“I’m afraid we were not entirely forthcoming during our meeting earlier,” the Sylrithar said.

  I gave him a sidelong glance from my position behind Aerion atop a horse he’d lent us. We were currently waiting for the Sylrithar’s forces to strip the downed elves of their weapons and armor. Even with as much Mythril as these elves boasted, I supposed it was prized enough not to let it rust on corpses.

  “Your situation in the forest isn’t as stable as you’d have us believe,” Aerion said with no small amount of bitterness, surprising both me and the Sylrithar. While that was certainly a theory I’d been entertaining, I was going to wait before I jumped to conclusions. Aerion seemed convinced, though.

  “It’s exactly as you’ve guessed,” the Sylrithar said, hanging his head. “There are not one, but four elven clans in the Sylvanglades. One is mine—I did not lie when I came to you as the leader of my people, the Sylvan Guard.”

  “And I’m guessing Elwend and that er, elderly woman, lead the other factions?”

  “Lord Elwend of the Farwatchers and Lady Lirael of the Keepers of Time, respectively,” the Sylrithar said. “Our clans are allied, and though we do not always see eye to eye, the Tribunal has maintained the peace between our clans.”

  “And the fourth clan?” I asked.

  The Sylrithar’s expression darkened. “They fashion themselves the true guardians of the forest, claiming to follow in the footsteps of our mythical ancestors. In reality, they are warmongers and xenophobic bigots who’ll spell the end of our forest. They call themselves the Sylvan Reavers.”

  Aerion visibly stiffened, and I myself just barely kept my eyes from widening. That was unprecedented… and honestly a little strange.

  “Reaver,” I said. “Sounds fierce. Unruly. Those elves didn’t strike me as anything like that.”

  Elwend shrugged. “Just a name, in the end. There is little in their combat arts that differs from our own, despite the Reavers eschewing Dominion in favor of Wisdom.”

  Aerion’s back slackened in front of me, and I could almost feel her disappointment. I had to agree—even back on Earth, it wasn’t especially rare for names to be tied to something out of mythology, despite having practically nothing in common with the root of the word.

  “Their power cannot compare to that of our combined alliance,” the Sylrithar continued. “We did not anticipate that they would act so brashly… Clearly, we were wrong, and for that, you have my deepest apologies.”

  The elf bowed his head, which Aerion and I acknowledged with a nod.

  “Well, it wasn't your forces that did it,” I said. “If it was, I would've been a lot more pissed off. A lot of a good people died here, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't pissed. That said, no one’s perfect. Just wish you'd told me more about the politics in your forest. We might've altered our plans if we'd known.”

  “Indeed. For that, you have my deepest apologies,” the Sylrithar said solemnly, looking like he meant it.

  At least I had a clearer picture of things now. And even if these Reavers weren’t any different from the Tribunal faction’s, I felt they were definitely worth investigating. Maybe their ancient texts would shed light on Aerion’s powers. If they really did possess similar abilities, then it stood to reason they struggled with the same drawbacks—namely, the inability to think clearly while under its effects. If so, there could be some answers there.

  Even I had to admit it was a stretch, but there was only one way to find out.

  “So you’re hoping to sell Dominium on your Tribunal faction in the hopes that they’ll help subdue the other clan?” I asked.

  “Rather, we’re hoping the Reavers fold on their own accord when faced with the combined might of our elves and Dominium’s forces. Though they might worship a different god, there is no reason we cannot coexist. We must, if we’re to survive this cycle’s Cataclysm.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. The fact that these Reavers worshipped a different god made me wonder if this conflict really was just a mortal affair. If the gods were involved behind the scenes, who could say what would happen?

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  As was usually the case, there had been a kernel of truth to the savage elf rumors, and neither side had been entirely correct when pleading their case to us. Elwend and his elves did want to make up with Dominium and work together against the Cataclysm as a means of avoiding the destruction of their home… Yet it was also true that the elves had been slaughtering caravans. Not his elves, granted, but elves nonetheless.

  “So, what now?” I asked. “It didn’t quite go as planned, but I feel like we held up our end of the bargain. Alistair will go back to Basecrest and tell him of your strength and your mercy. That’ll give Elwend the ammunition he needs to appear in Dominium to plead his case. With us tagging along for further evidence, I suppose.”

  “Indeed, events are proceeding smoothly. The Tribunal will honor our agreement. Besides, what better way to get you to vouch for us than to shower you in hospitality?” the Sylrithar laughed.

  Whatever their reasons, whatever their politics, as long as they gave us the sort of gear and training they promised, I wasn’t about to say a thing.

  “But you’ve had a long journey, and an even more stressful battle. Come, allow me to show you to your new home. Settle in, relax, and then we can hammer out the details.”

  The ride to the forest was brief, once the elves had finished pilfering the corpses. Both Aerion and I were surprised that while every bit of Mythril was taken, none of the rest was. Not even the nice steel swords some of the others carried.

  I’d been tempted to nab those for myself, but had to remind myself that our current armaments were quite a bit better than anything there. Other than netting us some coin—something we had in spades thanks to our recent escapades—it was better to wait for the good stuff the elves had promised. I only had so much space in my inventory, after all.

  Though we’d made this trip once before, being blindfolded and thrown over a horse was a far cry from getting to take in the sights in a leisurely manner.

  Both Aerion and I fell silent, not out of any need for secrecy, but on account of the sheer majesty of the place. Thousand-foot-tall trees didn’t sound anywhere near as large as they actually were. That was made all the more true by their girth. The largest redwoods on Earth didn’t hold a candle to some of these colossal trees. Some were nearly a football field in diameter, their roots the size of buildings.

  And inside these trunks, starting a few hundred feet up, and running vertically, were small cutouts that overflowed with lights. Thousands upon thousands of lights.

  Fantasy skyscrapers. We’d gotten a brief glimpse during our escape, but wow! The sheer scale broke my mind. How many thousands of years—tens of thousands of years—had these existed?

  “I never tire of seeing outsiders’ reactions, as rare as they are,” the Sylrithar said.

  When I finally tore my eyes off the incredible sight, I found the elf smirking knowingly.

  “I could see this a thousand times, and I’d have the same reaction.”

  “You would be surprised at how quickly the mind grows accustomed to such things,” the Sylrithar said, looking up wistfully at the tree trunk. “These trees support every aspect of our livelihood. From the wood to craft our bows, to shelter from the elements, to heat for our fires, food from the local growth, textiles, and everything in between. Truly, they are the life givers, and we their stewards.”

  “Boring into them doesn’t wreck their health?” I asked, trying and failing to count the sheer number of windows I saw carved out.

  “We take extreme care to build only in ways that do not harm the livelihood of the trees, reinforcing where needed with magic. It is old knowledge, passed down by our ancestors, and governs not just the trees, but the surrounding lands as well. How best to nurture growth, how much to harvest and when, and what to cut to minimize the damage fires cause. Without it, we would be lost.”

  “Your ancestors sounded like pretty wise people,” I said as we reached the stables by one of the great trees and dismounted. While none of the trees here were small, only the largest had light holes poked into them, evidencing elven dwellings. Despite that, if I really strained my eyes, I could see what looked like walkways—maybe highways—up where the gigantic boughs and branches were.

  “Indeed, though our modern triumphs are no less impressive. We’ve constructed a network of paths between the sacred trees, interconnecting the hubs of the various tribunal clans,” The Sylrithar said, seeing us craning our necks. “A relatively recent invention, and one we’re quite proud of.”

  “They must run for miles,” Aerion muttered in awe.

  “They most certainly do, and they could not have been constructed without the rather unique Blessed and Boonworthy among our ranks. Now, would you like to chat out here, or shall we go inside into the heart of our society? The side we rarely ever show outsiders?”

  Aerion and I exchanged a glance before breaking out into grins.

  “Enough teasing. We’ve been dying to see what’s in these trees of yours.”

  The Sylrithar smiled. “Good. Then follow me,” he said, approaching a set of large double doors embedded into the trunk of the great tree. “And do try not to be too amazed.”

  I laughed at his words. I’d seen so much back on Earth, after all, and while the trees could be pretty spectacular, they weren’t exactly anything I couldn't comprehend.

  If only I’d known just how incredibly wrong I would be, I’d have sewn my mouth shut.