The count slowed the beat of his wings as his destination loomed ahead, a dark blemish of twisted black trees in the sea of green hills all around. Everyone who lived in Solun, Dracon, or the region in-between, knew of the Black Forest, yet none but the Niven could safely enter. Even if one were to get past the Simey, the forest itself would impede any further progress.

He flew above the tangled canopy and in a large gap between two huge trees, he found his entrance method. It was a large circular platform made of midnight stone which blended into the forest floor. It had taken him five trips to truly memorize its location. As he descended to land on it, he was, as always, amazed by the Ormer creation. Carved deeply into the midnight stone were soft tipped flames that crashed in and out of each other like waves on the beach. The flames circled a square opening in the middle of the platform.   

The count crouched down next to the opening, braced his legs, and then placed his hand inside where it fit snugly. The carved flames briefly glowed orange before the platform rocketed forward, surging across the forest floor into a path opened by the trees. It traveled at neck breaking speed, going straight, sideways, uphill, downhill, and every other possible direction. By the time it shuttered to a stop it was impossible for the Count to know how far he had traveled or where in the forest he was. 

100 steps ahead of the platform was his dreaded meeting place with the Niven Chieftess. The building's foundation was suspended high in the air near the canopy,  held in place by multiple ropes and thin terraces that connected to four huge trees. The connecting trees had grooves all the way up their trunks which allowed the Niven to quickly climb to the terraces.

 The building itself was strikingly balanced between elegance and simplicity. It was constructed from a red clay, and smoothly shaped, with a domed roof and arched doorways. Moss and wildflowers covered the whole building, forming a tapestry more grand than that of his dining chamber. 

The Count did not re-form his wings to ascend to the house, but instead nimbly began climbing up one of the giant grooved trees. If war were to break out between Solun and the Niven, as it often had in the past, this would be a horrific place to fight. It was important to understand even the most basic ways they traversed their environment. 

Once through the entryway, he saw the Chieftess seated alone at the wooden balcony at the back of the house. On a large suspended wooden platform, far enough for the Chieftess to safely observe, two Niven warriors prayed. Both warriors wore their battle armor, a thin but durable vest of woven reeds, and a skirt made of strips of black tree bark. Their weapons were a type of longsword, with dull edges that would be ineffective if used in slashing motions.The blade was sharpened to a fine point, meant to be thrust precisely into the enemy’s vital areas.

“What is the occasion for this duel?”

“The occasion? My warriors grieve for their sisters and mothers. Dueling is a way to forget themselves. They let the rage flow from their bodies into their weapons.”

This was not how he had hoped to begin their conversation.

“Or perhaps I just require a few more guards around the house.” She lightly cackled to herself.

He hated this old hag.

“Whatever killed your people poses a grave threat to the both of us. Our alliance is more important than ever. The reserve force is a symbol to our enemies that we are united in strength. It must be replenished to ensure our safety.”

The Chieftess continued to watch the duel. The warriors seemed equal matched; they did not often parry each others blades, but dodged them in an elusive style of swordsmanship that relied on their quick feet and coordination. The victor was whoever made contact with their opponents armor, or disarmed them. There was little room for error.

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no?” The count asked exasperated. 

“I will not allow you to lead any more of my people to their deaths.”

“I did not lead them, Giza. For that, I admit fault. The creature was more powerful than anticipated. With your people’s help, I will hunt down the creature myself and destroy it.”

“Your mistake has cost me my people’s trust. To give you more of my warriors would cause irreparable damage.”

“You must convince them this is for their own safety. I thought you held their eternal loyalty, Giza.”

“I DID! OUR ALLIANCE HAS…CHANGED THEM. THEY QUESTION MY JUDGMENT NOW.” 

She sighed and lowered her voice. “The reserve force cannot be replenished.” 

In their many talks, outbreaks of shouting were not uncommon but her voice had never sounded so strained before.

“You are violating our agreement, Giza. You know that.” 

“I am not violating our agreement, Balisk, I am ending it.”

She turned to him now; her dark skin was wrinkled and tight on her sunken cheekbones, what long ago used to be golden hair was now thin like straw, yet her eyes still burned a bright green. 

“I will provide no more warriors for you. We will no longer engage in any trade and none of my people will ever go to Solun again. No human, not even you, may enter our forest.”

One of the warriors dodged a thrust towards the chest, and swiftly knocked her opponent's blade from her hand, concluding the duel. 

He imagined the smokey scent of burning wood, how relieving it would be to scorch the whole forest and be done with it. But relief is only temporary, what he sought to build was contentment, enduring and unbreakable.

Still, a bit of fear in her heart could be helpful.

“You cannot protect this place, Giza. Not from this new creature and certainly not from me.”

“We survived before you, and we will survive after you are gone. Remember this Balisk: You are no Shadebringer.”

“Pray to your god in the coming days. You will need her help.”

Wings of blue flames erupted from the back of the Count and he shot upward, leaving splintered wood, a broken roof, and a tired old woman in his wake.