The city-states of Hethbarn were scattered in their efforts and refused to offer one another aid. Even the Wood Elves failed to join the fight, a fact that Etnfrandians resent to this day. To their North, the irreligious Brikhvarnni remained uninvolved, then only a fledgling civilization.

-Fennorin’s Guide to Elven History, First Ed. UE 2342

—

Kridarnn

Krid paced beneath a greatpine on the mountainside, tail swishing impatiently. He shut his second, opaque lids and breathed heavily, smelling for the presence of people. Sharp pine and floral scents invaded his snout. No people. No Fenn. He’d seen the holy woman pass by earlier that day, meaning Fenn would come tonight. He had dismantled his camp in anticipation. 

He sighed and opened his eyes. He’d grown accustomed, over his travels, to seeing a lush green world. This area seemed especially so. Pine needles poked between his claws with each step. The earth here was soft in some places, and stoney in others. He’d done his best to stay on stone. The dirt caved under his weight, and the wind would not blow away his footprints as in the sand of his homeland. 

The sand. Krid found himself longing for the heat and sun of Brikhvarnn: open skies, full of possibilities; bright sun to warm the soul; soft sands for gentler walking. None of this cold, damp nonsense. He reached up and wiped dew from his brow. His movements felt sluggish in the chill of night. 

Not everyone felt the same as he did about his homeland. The drakeman chuckled to himself, remembering the first time he’d met Fenn, the lad passed out in the sand, red-faced as the desert rose, a victim of Brikhvarnni noontime. Doubtless, he would have died out there if Krid’s unit had not passed by. That bright hair of his had caught the sunlight, arousing Krid’s curiosity. A mere recruit at the time, he had seen but a handful of men, and even fewer highland elves. 

He’d rescued Fenn, of course. Though, as a military scout, it had not been his duty to rescue a noncitizen traveler, it was his moral obligation to protect the weak. He could not have guessed that the spindly yucca of an elf would become his sworn brother. But Fenn had stood by him when Krid chose to remain in the military against his bloodclan’s better judgment.

 Few had done the same. Only Fenn and Fridana. Fridana. My beautiful red-scaled bride. Krid dabbed at the dew under his eyes. He longed to return to her and their daughter. But Fenn requested his aid, and he would do all in his power to help him. He owed Fenn that much. For standing beside him when no one else would. For helping him to change his fate. Krid nodded to himself.

He looked up. The Wanderer was nearly halfway through his journey through the skies, now. Where could that newt be? 

Fennorin

Fenn strode to the front of the Culture Center and pretended water did not still drip from his pants. Perhaps their path through the underground springs had been flawed, but it was too late now. He offered a nod to the guard and reached for the door. He only needed to cross the building and open the back door to the others.

“She’s quite keen to see you, you know,” the guard offered a knowing smile as Fenn passed.

Fenn blinked. He smiled back as if he knew what the guard meant. Confusion would only raise suspicion. He stepped in.

 Moonlight cascaded down from the slanting crystal wall. Pillars hung with vines cast tangled shadows across the marble floors. In the center of the room next to the white petrified willow, lit by a shaft of silver light, stood Galendria. Next to her, the long, glittering strands of crystal leaves hanging from the tree became dull. Fair and graceful, she hummed a tune to herself, letting her long skirts trail as she swayed. Her hair was half up in a braid, and the rest draped down her back like a loose cape. 

Fenn’s heart dropped to his stomach. Not her. Not here. Not the one person in the world he couldn’t stand to disappoint.

The door closed behind him with a thud. She turned and smiled a small, sweet smile.

“So, you did come here.” She slid across the room as graceful as a dancer. Her gaze alighted on him only briefly before searching past him. “And where is the scholar?”

Fenn’s face went pale. “The Scholar?”

“The dark-skinned clergy woman whom my father described. Is she not with you?”

“What do you mean?” Fenn pressed the panic out of his voice. “I’m sure you are aware that I can’t bring her here.”  

Galendria laughed a melodious, sparkling laugh that twinkled with mischief. “And I can’t marry someone so far beneath my station,” she goaded.

It wasn’t a jab at his standing. Fenn had said those very words to her about himself only a few months ago when she and her father had first approached him about the match. He’d fought it, reasoning with her about his undeserving nature. 

It was a strong argument, one he believed whole-heartedly. He was inartistic and bookish. Amongst the Etnfrandians, it didn’t get much worse. Many cultivators gained more reverence. They at least created beauty by growing life. Plus for him, the autonomy of bachelorhood better facilitated his study of illegal topics. Yet no matter how he had protested, she and both of their fathers had insisted on the match. To hear his own words turned upon him so lightly–he felt foolish.

“She’s back outside my cabin,” he insisted, “resting after her travels.”

“Yes, of course. At the cabin that contained neither of you and with the guard who insisted it contained you both.” Galendria rolled her eyes at his shocked expression. “She’s at the back door, right?” She swiveled in that direction.

Beauty’s sake. She must have come to the cabin soon after we left. 

“Wait! Galendria! You…” he reached out a hand toward her, then let it fall as she turned back toward him. “You better not get involved in this.” Fenn dropped his gaze to the stone floor

“In what?” She looked ready to laugh again. “A little sneak peek for a curious scholar?” 

“Well…” he struggled to find the words that would convince her to leave without revealing anything. “What about your honor?” 

“My honor?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You would have a long way to fall if you were to get in trouble. There’s a lot to lose if your honor is stained.” He swallowed hard. It’s not a lie. “I’d hate to be responsible–”

“I’m pretty sure that I should be the one to decide what to do with my honor.” Her genuine indignation surprised him. “Besides, who is going to catch us?”  

Fenn let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, hopefully no one, but—” his panic rose as Galendria strode toward the back door, “we aren’t here just to look around.” Fenn reached for a lie that would force her to leave. “Some of the items here, they’re magical, and we… well,  we…”

“You want to study them?” She pinched her brow in thought. “But then…” Her eyes lit with wild excitement, “are you here to take them?”

Fenn gawked. She’d guessed that unreasonably quickly. And now, the Flower of Etnfrandia, beloved by all, known for her warmth, grace, and lovely singing, was excited by the idea of thievery.

“Just so we can identify them–to find out what they can do, and why.” He hated lying to her. He just couldn’t afford the risk of telling her. A journey into the Wildlands? She’d surely stop them before they’d even left the building. “We’ll return them in due course.” 

She smiled over her shoulder as she headed for the back door. “Naturally. Though, I don’t see how you plan to hide them while you work.”

Fenn adjusted his glasses and went to follow her. “Hold on, it’s not just the scholar there. I also hired…. an expert.”

Galendria

“An expert?” Galendria paused, her hand on the door. “In what field?”

Fenn sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Syrdin’s a thief of some kind. Try not to be frightened of zhem.”

What’s a zhem? Galendria’s brow scrunched, but she would not back down now. She had finally learned some clue as to why Fenn had been distant these last years. Why he had resisted her approach. It had nothing to do with me all along. She’d been worried, especially after he’d entertained that human woman in his home.

She swung open the door, smiling. “Hello, you must be Syrdin and Mellark. I’m Galendria Silverstem.” A large woman in an oddly plain robe stood in the door’s light, a short, hooded person next to her. Eyes like a wolf’s glowed from under the cowl, and Galendria saw a flash of metal at his hip. She shrank back.

“Don’t!” The robed woman, Mellark, set her arm across Syrdin. “That’s Fenn’s betrothed.”

Mell removed her arm as Syrdin sheathed a dagger. The little–-well, Gale didn’t know what–brushed past her into the building. “I don’t remember her being a part of the plan.” The voice that came from under the hood was sharp and icy, as unforgiving as the North Wind. Galendria gawked. The rude stranger didn’t even remove his hood. 

“Mellark, Scholar-Savant,” the human gave a warm, broad smile to accompany her polite bow. “Pleasure to meet you. Fenn speaks very highly of you.”

Galendria smiled and offered her hand as her father had taught her to do for humans. “Fyr-Ceann Gale, and the pleasure’s all mine.” Mellark shook it with large, soft hands. Galendria couldn’t help but notice that they were fair and pink on the inside, unlike the rest of her skin, dark as pine bark.

“Sorry about my companion, zhe is not good with strangers.”

She? Galendria forced her smile not to crack. I’d hate to know what she’s like with friends. “Consider it snow in springtime.” Galendria paused, realizing the saying may not translate. “Ah, that is, melted away.”

Mell grinned, a wide, genuine gesture when she wore it, with a glimmer of playfulness. “With all the warmth of the sunshine.”

She speaks Elvish! Gale felt the surprise show on her face, and that pleased the Scholar even more. Her father had mentioned that she’d demonstrated good, Elven manners. “O-of course.”

With that, Galendria waltzed back over to Fenn, the Scholar trailing behind her. “So how does the next part of the plan go? Anything in particular we are snatching?” She tried to seem chipper, but underneath she felt a mounting concern. The rudeness of the thief, and the oddity of having a human here, no matter how well-mannered… it was a bit much.

Fenn hesitated, still taken aback by her cheerfulness. Good. She would prove that she was the companion he wanted. He could trust her.

“Well, Syrdin is doing zheir job. We need to go to the display room and see if it’s trapped. Then we’ll check which artifacts are magical, and Syrdin can grab those for us.”

Galendria glanced around, realizing Syrdin had disappeared. That set her ill at ease. She shook herself. He mentioned magic items. “I think I can help with that.” She slid past him into the Display room, a large area adjacent to the White Willow for which the Willowbirth’s had been named. The tree was long dead and petrified, but the Culture Center had been built around it while it still lived, and the keepers of Tradition had been named for it.

The other side of the building had a stone second story, but not this side. Instead, the slanting, crystalline roof swooped from several body lengths above her until it nearly reached the floor on the other side of the room. The area was lit by a silver lamp post akin to the ones outside as well as by the light leaking in through the ceiling. 

The room had a smattering of exquisite vases, armor, weapons, jewelry, and other personal effects on display. Artifacts that encapsulated the magnificent Culture and artistic accomplishments of the Etnfrandian people. 

Despite the pride they held in these items, the room smelled dusty. The artifacts may have been regularly cleaned, but they were not often visited except annually by school-age elflings. 

 Galendria strode to the center of it near a decorative set of armor. She gave one more reassuring smile to Fenn before she put her hands together and inhaled deeply. A thrill shivered down her spine. He had shared some of his secrets with her. It was time to do the same.

 “Tayspaen doan Drayht” A warm glow bubbled within her. Suddenly, the room was lit with auras, like smells, wafting in the air. Magical auras. The spell allowed her to sense magic in the objects and people around her. There were, as Fenn had assumed there would be, several magical items around. And each of them gave off a slightly different “smell.” 

Mellarks’s circlet gave off a smell like the mustiness of books, and a warm, benevolent glow. The woman was casting her own spell. Galendria turned and faced a necklace that smelled like a charm spell. She leaned forward to inspect it, then tilted her head to Fenn, who was gazing at her with his mouth half-open. “This is magical.”

“I won’t take it until Mell’s done.” 

Galendria flinched. That Syrdin had appeared out of nowhere right next to her. 

“That is just fine,” Galendria kept the bite out of her tone. Melted like snow… “I am merely pointing it out.”

She glanced at Fenn, who was too dumbfounded to interject. The glow from the Scholar’s circlet faded, an effect of her spellcasting, not of Galendria’s temporary sense for magic. Gale waited for what she would say.

To be continued...