"Can you ride?" the Elven knight, Sir Gydian, asks haughtily, as if he's not sure. I'm a broke boy human, after all. Maybe I've never seen a horse before.

  "Yes," I answer simply, not rising to his brazen disrespect, though I can tell it rankles Reka.

  He brings with him a troop of men-at-arms, also women-at arms! They're clad in silver mail and ride in formation around him. A cluster of human servants trails behind, leading heavily-laden pack animals, but we have the honor of riding with the knight himself.

  Alice is staying behind to manage things at Tar Guldrim. I'm sure she'll do her best. Semuel remains, sharing my saddle in sullen silence. He hasn't said a word to the Elves, and they've been ignoring our Dwarf companion in turn.

  These Elves look flashy, that's for sure, and too foppish to be fighters, but looks can be deceiving. Sir Gydian's hair tumbles in perfect auburn curls, bouncing with the gait of his horse. I can take him, probably.

  "So Tar Guldrim is sworn to your duchess, the Lady Alexia?" We're riding slowly and taking in the scenery, perfect for making conversation.

  "That place?" he says with some disdain. "Aye, that's so. My lady retains diverse human vassals, holding the less-important lands on her behalf, an unfortunate necessity, especially since the war. A proper Elf lord would never agree to reside here."

  Mixed-race society, huh? If this duchess is an Elf, then the queen is as well, I'll bet. A human elite, such as it is, is tolerated to be middle managers out here in the sticks. If Baron Taras is any indication, they don't have much influence.

  Then why us? I wonder.

  The further south we travel, the better the roads become. Reka and I have made a game of making love uncomfortably loudly in our tent at night, just to annoy the Elves. The awkward expressions on their faces the next morning are positively priceless.

  Land travel is much slower, I find. Sailing to Tar Guldrim took no time at all, two days with fair winds. Reka tells me an equivalent distance on land will take two weeks, even with paved roads and stone bridges over every stream. Our way is south first, then we turned east once we passed a large mountain.

  Little by little, woods recede into cultivated land, and on the eighth day, we reach a village with a proper inn.

  "Thank the Evervirgin," one of the women-at-arms mutters tiredly. "Hearing those two rutting adventurers every night was spoiling my sleep."

  That's the idea! Bitch.

  Once we're alone in our own room, Reka holds a finger to my lips to shush me. "Aleia!"

  There's a sudden heaviness in the air. "Noise cancellation?"

  My wife nods. "We can speak freely now, my love. What do you make of these Elves?"

  "All show," I say honestly. "They're just on top because the humans are poor and starving."

  Those bright green eyes of hers burn with approval and something I can't quite place. Anger, perhaps? Being human, Reka has to resent all this as much as I do.

  "Yeeeees," she says, putting her hands on my shoulders and leaning forward till we're almost nose to nose. "You have the right of it, Brad. Their magic is a danger, yes, but their warriors are made for tourneys, not battles. You could overthrow any of their best, I don't doubt. Why, in the war, they sent human and Dwarf levies to the front while they cringed behind, only joining the battle once both sides were exhausted."

  God, she sounds so bitter. "I'm sorry." I pull her into a comforting hug.

  "It's not your fault," Reka says into my chest. Then she pulls back and looks at me seriously. "Keep your wits about you in the presence of any Elf. They are duplicitous by nature. Observe what is said but also what goes unsaid. We will learn much from this Lady Alexia, I think."

  ***

  Nothing could possibly have prepared me for the shores of Lake Ethilion. Pleasure barges with prows carved in the shape of swans, dragons, and stranger things ply the pristine waters. Fields of yellow wheat ripen over the horizon. Vinyards and well-appointed estates in a style reminiscent of Renaissance Italy can be found on either side of a well-paved road in good repair.

  Here, even the workers are Elves. At the post inn we stayed at last night, the groom who saw to our horses was an Elf. He had short, curly hair and a chestnut-brown complexion, which I'm told is the most common look in these parts. The sun here is warm and bright but never scorching. How different my perceptions of this world would be if I came here first!

  A paradise, yes, but I can never forget the miserable state of the human villages we passed by, only a few days' ride to the west.

  Magic! I see the first magic of this world, other than Reka's spells and Semuel's curses. Birds of blue flame fly from tower to tower carrying messages, or so Sir Gydian explained to me with all the patronizing patience of a being completely convinced of his own superiority.

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  And these towers! They are not built in stone or brick but crystal glass, reflecting cheery prismatic rainbows visible for miles and miles, such is the habitation of the better sort of Elf. Their knights and lords and such live in clear, clean palaces, reflecting their pure, clean hearts in the light of the virgin goddess Elbereth Evervirgin, patron of these lands.

  Grandest of these towers, by far, is a pillar of glass rivaling even the skyscrapers of old Earth: the seat of the Duchess Alexia Starglade, younger sister to the queen herself. Oh, how Reka's ears perked up when she heard that!

  "You will address the duchess as 'your grace,'" Sir Gydion instructs us after we dismount. Servants rush forward to take charge of our horses and bring refreshment. Being guests, human or no, they offer us golden goblets of sweet, fruity wine. I only drink after Reka does first. "Oh, and here is a bucket of water and some rags. Wash yourself as best you can and change into your finest clothes. You will be presented to Her Grace within the hour."

  This tower isn't fortified at all, I observe. There are no walls or gates or even guards. An attack here seems unimaginable, hardly anything like Tar Guldrim on the edge of the woods.

  We three, for Semuel is with us, depart for an isolated corner where Reka can cleanse us with magic. I'm not letting the dirty water in the bucket touch me. Such disrespect!

  "I'm not going to be able to speak for us this time," Reka says in frustration. I'm already stripped naked, and she's dressing me like a child. My courtly outfits are all in her trunk.

  Semuel absolutely refuses to change beyond allowing Reka to strip the dirt and grime off him with a quick spell. "These Elf pricks won't bother to look down, anyway," he mutters darkly.

  "What do you mean you can't do the talking?" My voice squeaks in borderline panic. This isn't some pissant boglord like Baron Taras. This chick is a heavy hitter! What am I supposed to say?

  "Our cover story, my love. You are a lord's son, aye, but I am a merchant's daughter. An Elflord might deign to speak to a highborn human, but not his common wife."

  Shit! The whole point of the cover story was to explain why we had nice things!

  "Seriously, what do I do?" I ask while she's tying on the sleeves of my doublet. God, I'm already shaking.

  "Be bluff and honest. Play the part of the boisterous barbarian, for that is what she'll expect. Elves have no problem with humans doing the fighting for them. Be as respectful as you can, but rough manners will be excused, even accepted. She would not have summoned us except at great need. Most like, we're about to receive a job offer."

  We are a matching pair, Lord and Lady Regis, in our house colors of purple and silver. I wear a doublet and hose, with a sword at my belt nobody has asked me to take off. Reka is beyond beautiful in her finest gown, the very one she wore at the welcome feast in Malmark Castle almost a year ago. No glasses, sadly. That fashion choice would attract attention.

  A page wearing robes of green embroidered with golden leaves summons us, and we follow the boy, or perhaps tomboy, into the tower atrium.

  There are more plants inside the tower than out, with vines creeping up the crystal walls. Manicured grass and flowerbeds serve as the floor. As artificial as the glass towers look, the decoration provides an elegant contrast of natural beauty.

  "Sir Brad Regis, his lady, Reka, and the Dwarf Semuel, an adventuring party of the C-rank," announces a herald.

  "That's our cue," Reka says, taking my arm and steadying me. Semuel follows behind, trying to look inconspicuous.

  A canopy of leaves used as a doorway rises up, and we walk through the gap, right into Lady Alexia's court. Soft music of tinkling chimes and airy flutes lends the hall a dreamlike quality. Polite laughter from dozens of guests and courtiers echoes with a low rumble off the crystal walls.

  There!

  Lady Alexia sits on a throne of gilded wood, styled to appear as if it grew naturally out of the ground. Her hair is dark and curly, cut short, and her skin is the same shade of light brown as most of the Elves around here.

  That gown of hers is cut daringly, almost a stripper dress, with a bare midriff, well, mostly bare everything. Cleavage is not considered particularly sexual here. Even "good girls" have dresses that are basically push-up bras. Legs, though? Showing ankle is slutty. Reka's dresses never show ankle. Somehow, the duchess gets away with showing thigh. Maybe it's to show off all her jewelry? I see golden armbands, bangles, a necklace, and a great green jewel bound to the cloth covering her bust, the parts she chooses to cover.

  She's got visible abs and a sharp smile.

  Don't think she's pretty. Don't think she's pretty. Don't think she's pretty.

  "Sir Gydion has been telling tales, I see. These fine folk don't stink at all!"

  The whole room bursts into raucous laughter at the duchess' joke, covering their mouths with handkerchiefs. Reka and I try to smile as if they're not laughing at us.

  I feel pressure on my lower back and bow on reflex. My wife curtsies beside me.

  "And what manners! I didn't know Men knew how to bow!"

  Her voice, at least, is nothing impressive, very basic bitch.

  "You may raise your heads," she says kindly, but there is no kindness in those eyes. "I am the Lady Alexia Starglade, Duchess of the Demon Marches, and heir to the throne of Elberetheia."

  Heir? Holy shit. Does she want us to kill her mom or something? Reka nudges me, and I gulp. Now or never.

  "Sir Brad Regis, adventurer." I try not to say more words than necessary.

  Duchess Alexia reclines on her throne. "I'm not familiar with House Regis, but noble houses rise and fall all the time among you mayfly people. It's hard to keep up."

  "What would you have of me, my la, I mean, Your Grace?"

  She actually claps for me. "You remembered my correct form of address! Such a cultured lout you are, indeed! And indeed you're right. A big, strong Man like you has many uses." She leers at me like an old pervert.

  The peanut gallery erupts into laughter again. I thought these people worshipped virginity or something!

  Once the chuckles die down, Lady Alexia continues. "I'm told your party completed a C-rank mission that turned into a B-rank." Her tone has shifted, more businesslike now. "With no losses, even. Well, I've got another B-rank for you. Orcs are not the greatest threat in my lands, you know. My royal sister calls for a new fleet to be built."

  Sister to the queen, not daughter. I file that information away and notice Reka listening intently as well. Did I hear that before? I don't remember.

  "You would have us build it for you? My Dwarf friend Semuel is a great carpenter and naval architect-"

  Semuel looks at me quite angrily for drawing attention to him. Sorry, buddy.

  Alexia raises a hand to stop me from explaining further. "Nay, I have shipwrights in plenty. What troubles me are the Ents, the treewardens of the deep forests. We will reckon with them, you and I."

  "We?"

  Mischief dances in her eyes. "Of course. You will need my magic to complete your mission. We're going together."

  Duchess Alexia Starglade

  The journey so far, Alexia's land, the "Demon Marches" are circled