Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave, Anneliese, and Orion followed behind the Supreme Myriarch and half a dozen elite soldiers of the elven army—the Kheshig, they were called. They didn’t walk on the ground… rather, they walked hundreds of feet above it, standing on the branches of the redwood trees. Down below, the elven gods and the Veidimen marched on foot, but the canopies of this forest were the home of the elves.

“Maybe it was a foolish thing to try and block the entrances to the centaurs’ retreat,” the Supreme Myriarch confided. “I thought to narrow the points they might attack from… but by bunching them closer together, they decided to unify. When the roots churned the ground, bursting free, the centaurs were the hardest hit. They thrive on the open ground—with the ground obstructed, we are benefitted while they are hindered.” He shook his head. “They’ve unified to cope with that hardship. It’s a disaster.”

Argrave agreed, but he thought the disaster was more so that the centaurs were attacking at all. He hoped they just stayed in that cave, twiddling their thumbs. Eventually, Argrave could would come to rouse Sarikiz, unifying elf and centaur in combatting Kirel Qircassia. But now, between Erlebnis and this…

If the elven gods’ faith in me wavers, it’s over, Argrave realized. I need to put the brakes on these issues, solve them quickly…

“Not much further to home,” the Supreme Myriarch looked back. “I’ll be frank with you, King Argrave, as your presence will mark the first time one of Vasquer has come not as a conqueror but as an ally. We are fewer than Vasquer, but having gone through this forest, you should know that means nothing. We live in a forest with Amaroks and Mishis, with giants and centaurs. And amidst all that, we are dominant. I hope you do not mistake our hospitality for naivete.”

“What is this place called?” Anneliese questioned.

“We do not name our cities,” the Supreme Myriarch answered her. “We change their location too often for them to be named. To us, it is merely home.”

With that, the Supreme Myriarch moved ahead. Argrave followed, and as he did he saw light ahead. The canopy grew thinner and thinner until the open sky greeted them, sunlight beaming down splendidly at this high altitude.

The city of the wood elves was not fixed to one location, but in a way, it always stayed the same. It required something consistent as its foundation—a gathering of four redwood trees, with branches strong enough to support a sizable population. Once they had that, the elves would clear out a great portion of the branches until it became a flat circle. From there, their city was born.

Though an elven warrior could enter the city from any direction, there were four entrances for the non-acclimated, or for those who hauled the creatures hunted on the forest floor—four pulley elevators, crafted of elven wire and wood. Even as Argrave watched, the first of his Veidimen honor guard was pulled up on these platforms. When their platform docked, the snow elves looked out across the cleared canopy in wonder. The floor of this city was held together by a patchwork of rope, wire, and woven branches in an intricate yet sturdy manner that incorporated enchantments at points. Still… one would need to watch their footing.

Everywhere else… the industry of the wood elves was on clear display. The primary food in the Bloodwoods was meat, and that showed. Towering wolves—Amaroks—and giant cats with tails as long as ten men were laid out in rows, then disassembled by skilled warriors in a systematic order and distributed to cooks. They extracted tendons, then gave those to mages who made the exceedingly potent wires they used for transportation and trapping. Everyone worked, even the children, the elderly, the pregnant, or the sick. Everyone had to pull their weight, lest the Bloodwoods leave them for dead.

Traditional houses were nowhere to be found, but Argrave saw people dip below where branches sloped downwards. All of the residences were just beneath this top layer, woven and carved from the branches. It was an exceedingly compact place. There might be five or six of these cities at a time, each working to support the local Tumen as it defended and hunted for them. When it came under fire, or more simply when the Tumen thought it necessary, the elves would abandon the city and migrate to build another. In time, the redwoods would regrow. Like this, the wood elves moved through the canopies, struggling for dominance in this vast and magical forest.

But with Kirel’s intervention, his wanton destruction of the forest, this method of city-building would fail fast. If the trees died, this way of life died. And the elves would surely not be ignorant of the forest’s condition.

“My men will escort you to a building, and treat you with hospitality,” the Supreme Myriarch informed Argrave. “Your men will receive much the same treatment. I must confer with my counsel, and with… with the gods,” he said in wonder. “In time, I will join you. I ask for your patience, King Argrave.”

“Then you have it,” Argrave answered.

#####

Argrave, Anneliese, and Orion sat on a wooden floor before a table woven of branches. Orion and Anneliese both looked around in wonder, but Argrave had seen much of this place before. Some wood elves walked into the room, placing down cups filled with a reddish liquid. They were hospitable, but not servile.

“This is a tea made of the fruits of the redwoods—firefruits, we call them,” an old female elf explained. “Though bitter and tasteless ordinarily, when roasted, ground, and dissolved in water, they become firemilk. Please, sate yourself with this. We shall prepare a large meal of meat while you wait,” she gestured, then walked away.

Argrave and Anneliese both picked up their cups at once, but Orion sat there unmoving. Argrave took a drink of fruit from a redwood, something that shouldn’t truly exist. He found it was quite a wondrous thing—it resembled cinnamon in taste, though had a natural sweetness to it and a certain resemblance to milk that gave it both a pleasant mouthfeel and an airy pleasantness.

“Way better than I expected,” Argrave said in surprise, then quickly took another drink.

Anneliese set her cup down, her focus on more urgent matters. Argrave’s praise got to Orion, and the prince was tempted to pick his cup up.

His queen conjured a ward over them. “Let us discuss strategy,” Anneliese said decisively.

“Yes, let’s,” Argrave agreed, leaning back comfortably. “We need to examine each and every member of our party for any ties to Erlebnis. Agreed?”

“I was just going to say that,” Anneliese nodded. “We cannot ignore this before it springs on us. Whether among the elves, or among our own, the elven gods cannot think we have ties to Erlebnis.”

“Chiteng is the only one that truly knows about my Blessing of Supersession,” Argrave pointed out.

“But he might’ve told them. He is their family. And regardless, that message Dimocles delivered was ominous,” Anneliese continued.

“But what can we do?” Argrave took another drink, finishing it. He looked down at the cup in disappointment, but no more liquid remained. “We’re in this, ride or die.”

“We can make sure that we find any problems before they arise,” Anneliese insisted. “And perhaps… I believe we should avoid the gods before the time comes.”

Argrave nodded. “They’ll be busy, anyhow. Though they’ve manifested… existence on the mortal realm is a process,” he explained. “With their physical form present, the realm that I visited will slowly converge with this one. Their divinity will spread throughout the land, making it theirs. I don’t suspect they’ll make any grand changes to the layout of the Bloodwoods, but once they exert ownership it should prevent any other breaches from another realm—more accurately, breaches from another god.” He set the cup down firmly. “They’ll get stronger as time passes. But before they can claim the whole of the Bloodwoods… Kirel’s gotta go.”

“And a breach—is it different from what the elven gods do?” Orion asked.

“Great question,” Argrave praised. “Yes, it is. The god breaching has no earthly connection to this place. The elven gods ended the last cycle of judgment here, and their worshippers still abound here, even if greatly diminished. They have a direct claim to this land, and so can appear fully. Sarikiz could, too. I don’t think any others would qualify. Kirel Qircassia, on the other hand, is forcing his way through. You can picture it… like he’s stuck his arm through a hole, and now works to widen it large enough to fit his whole body through.” He looked at Orion. “One small mercy is that Kirel Qircassia is morbidly obese, cosmologically speaking. It’ll be some time before his physical form appears.”

“Then why do the elves struggle?” Orion pressed.

“Well, Kirel has mortal servants,” Argrave shrugged. “As he becomes more present, he can field more of them. They’re what’s pushing the elves back, not the god himself. I don’t think it’s worrying. Kirel could kill all of us with ease, but I can’t imagine he has any servants has that are strong enough to resist the elven gods.” He looked back at Anneliese. “As you point out… we just need to make sure the elves and their gods stay on our side. Perhaps that’s what Erlebnis meant about starting the fire, but not sticking around to watch it burn. He might intend to sabotage, or… something.”

Anneliese nodded. “Indeed. We must do a thorough review of all our party members.”

Argrave saw movement, and turned his head to see the Supreme Myriarch walk into the room, descending down a sloped branch. “There’s another matter, isn’t there? The centaurs.”

Anneliese turned her head, too, and when she saw that the Supreme Myriarch had come, dispelled her ward.

“I can give you more time,” the commander offered graciously, hesitating at the end of the branch.

“No, you’re fine,” Argrave beckoned. “I just wished for some quiet time alone with my wife and brother. Please, sit.”

The Supreme Myriarch nodded, then came to sit opposite Argrave. “I’m curious to hear how you intend to help with the centaurs. Those under my command wish to meet you, but I thought to engage with you first.”

I’m curious too, Argrave thought. How would one put an end to a rampaging mass of centaurs? Ideally, Argrave would make use of them, as the original plan entailed.

“What are they doing, specifically?” Argrave asked. “You must have scouts.”

“It’s as I said. They have merged into a horde of unmatched size, and roam in a party that razes all it comes across. They hunt everything—elves, the wildlife, but of even greater alarm, they topple redwoods and burn them.” He shook his head. “Our wire traps have been working, but they come without relenting. Ordinarily we would simply take this opportunity to punish their foolhardiness… but with this strange breach from the invaders in the central north, our Tumens are hard-pressed.”

Argrave listened and thought. Though his mind drifted, wondering if there might be something else driving them into a frenzy, he tried to focus on simply solving the problem. After a while of silent thinking, during which the meal was served, Argrave narrowed his eyes and looked up.

“How densely packed are they?” he questioned, eating the meat. To say the least, it was not as pleasant as the firemilk.

“From my reports, they spread out somewhat, then converge on any resistance they encounter until it is entirely wiped out,” the elven commander summarized.

“You know the terrain of the forest well, right? You have maps.” Argrave leaned in.

“Very well,” the Supreme Myriarch said with some pride. “It matters less now that the roots have disturbed all, but topography will still apply.”

Argrave placed his elbows on the table and entwined his hands. “But how well do you know the underground? Caves, caverns, and the like.”

“That’s… more difficult,” the Supreme Myriarch admitted.

Argrave chewed over his idea more, then said, “It may be time to improve your cartography, Supreme Myriarch. I think I want to meet the rest of the elven commanders.”

“Certainly.” The Supreme Myriarch stood, and Argrave rose with him.

As they made to walk out, Anneliese stopped him. “What is your idea?” she asked in curiosity.

“Do you know what roots help prevent? Landslides. Sinkholes. Other such natural disasters,” Argrave explained. “They help fix the ground in place. And all the roots, Anneliese, are out of whack. If we want to stop, but not to kill?” Argrave looked ahead. “I think there’s a way. But for now… let’s get involved in elven high society.”

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