up the available material.

"I'm not sure the wordshapers will like you messing up their system."

"Look around and tell me there's a system to this place. You can't, can you? That's because there isn't one. They just assume that since they're immortal and all, they can spend a couple of hundred years looking for that book on... ear-painting or whatever,” the redhead made a vague gestures towards her ears.

"Would that be painting your ears, or painting WITH your ears?" Jaden looked up from one of the many books that had begun to pile up around her.

"Dunno. Pick one. Could be both for all I know. Elves are weird." Oleander was balancing a book on her head.

Jaden hid her smile as best as she could and dived back into the tomes. The handwriting was good enough that she could skim most of the books. Many were focused on particular subjects, like the social life of nereids, or how the climate changes over the last hundreds of years had affected the migratory pattern of stormfalcons along the Sea of Mists. There was a dissertation about dryads that caught the mystic's eye, pointing out the symbiotic bond that the tree-spirits shared with the land. One of the old references made in the book attributed them as some sort of sentinels of the wildlands, their connection to the land serving to protect it from both natural and unnatural disasters.

It was quite fascinating reading, however, and Jaden found herself quite startled when someone called her name.

"One offers apologies. Mystic Tarasov?" A blonde librarian in the same sweeping, blue robes of the other wordshapers approached their reading table. His braided hair went past his waist, swinging with each measured step.

"Uh..." Jaden looked around, surprised that she'd been recognised. The elf looked vaguely familiar. There was the possibility that they had ran into each other when Jaden had come here many years ago. "Sure?"

"We seem to have had this written word resting for you since last year's greendawn. Will you accept it?" The voice, somewhat inflectionless, was certainly familiar. Jaden had spent more time in the library and the adjoining lecture halls than in the city proper, so maybe it wasn’t that strange. It was possible they had met before.

"You've held onto it for over a year?" Jaden looked surprised.

"We care for all written words, no matter what their age or size. It is the wordshaper's task to see that they are heard," replied the elf politely, but a little vacantly.

"Well, thank you, I guess?" She accepted the offered letter.

Once the librarian had left, Jaden turned the folded paper around in her hand. It bore a simple wax seal, marked with three diagonal slashes. It was addressed simply, 'To Jaden Tarasov, Lacunai Mystic'. Her stomach reminded her she was in no shape for surprises.

"Open it! Aren't you curious?" Oleander demanded, hanging over her friend's shoulder.

"Not really..." Terrified. Anxious. Alarmed, perhaps? Curious? No.

"If you won't, I will!" The Olman woman made a grab for the letter.

"Okay, already. Give me some room." Jaden shrugged the redhead off, and peeled back the seal. The message was as simple and direct as the person who had signed it. She could almost hear the disapproving tone of the words.

"Well, what did it say?" Oleander tried to read over the mystic's shoulder.

"It's an old letter from my aunt. She probably sent a couple of these to various places she suspected I would visit after I ran away from home." Jaden looked at the sharp handwriting. It was probably penned in anger. "She is telling me to return back to Talraman."

"Are you going to?"

"Eventually, maybe. Probably. One day. But not now," Jaden haltingly said, and looked to her friend for reassurance. “I mean, we’re busy, right?”

"When you do, would you like... would you want me to come with you?" Oleander sat down on the edge of the table, looking at Jaden with those storm-grey eyes of hers.

"It could be dangerous, Ollie."

"I don't mind, Jay."

"Okay." Their hands touched, fingers entwining. Jaden felt her heart beat a little faster.

It was Oleander who pulled away first, standing up and pointing at the bookshelves.

“Well, then we’d better get to it. Start working, elf-boy. These books aren’t going to read themselves!” She had her back turned against Jaden, so the mystic couldn’t see her face.

Jaden had no idea how long she had been reading, but when she finally came up for air, she was alone. Oleander had likely grown tired of just sitting around and gone off to explore, leaving only behind a neat pile of books vaguely shaped like a throne.

It is time to go to the old section

More out of impulse than anything else, Jaden put the book in her hands away and decided to go have a look-around of her own. She didn't really think about why she took one turn over another. Eventually, she rounded a corner and found herself in a dead-end. The books here looked ancient even by elven standards, and there was something about the air that made her feel like few people found any reason to come here. Still, there was something nagging at her and she began to read the titles tucked away from the outside world. Old treatises, maps showing the islands of the first empire, and all manner of forgotten journals from the time when mankind had barely begun to settle in this part of the world.

While she was mindfully picking through the titles, she saw something tucked behind some other books. She reached in and managed to pull out a dusty, rolled-up parchment held together with a black and orange ribbon. She felt her heart skip. Those were Talraman's colours.

Witness the past; truth both bitter and sweet

Jaden studied the old scroll carefully. Her fingers kept the preserved parchment from rolling back up as her eyes struggled through the text. It was written in code. The worrisome part was that Jaden knew this code. It was a Talramani cipher, one used when communicating with allies during times of war. In modern days, it was most often used in diplomatic correspondences, like the ones her mother exchanged with her counterparts here in Ral Sona. Irissa had shown her the basics of it when she had been a young boy, the rest she had figured out on her own.

The scroll described a joint effort between the citadel council and the Cea House Solaman in extinguishing a circle of soul-thieves working out of a small village in Olmar. The Sona Exarchs loyal to the house acted as initial shocktroops while the Lacunai mage-slayers broke the heretics' counter-attack. They surrounded the village and burned the houses, leaving nothing standing. One of the mystic even called upon a nether pact to curse the very ground to produce nothing but ashes for generations to come.

Loriven, long ago

Do you remember the fires?

The blackened remains of the houses rose from the destruction like fingers reaching for the skies that had forsaken them. Men, women and children. None had been spared the wrath that had descended upon them. Too many bodies lined the street. Some had fallen when they had tried to stand and fight, some had been killed trying to flee. Only a handful shapes still moved around amidst the wreckage of what had been a second chance.

The tall man fell to his knees next to his murdered kin, still wreathed in some of the faint ribbons of purple mist that had protected him from the same fate. He bowed down in grief, his hands on the still body of a friend who would never clasp his shoulder again.

"Cast from the sky, I swear. By Drigorius, by Lectus, by Sabakus, by Antodus, I swear. By the myriad nether I swear, grant me the strength and I shall see the ruin of them who brought death to Loriven!" Jed shouted into the night, pledging himself to anyone and anything that would listen. Anything that would give him vengeance.

It was like a roar of a silent storm. All the death that surrounded him began to speak, call to him. He reached out and embraced all who had fallen. They joined their strength with his. Nothing would go to waste.

The fires still burned, and the ashes swept across his face, into his eyes and throat. It stung and hurt, but it was nothing compared to the fury inside his heart. Backlit by the embers of his home, he turned to stare at the mountains in the distance.

"There will be a reckoning!" His voice had gone dry from the ashes, painfully dry, surrounded by the charred husks of his harvest.

Do you remember?

Jaden put the scroll down for a moment, digesting what she had read. An ancient correspondence between the legendary mystic Raman Ilduste and an elf called Valeren Solaman. The details were gruesome, but also tickled something in the back of her mind. Soul-thieves in Olmar. Her eyes went wide when she realised what she held in her hands. It was a testimony to the destruction of the Sons of Husk. Only they did not all die. According to this, the cult must be over three hundred years old. Her hands shook as she folded the scroll flat and tucked it into her bodice. The parchment felt like it burned against her breast. It was yet another secret carried close to her heart.

Jaden looked around as she snuck out of the Wordshaper's library. Oleander was nowhere to be found, likely having wandered off after growing bored of watching Kellen and Jaden with their noses deep in the books. On her way out, Jaden heard rather than saw the rune seeker giving an impromptu lecture about the historical significance of Northern shamanism in the development of his home country. There was a bit of back and forth with an older scholar about how the shamanistic bond to the land was reminiscent of an old form of elven magic that called upon the power of the wilderness. She saw several bookish-looking elves heading in that direction, interested in observing the debate..

Leaving Kellen in his element of choice, the mystic instead made sure the folded up old scroll was safely hidden away out of sight and headed to the main doors.

At the same time, a large group of young elves began to file into the hall. They were talking in hushed tones amongst themselves despite the disapproving looks sent by the teachers who were leading them. The crowd stopped halfway through the doors, as an elf in a wordshaper's blue robes came up to ask what the visit was all about.

Jaden didn't feel like waiting for the doors to become unblocked, and instead headed off to one of the other entrances. It had been many years since she had been here last, but she was sure she had seen a couple of exits off to the sides. Roaming around the less used parts of the hall, she eventually rounded a freestanding length of bookshelves and almost bumped into an elf with short, dark hair staring at an old scroll. He was moving his lips slightly as he read.

Jaden's eyes automatically went down to the length of parchment out of curiosity. She did a double-take when she saw that it was covered with dark symbols written in jagged Nethertongue.

Antodus, King of Worms, I beseech thee; bring your rotting blessing upon my foes, lay your black hand upon their hearts, kill the light in their eyes.

"Uh..." Jaden said, the words leaping from the page into her mind.

The elf looked at the mystic, back at the scroll, and then up again. There was a moment of hesitation when Jaden thought he was about give her some manner of explanation, but then his expression just went cold and before the mystic could react she found herself pushed up against the wall with a thin knife pointed at her eye. She could see the metal twisting with spectral energy.

«Wrong place, wrong time, halfkin. I will give you a silent grave.» His arm tensed as he was ready to push the needle-like weapon through Jaden's skull. «Embrace regret.»

«Wait! W-wait!» Jaden desperately tried to think. What had that man said? It wasn't that long ago. «Shadows! Ah... 'No more shadows can linger, when the flesh has forgotten'!»

The elf lowered the knife, the broken slivers of netherlight fading slightly. He even straightened the rumpled cloth where he had grabbed Jaden's blouse.

«’The last to serve the eyeless, the first to blind the world'. Tier cabal. What are you doing here? I heard that your group was wiped out.» The elf still had some wariness in his eyes, but at least he wasn't threatening to cut her head open.

«Some of us escaped. The paladins were sloppy that time, and was satisfied with killing our leader.» Jaden hoped that none of the cultists had managed to survive, but things had been very chaotic at the time. She knew that ritual leader had somehow made it out, given how she had ran into him in Farcrest a week later, but she had to play her role at the moment.

«Jeddhar the Grand Harvester is not dead, bloodsister.» The cultist explained what Jaden already knew all too well.

«Our, uh, slaughterhouse fell on his head. How could he have survived?» She chose her words carefully.

«Don't underestimate a harvester of his age and strength. He has been reaping before we were born, and I would bet my soul that he will outlive even elves like us.» The Cealon elf almost looked amused, was it not for how it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

«I'm no-»

«Quiet! » The elf put a finger to Jaden's lips, and poked his head around the bookshelf at the end of the corridor.

The sound of soft footsteps approached and soon an absentminded Wordshaper's assistant came into view, carrying a number of books on a floating silver tray. He didn't even look up as he walked past their nook, lost in his thoughts. Once he had passed out of hearing once more, the elf cultist turned back to Jaden.

«Why are you here?» He asked.

«I’m…» Jaden tried to think of something that would sound believable. She was drawing blanks, but she had to say something. Anything. The mystic locked her golden eyes on the elf’s and felt some of the heat rise up into her mouth. She spoke like the fire did. «Vengeance. I’m hunting the ones who did this, and I know one of them to be a Wordshaper whose left hand is giving him trouble. I believe they have a camp in the wildlands, but I don’t know where.»

«I see.» The cultist’s eyes became a little unfocused as Jaden’s presence washed over him. «That is admirable. I may know of the one you seek, but I need to make some inquiries first.»

«That said… Where would the, uh, grand harvester be going, if his cabal would fall? I wish to be reunited with him for obvious reasons,» Jaden said smoothly. This might be an opportunity she couldn't pass up.

«Normally a Harvester would attempt to reconstitute his ritual circle, often by seeking out old members that has advanced to groups of their own. Depending on what become of his phylactery, of course,» he said.

«Of course, » Jaden lied without blinking. Phylactery? «Do you know any of those who served him in the past?»

«As it happens, yes. Fortune would have it that the ritual master of the Sona cabal was once an apprentice to the Grand Harvester.» The elf looked proud of the fact.

«So, Jeddhar- I mean, the Harvester... he could come to Ral Sona?» A cold shiver went down Jaden's spine.

The elf offered another of those thin smiles that never reached his eyes.

«He has already arrived.»

The books didn't hold Oleander's attention for very long. She didn't mind books in theory, they were valuable enough to the right buyer, but she didn't put much stock in actual reading. The Olman streetrat left that to the more scholarly types. Having wandered off to explore a bit, she eventually found herself in a display room filled with interesting - and most likely priceless - elven fancy... things. She didn't know what most of them were, but it was a little disappointing. Most of them were made from wood or dull metals. Hardly any gold or silver in sight. She turned a strange instrument in her hands. It looked like someone had grabbed a dozen flutes of different lengths and glued them together.

"Please do not touch the displayed relics." A young-looking antiquarian had entered from a side door, carrying an basket filled with what seemed to be round bottles. He had a bit of a nervous tick in his left eye, and clearly didn't know what to do in this situation.

"I wasn't! Just looking," Oleander claimed. She deftly returned the flute-thing to its satin-covered rest, behind her back.

"You are wearing one on your head." The elf freed a hand to point at the garland-like item that sat on top of her red mop of hair.

"It was like that when I got here," Oleander said without blinking.

"... on your head?" The antiquarian hesitated a little.

"Sure. I mean. Uh. Is that a distraction over there?" Oleander pointed behind the elf.

When the young elf naively turned to see what the human was talking about, Oleander did what she had spent her youth doing, and ran.

"Please do not run in this hall! There are many fragile artefacts!" The antiquarian shouted, chasing her as fast as his flowing, blue robes allowed.

"Really?" She shot back.

"Yes!" Came the reply from the flustered elf.

"Then... CATCH!" Oleander threw the headpiece at the dismayed elf. A part of her was surprised at how aerodynamic the thing was. It sailed almost completely across the room, and the elf barely managed to catch it.

A bottle fell from the elf's carrying basket, shattering on the floor. By then, Oleander was already through the window she had spotted earlier, and disappearing into the city.

A stern-faced older elf, in the robes of a fully ordained wordshaper and whose carefully arranged dark hair just barely grazed her shoulders, entered the display room to see what the racket was all about. The only thing she saw was her assistant standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by shards of glass and holding the Videre's Ivy Circlet of Joining in his hands. Old eyes met younger ones, and a small growl escaped the wordshaper's lips. Her assistant just pointed at the open window as if that would explain everything.

The blonde wordshaper drifted smoothly through the winding corridors in the third-age section of the repository of his peoples' wisdom. He paused at times to adjust a book, or touch a scroll. There was a harmony, a design, behind the flow of knowledge here. He had walked these halls for many summers and each and every written word was as dear to him as his own children.

Upon entering the moon hollow reading room, he stopped as suddenly as if he had run into a wall. Someone had stacked the irreplaceable books into a crude seat. He looked around for whoever had done this, and clicked his tongue in exasperation. This would clearly be one of those days.

Lunch was served at the Scroll and Song Inn, to the mixed delight and confusion of the outlanders guesting the elven kingdom. The two Northmen very nearly sent their plates back to the kitchen when they couldn’t find any meat, much to Mirena’s embarrassment and Alisan’s amusement. Jaden knew about elven cuisine from the times she had been here before, of course, but it had slipped her mind entirely. The people of the forest ate meats, yes, but nowhere near the same quantities as dwarves or humans, whether from the south or the north. As they ate the very refreshing spiced tomato soup with a shared platter of several kinds of cut fruit, Alisan described some of the more popular meals they would no doubt have during their stay. Kellen, previously stirring his soup with a morose expression, perked up noticeably at the mention of the roasted trout.

“Do they serve it with peas,” the giant Northman asked, hopefully.

“Traditionally with sautéed apples, but accommodations might be made,” Alisan reassured Kellen.

Jaden had always enjoyed elven food. It was very different from the very hearty food that she had grown up with in the mountain. The Lacunai of Talraman needed to be strong to endure both their rigorous lifestyle, as well as the cold climate. Compared to the thick porridges, rich stews and some all-meat dishes, what the elves ate was like a gust of fresh air. Almost insubstantial, but sensational. So why was it that she felt so unfulfilled now?

The mystic couldn’t help but feel that something was missing. The soup was fine, it was good. However, she would have liked something… more. Maybe she had just grown too used with coastland food. Meat, bread, potatoes and gravy in the north; pies and spicy stews in the south. The thought of a thick cut of Olman beef, dripping juices, made her mouth water.

“So, cousin, how did you spend your morning?” Kellen turned to the other Northman, who had settled for eating some of the slices of pear arranged decoratively on the fruit platter.

“Well, I had a beautiful lady on either arm as I explored the city,” Stann boasted merrily, earning a rueful smile from Mirena, and an annoyed scowl from the pale elf.

“There was no arm-holding involved, Winterheart-“ Alisan began to explain.

“This time,” he grinned.

“-Instead, I led them to see sights suitable for warriors such as they. They seemed to appreciate the Guardian grove,” Alisan finished, her hands bunching her dress up a little in two tight fists.

“It was very impressive,” the knight said, remembering the training routine she had seen earlier. It had been less like her own temple drills, and more like dancing. “Those lances, what were they called again, Alisan?”

“Qalitar.”

“Ah, yes. They looked like very formidable weapons. Quicker than the halberds used by Tierin city guards, but more powerful than an Albander broadsword.” Mirena had sparred against soldiers using either during her time with the Temple. She imagined fighting an opponent wielding a swordlance would be a very different experience. The speed and strength would no doubt force her into a more defensive stance, unless she drew upon her god’s power.

Jaden’s sister, Lilya, had also taken a liking for the elven swordlances. During her stay here, eight or so years back, before an unfortunate incident that had cut her visit short, she had earned one of those weapons for herself. The guardian caste had created a small tournament pitting guardian trainees against the students from Talraman. Lilya had beaten some of the most talented of the elven contestants, because of course she had. She always had to have the last word.

“How about you and the young ones, then? Did you find anything?” Stann asked his cousin, chewing experimentally on a piece of fruit. His face betrayed what he felt about it.

“I will have to spend considerably more time perusing the wealth of knowledge in that place. It felt almost like going against the creed of my tradition to leave it so soon…” Kellen sighed heavily, and slumped a little in his seat. He looked like a big, sad dog.

“Did you forget why we’re here, ugly cousin?” The younger of the two Northmen reminded the other.

“Ah, no. No, of course not. I was just indulging. No, I had a chance to speak with one of the librarians-“

“Wordshapers,” Jaden corrected, while twirling a lock of her black hair around a finger. Her eyes showed that she wasn’t entirely following the conversation, instead lost in thought.

“-thank you, Jaden. Wordshaper. Who worked there. Hrm.” Kellen lost his train of thought for a moment. “Ah, yes. I spoke with him about someone matching the description we have of this ‘Valshon’ fellow. Apparently, that fits one of his co-workers, named Kyrial. However, Kyrial is Seren, not Cealon. Although, he could have dyed his hair when meeting with Toben?”

“Possibly. So, we’ve got the guy who pulled the strings on both Toben and the caravan that the woman in Carrick Field saw carrying the critters out of the wildlands?” Stann summed up what they knew.

“Not quite. As it turns out, Kyrial spends a lot of time travelling,” the rune seeker began.

“Imagine that,” Oleander contributed.

“Just so. Ostensibly to collect books for the libr- the Wordshaper’s Hall,” Kellen glared at the mystic, who didn’t seem to be paying attention. “But that could be, and most likely is, a cover. ”

“But a cover for what?” Mirena asked herself, pondering the facts they had so far.

“Exactly. The only thing we know is that they seem intent on moving large quantities of songwood and magical creatures out of the deep wildlands. It’s almost as if they’re emptying it out entirely.” Kellen’s deep voice only made the statement seem that much more ominous.

“Or harvesting it,” Rhyce muttered, his eyes narrowing.

After the last tray of leftovers had been removed from their table, the group started to break off in ones and twos. Eventually, it was just the Winterheart cousins remaining behind over a pitcher of elven ale. It didn’t have nearly the potency of real Northern brew. Three cups in, and neither of them were feeling anything. Then again, both of them were much larger than the average elf so maybe they had to drink a little more?

"Hey, Bear!” Kellen gestured a bit with his cup. Some of the foam sloshed over the rim and ran down one of his thick fingers. “Isn't this a dream come true for you, a whole country full of elven girls?"

Stann looked around with a somewhat disappointed expression.

"I don't know. I didn't expect them to be so... ordinary," the warrior said, vaguely. It hadn’t been what he had expected at all.

"Despite their race, they're all just people, Stann. Just like you or me. There will be all kinds."

"I guess I knew that in some way, but compared to the elves I've met and been with in the coastlands, these ones seem so... thin." The younger cousin motioned towards the upper chest area.

"Well, that is a racial trait. Elves are generally slimmer than humans. They have the pointed ears and the somewhat slanted eyes. That's especially true for the dark elves, the Cea, who lived in Sorun before the kingdoms of Man arrived with their Seren allies. Seren elves generally have a little bit of human blood in them, especially the houses that decided to follow the imperial family into exile." Kellen had lapsed into his lecture voice again, and was using his cup and the pitcher to represent the two tribes of elves, lifting either when talking about them.

"Huh. I didn't know that."

"I guess you didn't know how most elves you've run into outside Sorun are probably second or third generation half-elves, either?" The rune seeker began to take a mouthful out of the pitcher, and realised what he was doing halfway to his mouth and switched hands to drink from his cup instead.

"Really? What about Alisan?" Stann took the pitcher out of his cousin’s hand before the clumsy magician spilled it all.

"As a Seren elf, she's probably got her drops of human blood somewhere in her lineage, but from the looks of her I'd guess she's as pure-blooded as they come," Kellen explained, and drained the last of his ale.

"Well, this was an eye-opener. Guess I prefer the mixed blends rather than the straight thing."

While Stann walked away to consider this new insight, Kellen remained behind with his own thoughts. Half-elves were a curious breed, just like the half-orcs. The mixed races showed a lot of the positive qualities of either parent race, without most of the inherent weaknesses. The half-orcs of the North, some of them a regrettable consequence of the fighting that occurred between the clans and the tribes, possessed great strength and recuperative abilities, but their eyes were adapted to both daylight and darkness. They also lived for the same length as their human side, rather than the slightly shorter lifespan of an orc. Kellen assumed it was some sort of hybrid vigour that you often found when crossing purebred dogs or horses.

Now, what would this do with a truly mixed people, like the Lacunai? At this point, could they even be considered human, or were they a species entirely unto themselves?

Kellen was brought out of his wandering thoughts by someone touching him.

"Kellen, could I ask a favour?" Mirena rested a hand on the thick arm of the rune seeker.

"Of course. What can I do for you?" The tall man brushed some crumbs from his snack out of his moustache.

"I'm concerned that Rhyce might spend all the time cooped up in here. I don't know what his... history here is, but could you take him for a walk or something? Alisan gave Stann and me a wonderful tour of the city. There are some spectacular sights that even Rhyce might enjoy, like the Speaker's Rise or the water terrace. There's also an aerie for their owls, if he's feeling like it."

"Are we talking about the same Rhyce, Rena? He doesn't really volunteer his feelings on any matter. Very model of a dour borderlander, our friend is." The rune seeker nodded to himself.

"Just do it, Kellen."

"If you insist. It might be good to stretch these legs anyway. I'll see if I can lure him out of the tavern, at least." Kellen stood up from the table with a grunt, rising nearly two heads above the knight.

"Thank you. I worry about him, sometimes," Mirena confessed. Of all her friends, Rhyce and she had travelled together the longest, ever since that day in the woods where they had met for the first time.

"About Rhyce? In the wildlands? My silver's on him, should anything happen." Kellen laughed, a rich rumble that carried far.

"You know what I mean," she replied, almost crossing her arms.

"Hrm. I suppose I do. Very well, consider it done." The rune seeker patted the knight on the shoulder as he headed up to his room to drop off some of his books. If he had to take a walk today, he didn't want to carry any valuable tomes around in case of accidents. It was his experience that adventure sought out his friends more often than not.

"Ali? Random question?" Oleander padded up next to the elf as they made their way back to the common room of the Scroll and Song inn. It was a fun change to walk down those ramps rather than the stairs used in human buildings. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen many stairs at all since coming here.

"Will this make me an accomplice in any of your schemes?" Alisan’s eyes narrowed a little, but the slight smile on her lips showed that she was mostly teasing. Mostly. She had travelled with these humans long enough to have heard stories.

"... who have you been talking to? No, nevermind. Why do they call it 'Sorun' if the original elves there were the Cealon? Wouldn't it make more sense to just call it... Cealon, I guess? Cealand, maybe."

"Just as the light of reason would support calling the coast that is shared by Alband and Olmar by its original name, Bal Vanesh, but you renen have a habit of rejecting existing ideas and substituting your own,” the pale elf said with a slightly scolding voice.

"Uh..."

"Since the kingdoms of man were used to us, the Seren, it seemed reasonable to them to call the place we settled down into 'Seren' as well. Likely in honour of our old home in the west. They were aware of how another tribe of elves already lived there, yes, but to your human ancestors all elves were 'Seren'." Alisan made a slight face. Telling the two tribes apart should not be that hard. There were more to elves than ears, after all.

"But we spell it differently, right?" Oleander had shrunk back a bit, looking to either side of her for an escape route. The redhead was starting to realise that if the pale elf ever got truly angry, she would be a fearsome sight.

"That I cannot answer, Mela. Maybe Kellen can tell us more?" They had stopped next to the table they had used earlier. Unsurprisingly, the rune seeker had ended up at the table again, having returned to sample some more of the ale.

"Hmmm? Oh, the Seren/Sorun conundrum? Well, it's basically a matter of the evolution of language - a concept fairly important to the Society of Rune Seekers, for obvious reasons. The simple truth of it is, the original tongue of the first empire, Estal, doesn't have letters for 'e' and 'u' in the same way Trade has. Instead, Estal has five symbols depicting sounds that are close to either. Like you said, Alisan, it was originally the same word, but with time and translation it changed to its current form." Kellen smiled at Alisan, as the elf had been paying attention the whole time, but frowned when he saw the redhead building a pyramid out of toothpicks. "Did that answer your question, little fox?"

"Huh, what? Yeah, I wasn't really that interested anyway." Oleander got up from where she had been slouching.

“What made you walk that path if you weren’t?” Alisan blinked in surprise.

“I just wanted to talk, okay? I didn’t want it to turn into a lecture!” The Olman thief sighed and threw up her hands. Some toothpicks rained down around her and bounced to the floor.

“Well, in that case, I believe that is my prompt to leave.” Kellen got up and stuffed the books into his small satchel. “I promised Mirena I’d take Rhyce out for a walk.”

“He needs you for that? Are we talking about the same Rhyce? The one who goes on long, brooding skulks all the time?” Oleander tilted her head to the side and scrunched up her nose.

“Haven’t you noticed, Red? Ever since we arrived, he’s been even more shut-in than before. He hasn’t left the inn since we got here, except for when we visited your friend yesterday, Alisan.” Kellen shrugged a little, and left the women by themselves.

Oleander and Alisan exchanged a look. The redhead just shrugged a little. Who could know when it came to the archer? Either way, they had to go find Jaden so they could head on over to Ranath’s house for a fitting of their gowns. Oleander was more excited about the event than she thought she would be. A part of her wondered what it would be like to dance with Jaden, though the Jaden in her mind didn’t wear a fine dress, but instead a nobleman’s doublet. Her elven prince.