Part Two
The Ward of the Wild
Only in the Crystal-Mist do you find brown bears of such size that we have distinguished them as a species apart. The cave bear is truly a giant among its kind. Though solitary, and often even shy, these creatures are not to be taken lightly. It is true that they often gorge themselves upon fruits and berries. But as apex predators, they are capable of killing a gostrich or even massive roan moose with a single swipe of a wicked, clawed paw.
— Dirrik Blersh, The Wondrous Creatures of Alissia, an Appendix
On the evening of their eighth day after being carried to Lake Silverfinn, Aehyl and Portean finally returned to Vistadora.
They had traveled westward along the wild edge of the Crystal-Mist, veering southwest only after reaching the Western Jace River. The only bridge for a hundred miles spanned its breadth, an old but sturdy structure, joined by road to the elven capital.
The city, wreathed in the soft hues of spring, rose like a dream beyond the trees. After all they had endured, the sight of Vistadora felt impossibly welcome.
But one thing struck them cold.
Encircling the forested city, a massive wall was under construction, timber-laced stonework climbing in quiet defiance of centuries-old elven tradition. The very idea of elves building walls was absurd. It was not something either of them had ever imagined they would see in their lifetimes.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
From her vantage, Aehyl spotted sentries, whistles at their lips and bows in hand, posted high in the watchtowers. They scanned the forest canopy with quiet vigilance, their eyes shifting between the winding roads and the wall crews, who continued their work even as the last light faded from the sky.
One young guard, stationed in a lofty perch nestled among the tree limbs, spotted them. He recognized Captain Portean immediately and offered a crisp salute, posture straightening with practiced pride.
Grinning, the lad gave Aehyl a cheerful wave.
She lifted a hand in return, but only half-heartedly. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Through the gates and deeper into the city, a low, whining rumble echoed from one of the cobaltean apartments built for visiting non-elves. A moment later, a bear of staggering proportions burst from the widened archway of the structure, barreling toward the approaching elves at a thunderous pace.
Before Aehyl could calm him, the massive beast reared, wrapped her in a suffocating embrace, and nearly flattened her beneath a mountain of fur.
Caught between returning his affection and trying to breathe, Aehyl thumped her fists against his thick flank until he finally relented, dropping to all fours with a satisfied huff.
“What were you thinking, you smelly nitwit?” she scolded, brows knit in mock disapproval. But she couldn’t stay angry. With a laugh, she threw her arms around his enormous neck and hugged him fiercely.
“I should never have taught you that trick,” she muttered, spitting strands of coarse brown hair from her lips. “It was adorable when you barely reached my shoulders. Now I’d need an ogre standing nearby for it to even be remotely cute.”
Portean, unable to contain himself, barked a laugh and dove in, locking his arms around Draefus’s thick ruff with a mock-growl that sent the bear into joyful convulsions.
Aehyl inspected her bear-son shrewdly.
He seemed in good health, if perhaps in dire need of a bath.
“Well,” she sighed, brushing a bit of fur from her tunic, “I suppose we should find the Circle before my mother corners us. There’ll be no escaping after that.”
Portean and the pleased animal grunted in agreement.
“You know, Portean,” Aehyl began as the odd trio made their way deeper into the living city, “why do I sometimes get the feeling that you and this nitwit speak the same language?”
