Official superhuman status confirmed.

  Well, nothing new there, Ulric had held suspicions on the matter but events had tended to keep him too busy to stew on it. There was no way he'd still be alive if he was remotely normal. Hell, the Reforged man nearly snorted, what the fuck even was normal on this world?

  Probably dying to that very first charge of the Forest Lord, that might have been a good place to start with normality, and, therefore, Ulric Einar wanted nothing to fucking do with it. He’d take freak, if that kept him with all his bits unchewed, all day, every day. Yeah, that would have been the end of things, to say nothing of what followed. Any of a dozen encounters in the glade could have done him in. The damned Bolt Deer would probably have gotten him in their stampede. Or those Fellwolves. Or the Poachers. Or, likely, he’d have never made it that far because he’d succumbed to any one of about three dozen hilariously toxic herbaceous plants in the glade. He’d tried most of the flora in that ancient forest clearing, at some point or other.

  Still, one thing to know he was strange, another to hear it said aloud. Like people yelling Clark Kent was Superman, or something.

  Ulric glanced around the room, at the gathering of royal guardsmen, at the Elf Queens, and the Elf Lord in the center of the room. Okay, in this room, he was starting to feel more like Batman with the justice league. There was superhuman, and then there was inhuman.

  Meeting the Elves had changed his perspective greatly. Had shown him the limits of sheer physical ability. Brighteyes had slaughtered monsters nearly his own size, outnumbered five to one, with a dagger. Geyrt had performed acrobatics and marksmanship that defied reason. Had flowed like liquid. He didn't have a tower tall enough to see the horizon that was their sire. And if Brighteyes' mother’s Ultimate Wife Punch was any indication, there was far more to them as well.

  "You are not surprised." A crystalline voice range out.

  Ulric nearly jumped. It was the second time the Sphinx had spoken.

  Her voice was angelic. A belltone pure, high, and rich. Where Vedyr was a higher register version of the, if he were forced to admit, sultry, melodies of Geyrt, and the warm, matronly gentleness of Bathe.

  He was so startled he couldn't say anything for a moment. She had leaned forward as she spoke and the gap in her dress very nearly swallowed him. Very carefully, he drew his gaze up to her face and locked it there, determined to avoid this game, because it had to be a game. Great googly moogly, quantity is a quality all of its own. He couldn't tell by her expression if she'd noticed the impact her change in position had on him, but he’d have bet his boots on it. A gloating smirk on Bald'rt's face told him he certainly had.

  Ulric very nearly expected the [Lord of the Deep Wood] to waggle his eyebrows at him. Bastard.

  For just a second, Ulric took a moment to compose himself. He was so goddamn out of depth here. He had no business being in this room talking to these people. But this was where the path led, and he had to do his best.

  "I have suspected, for some time, that there was an anomaly with myself. Aside from the entire concept of being ripped from one life and placed into another.” The transplanted engineer confirmed without duplicity, “The Forest Lord was not a creature within reach of a normal human. No matter that its arrogance, and advanced age, perhaps, left it completely open to attack, it should have been beyond me. I find I have thrived in circumstances where I should not. Discussion with the agile wit of the young Heir of this land has reinforced this hypothesis. But there's nothing I particularly can, or want, to do about that situation, so I haven't bothered to worry about it. Varda has proven itself to be almost hilariously dangerous. I want every advantage to resist its challenges. It isn’t enough for me to survive, I want to live, unrestrained by circumstance." He explained.

  Which statement turned his thoughts back to the utter necessity of establishing some kind of trade for resources and a tutor. He wasn't ready to face this world. Not really. He'd lived as a virtual hermit, too afraid of the exploding population of monsters and dangerous animals to explore the canopy truly, and the forest floor had become increasingly hazardous. He'd relied tremendously on his guiding Elven friend to prevent being eaten on the way to civilization. By good fortune, and some Watcher assistance he’d stumbled around combining scientific conceptual knowledge and barely understood magical power to hammer out spells that were useful. In two cases, he'd produced spells that probably should have been given the care of a watchmaker, rather than his cludging around, because he’d almost managed to kill himself in their first deployment.

  "This returns us to our current topic of discussion regarding trading materials and some sort of mentorship." Ulric prompted.

  Nodding the Crimson Sphinx finally reclined to ease her…presence… in the room, before announcing with perfect clarity

  "Then let us start with our debts. You have returned our child to us. In exchange, though this is no fault of yours, you have taken another child. I call this debt canceled. Our daughter will provide adequate protection to you, beyond anything you could have bargained, and thus we owe no obligation of any more of our people to train yourself to greater power."

  Now this was fae all over.

  Titania over there was outlining the terms and conditions. Ulric considered her argument briefly. Ulric hadn't helped Brighteyes because he'd wanted anything so that "debt" hadn't really even existed, so far as he was concerned. Goodwill? Certainly, but not materially being owed anything. That they would view it so wasn't in his control. If that was reason enough to negate the clear dissatisfaction the Elf queens had with Bald'rt's decisions, and perhaps avoid any indirect fire from their displeasure as a result, it was a pure win.

  Best not to say too much regarding that though, the slug churning in his skull decided, let them think he'd done them a favor, the best negotiations were where both parties thought they were winning.

  "That is fair.” Ulric granted, conceding nothing, “It does not change my intention, however. I still desire to open trade relations with the Iriel'en and to find someone who can teach me to use my power without destroying myself with it."

  Ulric's declaration was taken with neutrality, a slight dip of her chin indicating that the Sphinx was satisfied that this aspect of the bargain was closed.

  The rest seemed to be similarly at peace. Bald'rt had even relaxed slightly in his seat, apparently glad that his decision would not cause him undo friction with his wives in the future. For his part, the Iriel’en King was happy to see how this freshly minted Lord of Varda’s glory would handle himself under the scrutiny of his potent mates. Swimming in fast rivers was the surest way to demonstrate one could swim, but also the least certain way to survive the showing.

  Ulric raised the next point.

  "Your people are at war. I hold no love for the ones who have provoked you. They are no kin nor ally to me, nor does my apparent heritage influence me toward them. On the other hand, I do have some fondness for the Aes’r of these lands. Both from the companionship of Brighteyes who is a properly admirable lad, and for the hospitality of Bald'rt Iriel Chief and the generosity of his kin.” Outlined Ulric slowly, sidling into his next point, instead of plowing straight ahead.

  When no one interjected the visiting Lord, who felt not so Lordly, at all, continued steadily, “I have learned that some of the materials I have harvested from the Ancient Glade are of use to your people in this respect. Of particular mention, the cores of the beasts I hunt, their bones, hides, and what useful organs I know. I have plants from the glade that make potent poisons, even beyond that of the Striped Bark Snake, which I had the misfortune to taste. There are, almost certainly medicines as well, my people’s adages say that where one is found, so too with the other."

  Pausing a moment, he then deliberately placed his trident on the floor and reached into his pack to remove the items therein that he'd brought for, if not this very purpose, a similar one. In a minute, there lie neatly sorted stacks of items which drew the attention of all in the room, royals, warriors, and attending staff alike. He felt like a street hawker, displaying his wares, but there was no other way to make his case that the glade’s bounties were many.

  Ulric gestured to a pile of bone objects: a polished hunting knife, like the one he carried himself, hollow tipped arrow heads of teeth ready to hold paralytic or lethal sludges of toxins, a trio of bone awls, chisels, axe heads in three shapes for carpentry, hewing, and the biggest pain in the ass of the bunch to make, shingling. Beside these finished works he had an assortment of raw claws or teeth, the last he possessed.

  "These are made of the bones of the Forest Lord. I'm given to understand that they are of great value for their hardness and strength. I have a limited supply of the raw bones still, though many are of odd shape, such as vertebrae, bones of the digits, and such. Even so I trust that the Elven artisans and scrimshaw experts can find use for them, even if only decorative use."

  Next, he gestured to the glass-resin broadhead arrowpoints, ivory handled folding razors, and some wrist sized cylinders which he unscrewed, a feature that made eyes light up. It had been a revelation that the heat softened glass-resin could be molded. Rotating the cylinders against a bone chisel had cut matching threads which let two hollow cylinders screw together to make hollow tubes. A hollowed thigh bone and some other similarly straight bones had served as his molds for these cylinders, just heat the glassresin and pour. Brilliant simplicity. It came to him while he dripped melted glassresin in a hollowed arrowhead to seal the bottom.

  "Glass-resin is a material I haven't seen anywhere in your structures. This comes from the rootsap of one of the giant trees on the plateau, specifically the fallen one which created my glade. Cold, it is extremely hard, but brittle, good for exquisitely sharp cutting tools, rigid seals, and containers. Hot it can be shaped, melted, and molded like wax. These containers are water and airtight, they are especially good for storing things you don't want getting moist like herbs. Speaking of which, I brought several that might be of interest.” Ulric explained.

  A few of the guardsmen smiled, breaking their steady regard.

  Uses for such material, and those storage devices, were already in mind for the veteran soldiers of the Deep Wood.

  Onward with the show, Ulric pointed to the leather roll containing pressed plant leaves and small glass-resin vials of various powders, “This one I call Nerveroot. It paralyzes within a few seconds starting at the extremities and working its way up to the chest. A small pinch worked into a grease coating for arrows kills a Bolt Deer within a minute. The root is far more potent than the leaves, is extremely dangerous to process, and I have both here. The next I call Heartbane because the very, very small dose I tested, a thumbnail of the raw leaf, made my heart rhythm unsteady and the Fellwolf I shot with it dropped instantly, its heart torn apart by violent spasms of the muscle, from what I could tell on dissection. This one here, is nonlethal, I called it Burning Gut because in forces your stomach to empty and your bowels to water with incredible pain for about half a day, don't ask how I found out. There are a variety of others, especially this collection of mushrooms, but I don't know what they all do, other than nothing would eat or touch them, and even sniffing them gave me a feeling that I couldn't test them fully without risking killing myself. That they are likely highly toxic is nearly certain, but alchemy is not my expertise, it would take an herbalist more skilled to make determination of their exact properties and toxicology."

  There was little chance that the herbs would prove useful themselves, but it might stimulate the interest of some of their alchemists or whatever the fuck passed for pharmacy in this place. Everyone knew potent medicines were frequently found in isolated environments.

  Next, he pointed to the small stack of fist sized cores, the great crystal of the Forest Lord sitting prominent, the size of a soccer ball, where it had bulged inside his pack’s contents.

  "I frankly have no idea what to do with these monster and beast cores. I harvested them because I felt like all the parts of the kills I made should be used, and the organ that harnesses Varda’s Field should be important, but I don't know what they're good for. Still, you all probably have uses for them."

  Lastly, he indicated his bowstave, and the opus of his crafting potential, a brace or hand drill. Which was probably laughable to the level of wood craft these folk possessed, but he demonstrated its use against a Steelwood board to demonstrate the ease of the geared torque to permit him to effortlessly use a glass-resin bit to produce a perfect hole in a minute. That task, with a hammer and chisel and rasp or sanding stone would have been half an hour, at least.

  "Last is my technique for making a bowstave from layers of Steelwood, bone cores, should you have a creature with skeleton of the right makeup, and a recipe for a fast-curing glue. It's got far more power than the normal wood staves I've made. It sends arrows faster even than the bow my Shadow was turning against me the other day, unless you lot are using something really special she didn’t have. Similarly, I can show you how to make this type of hand drill mechanism, the bits too. I don't think know how much of your wood work requires joinery or dowels, but these can be scaled up and operated with belts to do very interesting things. It beats boring holes with chisels and files."

  He strung the bow with his braided tendon string, grunting lightly at the effort to do so. It had sat unstrung for too long and he'd need to limber it. A couple of fierce exertions later doing so and he held it out for someone to test. He'd have to tell them they should warm the things next to the fire for a bit before stringing them.

  Bald'rt gestured for one of his guards to give it a go and the female warrior who'd laughed when Brighteyes retold of his slander against Geyrt stepped forward to take it. She brought it up and gave a casual pull which attempt failed. She looked at him disbelievingly and then refirmed her grip, widened her stance, and drew with intent. The recurve creaked slightly and all could see the effort it cost to make the pull. She held it for a couple of seconds and slowly returned it to ready before speaking.

  "It pulls nearly like a Heartwood core, but stiffer with better flex. It will have phenomenal power. But Hunters and Warriors will have to train its use, it's a heavy thing to draw. We could use these, my lord." She rendered her verdict.

  Bald'rt and his first wife were now interested. A more powerful bow than even Heartwood staves? And not selling the stave but its method of creation? Now this was a thing of value.

  First Wife-san pulled her ruby eyes away from the bow. She addressed Ulric with barely concealed desire.

  "Some of these things we can use. Others, while precious, will not be available in sufficient quantity or time to change the outcome of the coming conflict. Therefore, let us consider only those items that can provide an immediate benefit to our cause. The rest we will negotiate for when we are able to transport peoples and goods between Iriel and your own glade. The cores, the bowyer methods, and the construction of this hand drill. These we will trade for until peace allows the Iriel'en to move freely again. What price would you ask for them?"

  Ulric mulled that over, trying not to weep for joy.

  Again, the honorable folk had offered a reasonable stance for negotiation. They weren’t dicking with him here, but dealing in fairness. Trade would not really be possible until peace had returned. Winter was on their doorstep. Ulric didn't know much about how warfare was conducted on Varda but his historical knowledge, limited to historical treatise and somewhat negated by the absence of magic there, and the absence of weapons of mass destruction here, had Winter as a time when wars generally ground to a halt due to the sheer difficulty of fielding and supplying troops through the cold. Magical shenanigans might be possible to reverse that truth, although Ulric couldn't immediately think of how, unless there were weather wards, spells to prevent the roads from becoming impassable, and ways to prevent illness from spreading in close packed camps, when the damp and cold favored it.

  If the imposition of Winter held true across worlds, that meant they were months out from even starting the armed conflict. From there, no telling how long it would take for that to shake out, though, if the mercenary poachers who had taken Brighteyes were an indication of their average strength, the men who had instigated this war were about to learn a hard lesson.

  A couple of dozen Geyrt's would shred a battalion.

  Judging by first-hand experience, and the words of these Elves he’d spoken to, even briefly, they’d turn an enemy advance into the forest into a death march. If Bald'rt did what Ulric had a feeling he could do, they'd need a thousand soldiers to stop him.

  He realized he was overthinking it, no decisions needed to be made on that front just now. Ulric stilled his hands and refocused on the matter at hand.

  What did he really need right now? What did he need that he could not obtain for himself from his glade? Ulric needed manpower, mostly. And flour. Agricultural products he couldn’t obtain for not having had either crops or a growing season in which to harvest them. He could make most of the things that would improve his comfort with but a little time, and some not so specialized materials.

  Power was an option, with some wire and a sufficiently powerful magnetic material. The water wheels especially tripped his mind down cobwebbed corridors of his mechanical engineering training. Transmissions, gears, belts, electric induction generators, the methods of transforming one form of energy into another.

  Steam.

  He was almost certain that he could generate a Sterling engine or combustion engine, provided a sufficiently energetic fuel existed, that would far outstrip whatever mechanisms were at work in the mills here. Unless they somehow used magic, in which case he was probably never going to make something that some impossible Elven mage hadn't already whomped up.

  They couldn't just use magic for everything.

  Could they?

  Damnit he'd gone off rail again. Didn't matter what things he didn't know magic could do, he knew what he needed, and that was part of the puzzle. He didn't have any use for hoarding things, if it would secure an advantage. He replied evenly.

  "Winter comes to the lands. I have prepared the necessary supplies to wait out its bitterest duration, so long as the winter here does not endure beyond the three or four months with which I am familiar. That reminds, I must return to my home soon, or see it ransacked by the marauding beasts when they find it undefended as they escape their canopy confines. Allow me to grant your people the cores and objects I have brought as a gift towards your war efforts, perhaps they will be found useful enough that you decide you would like more of them sooner than later. This should secure future discussions of trade rights between us, if your people have need. My own greatest need is teachers who know this fae world."

  Brighteyes' mother raised her eyebrows at this. And Ulric was briefly worried he was being presumptuous about the value of the things he'd brought.

  "My husband spoke true; you are over humble. These goods can be put to use now, none of the products of the glade you have assembled have been ill chosen and, indeed, some of them are irreplaceable. Are you sure that you would not bargain harder for them?" She asked with a slight disbelief in her voice.

  Ulric immediately shook his head, he had been prepared to lose everything he'd brought here, if only to secure the good will of these people. Life in the glade had been hard, a constant struggle. The saying back in the Before, ‘It takes a village’ was not a lie. The limiting reagent to primitive life was time and carbohydrates. Time to obtain and use the materials available, carbohydrates to fuel the former tasks.

  "Things are things. I am only a single man, I do not need three knives when I can only wield one. No. More than things, what I need most in this world is knowledge and aid. What has been my greatest enemy thus far is ignorance. I lack the common-sense knowledge of even a child of this world. Let us trade knowledge for knowledge. I want to know about cores, about magic, how to move, mold, and use mana. I want to know about the seasons, their duration, about the plants, beasts, and monsters that roam the land. I want to know about the races and their histories, the folk who occupy Varda that I might encounter should I decide to travel this wide world. What I hope to purchase with these goods is good will. What I hope to purchase with my knowledge is the power to grow strong enough to stay alive and protect whatever I deem worthy of protecting." Ulric spoke honestly, from his heart.

  There's power in truth. In saying something real, when all around you know it is real. Ulric had lived through over forty years of people saying things they didn't mean, telling small lies, obfuscating, ass covering, out-right deceiving. It made him sick. It was one of the reasons he started to hate interacting with people. You just had to watch them lie to your face and you were expected to take it, just let them speak nonsense as if it were hardened fact. He was convinced, to his bones, that humanity in his old world was doomed, if for no other reason than that they would eventually lock themselves into a situation where the only way out would be for everyone to accept a fact that was unpleasant or be destroyed. And they would choose to believe a beautiful lie, rather than that fact. They were insane.

  So it was that when he discovered that the Elves tolerated absolutely no lies within their society, he had found a people with whom dialogue was meaningful. Every perspective was valid, held value for being real. Even when those perspectives clashed, were divergent, were not aligned to one another's interests. It created actual argument, true communication. Because, at least you were guaranteed to be speaking towards what the other person thought was real, rather than the projected insanity in which they tried to cloak the world through deliberate deception.

  When Ulric had finished speaking his desires, he harbored no doubts that his intent would be heard and understood. That didn't guarantee a favorable outcome. It did guarantee that no one would believe he had an objective other than the one he had stated. Which was good enough for him.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Brighteyes had nodded along to his declared intent. They had spoken of such things around the hearth of his home in the glade, those nights that they spent discussing the future. He had said that these ambitions were "properly Elven" and would not be ill received. And, indee,d it was so.

  Bald'rt clapped his hands once loudly, the echo ringing through the halls.

  "Well said [Lord of the Ancient Glade]. Things are things. What use have they but to advance our interests? I will agree to this. It is worth the loss of a few experienced soldiers and mages training time to secure a perpetual improvement in our armory. Better still, this, Brace? Yes, this brace is a fine craftmanship. Holes are, in fact, often carved using chisels, files, and saws, until the less experienced carvers develop their skills and classes, especially, but this? This device produces a bore of precise dimension in a fraction of the time, repeatably. Only the more experienced craftsmen who can directly manipulate their materials through manipulation of their cores could do such faster." the Elf lord announced cheerfully.

  He then threw a curveball.

  "You say you need to return to your glade for what is certain to be a harsh Winter? I will offer an alternative. Stay in Irielhos for the Winter, your aid to my son and gifts offered warrant no less than that hospitality. Lumyt'seit's description of your abode is…rustic. I do not mean to insult, but you have barely achieved even the vaguest modicum of comfort have you not?"

  Ulric couldn't deny that. He was living like a mountain man.

  "I cannot refute that. It's been a rough few months trying to restore something like rudimentary civilization to my home. I was on the cusp of some drastic upgrades before I came across your son, but I will freely admit events have thrown my plans to the wind. I do not go into this season as well secured as I intended." Ulric confirmed.

  Still Ulric didn't want to just abandon the camp or its stocks, the beasts would decimate the place if he wasn't around with all that food stored.

  "May I make an amendment? Your offer of wintering is…I'll admit it, it's a kindness I wouldn't have asked. I can survive the season as I am, but I do not claim it will be pleasant. As a slight favor, could we arrange a detachment of warriors to return to the glade, extract the stores and perhaps even more of the supplies I'd intended to trade, and return to wait out the winter? I did not bring anything more with me than I deemed necessary to make travel and make good on a bargain, not that I really have so very much to begin with. Still, my camp requires some amount of attention to avoid being ruined before my return." He reasoned.

  Brighteyes' mother answered in place of her husband.

  "That is fair. You interrupted your own preparations to meet the needs of our son. It is not out of the question to devote a small contingent to settle your home and provide for your comfort during these darkest, coldest dances of the Twins. We will see it done. The Winter's Herald is at our door, however. The return will have to wait for the storm to pass, then we can make the arrangements. You will join us for the festival yes? I promise it will be an experience. I cannot even remember the last time one of your kin partook of the event." The golden consort said warmly.

  Bald'rt confirmed his wife's words.

  "This is so, travel during the storm is unwise. Fortunate you were that you managed to reach this place before its onslaught. I will have a group of Warriors ready at festival's end. It will be no difficulty to trek to the Forest of Forgotten. Indeed, I think most would revel at the opportunity. It has been a long time since we were able to pilgrimage through the Elder trees. The winds of change are in the branches of Iriel now. But change has come before, and change will come again, and through it all our roots will hold deep. The Iriel'en will stand to watch the seasons of this world come and pass. But enough, the Twins are over-head, join us for lunch, Glade Chief." The Elf lord proclaimed.

  And, just like that, Ulric had become a guest of the Elves.

  See? Good things happen to people who do good things.

  Dinner with the Iriel's was…nice. Ulric was seated at the single long table in the hall midway down the tremendous thing. The room had been restored to order since the chaos of last night. To his side Geyrt stood silently, not joining them. Ulric nearly asked her to sit but thought better of it. She had been quiet throughout the entire ordeal that was her father's idea of a joke. There were cultural practices in play that Ulric was not versed in, and it probably had to do with this Shadow business. Some, anyhow.

  It had come to his attention that he had not seen a single person address Geyrt directly, at any point, the entire day. Not even to ream her out. Nope. Just total silence on the Western front. He was not going to commit another social gaff by inviting her to sit at a table in which she was not welcome, even though he was fairly sure it would be excused by his ignorance.

  He would ask her later, in private, where he didn’t embarrass her, again, through his profound ignorance. Watcher's tits did it feel awkward though, somebody standing behind you while you take a meal.

  While some of the staff swept up the debris left by his royal person's abrupt, and abortive, flight across the hall, others brought out an assortment of greens, meats, fruits, and ye gods, bread. Ulric had not had bread in months. He had dreamed about bread. Muffins. Pizza. Rolls. Pizza rolls. He thought he might tear up.

  The royal persons took their seats at the head of the table in, what Ulric had to assume was the order of their position in court. The [Lord of the Deep Wood] sat in the middle position of honor at the end. To his immediate right sat Vedyr, who must be his first wife since she had birthed his eldest son and daughter. Next to her sat the Crimson Sphinx, who was the second wife. Ulric still knew next to nothing of her except for her inscrutability. And, you know, the two obvious things. Last in line sat Lady Gold Beast, Brighteyes' mother, the third wife.

  How, exactly, had the petite woman gotten the monicker Beast? The image of the King of the land sailing like a thrown ball across the room played again. Oh. Yeah, probably that.

  What a line up. If it would not have been such an incredibly rude thing to do Ulric would have whistled and applauded Bald'rt. And maybe given a eulogy for him, Ulric doubted very much that a single man would remain in possession of his pants with three powerful, incisive women at hand. No sir, one of these ladies would be wearing them in short order instead. Brighteyes sat to Bald'rt's left but one seat down the table the first remaining empty, the next eight seats following him were set but empty.

  Ah.

  Ulric would have bet his hand that those seats left empty were for the children not present, seats of honor. Then that missing seat must be for the fallen son. That was a surprisingly poignant gesture of these practical people. If he was not mistaken, that seat had been held empty for a hundred years or near. It was a powerful message to the Valin guest of fae folk. They did not forget their fallen kin. Ever. Would they forget those who had caused those empty seats either?

  Ulric took a moment to digest that.

  These Elves lived for hundreds and hundreds of years. And they would spend every meal of every day of those lives with a seat set for their fallen or absent children. No wonder they were tough nuts to crack. Brighteyes had said that the social circles amongst them, rings, were very tight. Probably friends who had known each other for decades at least. Maybe centuries. What the hell kind of grudge would they hold against the ones responsible for those empty seats and broken rings? And there was a group of people dumb enough to start a war with these folk? Madness. Whoever these Prespang people were, they had no idea what kind of hornet's nest they had stirred.

  Ulric deeply hoped he would never do something to turn that kind of ire against himself. He nearly shivered at the thought of one of the monsters at the end of the table having a vendetta against him.

  Enough of that though, Ulric shelved this line of thinking. It'd spoil the food. Instead of brooding, he ate with the family. There was a cool fruity beverage that was, thankfully, not related to the spirits of the previous night. The meal was taken in silence. That was familiar, Brighteyes had rarely ever spoken over his food. Even so, there was a distinct feeling of subdued joy at the table. Clear it was that the parents were happy for the boy’s return. All of them directed pleased glances over to kid’s way unconsciously and Ulric took a peak…Hey! The scars were gone!

  Brighteyes had taken a bit of a mauling from the Heckler Monkeys including a serious bite on the side of his chin. They had bandaged it as best as they could, including using an herb that Ulric knew for a fact was useful in staunching blood loss.

  Do not ask how he learned this.

  But the closing wound had been nasty and was definitely going to scar. Talented healers had been at the boy, clearly, and had done wonders. Ulric had felt badly that he had been unable to protect the child completely, even though it was unreasonable to expect such. The deep wood was dangerous. Now, at least the physical manifestation of his failure was erased and the kid would go on being a heart stopper when he grew up. Magic was definitely a game changer. Ulric couldn't wait to figure out what he could do with it, his "spells" were more throwing raw energy and basic principles around than the work of a mage.

  When the presented dishes were cleaned and the eating utensil, a twin forked implement with a deep bowl-shaped depression in its center, because of course the Elves ate with sporks, was placed cross ways over the plate to indicate the eater was finished, another round of snacking items were brought out. Light blue berries in wooden bowls.

  Now, it seemed, speaking was polite.

  Clan chief that he was, it was the beautiful man at the center of this room that broke the silence after having taken a bowl of berries into his lap to snack.

  "Ulric Glade Chief, how did you find your accommodations?" He asked amiably.

  "They were wondrous Bald'rt Iriel Chief. I had not realized how much I missed a proper bed since I arrived here. Even without the overindulgence, I do not think I could have slept more soundly. And, please, Ulric is just fine. I have to admit I'm not very comfortable with the appellatives." He returned, reaching for a berry to munch on.

  "Excellent. Then let us drop such formalities. As I said before they are unnecessary, outside of official business. I am glad to know the bedding was to your liking. Made softer, no doubt by the presence of Sinna's sister over there." Bald'rt continued in his same tone nodding slightly to the same Warrior who had tested his bow.

  Ulric nearly choked on the berry in his mouth having inhaled sharply.

  "Was your morning as eventful as your…Ahh! Forgiveness wife! I jest." Bald'rt cut off as his first wife calmly wiped her knife on the furred napkin in her lap.

  "What I meant to say was, I hope you were not too tired from the festivities to enjoy a…"

  He shot a furtive glance to his left before continuing.

  Blood was slowly seeping through the sleeve of his shirt.

  "…a peaceful morning." the Elven lord finished lamely.

  Ulric had managed to just avoid requiring medical assistance with the berry. That bastard elf king. He should have known a tiger wouldn't change its stripes. Silently, he said a prayer that the Ladies of the House were present to keep the man, elf, whatever, in line.

  Now though he was in uncharted territory. How exactly did the Elves handle casual bonks? Was a drunken romp socially the same as a deliberate courting? Hmm…no. Bald'rt had given him a hint earlier, hadn't he? He said they were throwing hands…ok that was probably a game of chance, rock, paper, scissors for Elves. Which put them in a new light, he'd never have pegged the Elves for being so…forward. Not that he was complaining. Equity in the sexes was a fine thing. Flattering even. It had been a long time since he'd felt desirable, let alone been treated as desirable. Best to be circumspect, but honest. He didn't want anyone to think he was bragging but neither a prude.

  "Another's heat on a cold night is always welcome. I hope the song on her lips when she left was a happy one." He said simply.

  That was, so far as he was able to read the crowd, an appropriately modest response. The Warrior's sister, Sinna, one of Bald'rt's honor guard answered.

  "It was. She sends her regards and hopes you won't limp too badly today." The Warrior's voice low and smoky and slightly challenging.

  Oho? So, we are making jokes are we? Ulric decided it was not outside the bounds to return in kind. Nothing too sharp though, he really had had a good time and it was all in good fun.

  "You may tell her that she's welcome to try and cripple me again, but someone should warn the neighbors. She has a fine set of lungs, in addition to other things." He returned confidently.

  Limping indeed.

  It occurred to Ulric that this is probably why Brighteyes seemed more mature than his physical age suggested. These people held little back amongst themselves. They might be averse to opening up around strangers but in their comfort, little was off limits, so far as he could tell. And, with a father like Bald'rt, who needed vulgar Uncles?

  The Warrior acknowledged his riposte satisfied that her sister's drunken fling wasn't being dismissive. He didn't find out until later, that she'd also thrown hands for the claim. Elves partied hard. Not so surprising when a walk in your back yard could get you eaten alive by some roaming monstrosity.

  Apparently though that was as far as the conversation was supposed to go, to his relief; Ulric had never been a kiss and tell type of guy.

  Clearing her throat, Brighteyes mother, again, returned the Hall to something resembling solemnity.

  "Please, our guest has endured enough teasing. Anymore and it will be another few hundred years before we get a visitor from outside. Let us steer onto more productive tracks. We are in agreement on the matters of state and Winter's Herald is on our doorstep. The Glade Chief will need to be made comfortable with a permanent quartering, dear Hal'et will need her rooms for a little longer yet. This we will arrange this very hour. Take the afternoon, Ulric, and roam Irielhos. Make the citadel as familiar as your home while we make ready. A guide will be sent to you to show you to your rooms. And remember: Eldest Daughter Geyrt may be your Shadow but you are responsible for her care and comforts. I will expect you to see to those as station befits." She announced.

  Warm and comforting. But with a will of steel was that one. A velvet glove wrapping a gauntlet. It was good that Brighteyes favored her. He wouldn't survive long if he took after his father, unless he was equally as monstrously strong.

  Thus dismissed, Ulric thanked the Iriels for their kindness and wished them a good day before exiting the hall.

  Simultaneously, he and his Shadow breathed a long, deep, sigh of relief. Mirrors thrown in a skewed light.

  Ulric looked over at Geyrt whose normal calm, slightly hateful, but calm, demeanor was held by her fingernails.

  "Is it always like that with them?" He asked.

  She shook her head, lips pursed before she answered.

  "No, that was worse. Father likes you. It makes him more…unreserved. If not for mother Bathe and Vedyr keeping him in line, he would have been nearly intolerable. Before he married her, my mother, Vedyr, had to constantly remind him not to prod the guests. It was especially bad with ambassadors of Otherkin.” The imposing beauty commented, her neutral tone hiding what she thought of that.

  “He often played a game seeing how far he could push propriety while making them think they were having serious discussion. Mother Shor enjoyed the game too much to stop him and sometimes helped him lay traps to further entangle. It was incredible what they could maneuver petitioners into as they thought that playing along would grant them favor. Sometimes, father did it to provoke them to give him cause to kill them, if he found them distasteful. This is especially true of the jackals from Prosper. They are the ones who…never mind. We have a blood debt that was resolved. Not forgotten though." She scowled at that last.

  "Never forgotten." Her voice had turned to Winter's own.

  They took off walking, Ulric simply deciding he'd like to make a wander through the citadel-town, as Brighteyes’ impressive dam suggested. Taking in the almost alien beauty of buildings that fairly grew from the massive trunk around which Irielhos spiraled, he considered all he'd learned of the Iriel'en and their ruling family. And, yet again, Ulric was convinced that whoever sought a war with these people was *ahem* barking up the wrong tree. You're welcome.

  "If it's any consolation I find that I like them too.” Ulric admitted with some degree of unease, he wasn’t used to finding people tolerable so quickly, “Your Mothers scare me just a little. If they keep your dad toeing the line that's probably a good emotion to have. Brighteyes is a great kid, real potential in that one and I think I’d trust the lad to handle most anything with a level head. Your da Bald'rt reminds me of a very good friend of mine. We used to give each other shit constantly." He told her as they descended a stair.

  Her nose scrunched. Even disgust was pleasant on her features.

  "Why would you exchange dung with friend? Is this a Human thing?" She asked, clearly skeptical about her future prospects.

  Now Ulric was frowning. Idioms did not translate well. No reason to think they would, he supposed. Too much cultural backdrop involved to let it transfer one to one. He'd have to consider that. They wound through various pavilions, Elven architecture on full display in the afternoon light, undiluted by the forests. Ulric had only rarely been able to see the Twins, the name for these paired stars, in their full glory at zenith. Deep orange and blue-white spheres, radiant.

  "It is a figure of speech in my old society. It means we trade jests at each other's expense. A friendly contest of wits for fun and to make the other laugh. Very much like what your father does…but I suppose with less chance of one of the parties getting killed for saying the wrong thing." Ulric explained.

  His Shadow's face returned to its usual slightly dissatisfied calm. What you might call an RBF. Resting Bitch Face. Ulric had always preferred to think of it as the expression of competent people surrounded by idiots. All too often that had proven true. His project manager came unbidden to mind and he shuddered slightly. Gods he did not miss that woman. Given a choice between a pack of Heckler Monkeys and enduring that spider mimicking humanity he would take the chattering, shit flinging, biting little fucks every time. And, yes, he was referring to the monkeys.

  "Oh. Then yes, that is mostly accurate. You hold your own position well for one so young to the game. But you are still no match for Father, he could force you into a challenge inside of an hour, if that were what he wanted." His Shadow informed him.

  Both a compliment, how unexpected, and a warning. Unnecessary but welcome, nevertheless. He'd figured out long ago he was not the equal of the Lord of Iriel. In essentially any way. There's always a bigger fish, that's just how the world is. Any world. It seems Geyrt was going to fulfill her obligations as a Shadow, protecting and advancing his interests. He wondered if she would have intervened if he had made a major mistake in the earlier deliberations. Rude or not, that had him curious enough to ask.

  "If I had made a serious mistake in my negotiation with your parents regarding establishing exchange of goods and knowledge, would you have been under obligation to inform or guide that negotiation to a better outcome?"

  Looks like he caught her with a changeup on that one, by the twitch of her ears and the widening of those vivid orbs. She took a solid minute to think it over, following as he approached one of the great sources of his curiosity: an Elven forge. Not intending to disturb its patron yet he simply leaned against the rail of the pavilion.

  Here on this tenth level or was it the eleventh? he could bask in the warmth of the suns and the vista of Iriel stretching out below. It wasn't quite the view from the escarpment of the Ancient’s Plateau but it was definitely up there with most amazing sights of any of his lives.

  "That…is a difficult question." Geyrt said suddenly, surliness replaced by contemplation.

  "I am bound to support your interests and to protect your life. Even above my family's own. For all intents and purposes their daughter is dead until my time as your Shadow is ended. To all Iriel'en, I am not really a person of my own will, more an extension of yours, a part of your shadow, hence the name. The only circumstance in which that changes is if I marry into a House. That is partly why Father presses his point, I think. It is a jest, but also not. If he could force you to accede, to accept the joke for real, he could have his daughter back among the living. Or if another could likewise be compelled." The dark beauty said with sadness.

  And there it was. The nagging suspicion of strange Elf goings on confirmed. Geyrt had been, for all intents and purposes, exiled from society. She was dead to the world of her kin. It was the only way her father had been able to prevent her death in truth, the only way to enforce the core precepts of Elven society or law or both, that did not involve wading through the blood of his own daughter.

  Geyrt's perspective shored up some of the unknowns involved with that meeting nicely. A feint and an attack in one movement, so to speak. Hidden behind the intensity of the Elf lord's prodding humor was a political move of great finesse. A bold gambit to save his favored daughter and then to reclaim her, all through the acceptable tenets of their culture. Even if applied in a way that was sure to raise eyebrows, if the responses of his wives were any indication. And all the subtle Elf had to do was maybe maneuver a foreign lord, na?ve to the ways of this world, who could not be expected to understand the intricacies of proper Elven culture, into hunting some probably fantastically dangerous beasts which would shed much of the disfavor of the Iriel'en, and, even if not, couldn't be held against him as he wasn't, technically, bound by those customs.

  Ah what a man would do for love of kin.

  If Ulric wasn’t reading too much into it. If these thoughts weren't just the paranoia of a person who didn't have a great track record deciphering his own society, let alone one as foreign as the deep wood folk.

  Well, what was the use of having a Shadow if you weren't going to use it?

  Ulric laid out his hypothesized scenario ending with "and please don't think that I would hold this against him, it's what I would do".

  For once, he thought he almost saw respect on her features.

  "Then you understand. This is good. Even a worms in head Valin with more meat than sense can grasp the way of things. If he is held by the hand." She said with a tone bleeding sincerity.

  Oof. Maybe not. That backhanded praise was far, far more cutting than any of her insults had been. He supposed it was too soon to expect cordiality. Actually, scratch that. Cordial was not going to be in the cards with any person as surly as his new Shadow. A viper that had had its fangs pulled was still a viper. But the ship was turning. At least he was a person now instead of merely a personification of her grudge.

  Take your wins, Ulric thought.

  "Yeah well, not like it matters too much. The Dragons that circle the castle pretty much vetoed the entire plan." He returned drily.

  "What is your meaning? Dragons? There are no dragons in Irielhos." Geyrt asked, thoroughly confused.

  Again, Ulric was finding that a commonality of language was not a guarantee of communication. He had to explain the idiom of dragon ladies. When he had she caught the meaning and, just almost, cracked a smile. But then, no, the face of a judge rendering nothing but guilty verdicts returned.

  Damn it! That was a winner too. It would be the work of a lifetime to pull a chuckle out of her. Might as well try to milk rocks. He wouldn't give up though. In the same way that he enjoyed putting needles in soft places he did also enjoy getting a too serious person to lighten the fuck up. Nobody made it out of life alive. You might as well enjoy the ride.

  One day, he promised himself. He'd get her one day. He only briefly considered asking Bald'rt how he'd managed to appease Vedyr, so similar were their countenances. Given their encounter earlier, that would be a severe mistake and end up putting him back into the kettle, full boil.

  Shelving that side project, Ulric considered their current situation. Oh yeah, he needed to figure out what exactly his obligations included. Specifics had merely mentioned "care and comforts" and something, something, "befitting her station". Which meant that Ulric actually had no clue what the hell he was expected to do about her. When in doubt, ask, it was not his way to beat around the bush.

  "Geyrt, what are my responsibilities towards your person? Do I owe you a salary? Do you require a tithe of all the gains I make? Is this a room and board situation?" Ulric inquired.

  This the Elf woman answered immediately.

  "A Shadow is considered to be part of their lord. They rank according to their lord's rank. You are [Lord of the Ancient Glade] which makes me part of that status, and your court would interact accordingly. In actuality, you are a realm of one so most of that is moot. You will provide for my housing, at a location close enough at hand that I may guard your sleep, and my sustenance. I also require outfitting and maintenance of any such gear as I deem necessary to serve your person. It has been practiced that a Shadow, being an extension of their lord's will, has an open writ to their lord's coffers and simply draws what is needed from that. Since you are here under Guestright and have accepted the hospitality of Irielhos that extends to me as well. Such things will be considered when my parents make their arrangements on your behalf. So, effectively, you need do nothing other than take care of my needs for proper equipment, to the best of your ability until we return to your domain. Or wherever else you wander off to, I suppose." She finished with some amount of hopelessness.

  Life had gone downhill quickly for the old gal.

  Self-inflicted wounds still bled. He would know. It was very likely that, had he not experienced a downward spiral in his final years, he would be far more lacking in empathy for her. Even with that, raw anger had prevented him from caring what damage was done before. Now though, Ulric found he had traded one responsibility for another. Exit Brighteyes, now safely home, enter Taipan to bite him if he weren’t careful.

  Not that anybody asked, but he'd prefer Brighteyes' even keel to what was sure to be a bumpy ride with Geyrt. Regardless, he was now responsible for her well-being. Towards that end he decided that he would treat her with kindness, when that was possible, if not warmth. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to bring himself to like this woman. And he still needed to find time to work out a way to be rid of her, without violating some wacky Elf cultural rule that got him killed.

  Ulric sighed, remorseful of the days when he’d never seen another person. Things really had been much simpler by himself in the glade.