The Supreme Myriarch stared ahead at giants moving through the trees, trampling the overgrown roots of the Bloodwoods beneath their feet as though they were common twigs and not the redwoods comprising their homeland. From this far away, they almost seemed like normal-sized elves walking in one of the small forests beyond these lands, where one determined human with an axe could fell a tree in less than a day. But that image was ruined in seeing what rode on their shoulders—namely, people.
“Reporting, Supreme Myriarch,” Batbayar pulled himself onto the branch the Supreme Myriarch perched atop, then gave a salute. “My scouts confirm that those riding on the shoulders of… our gods… are the very same who broke past the southern border and sought refuge in the centaur’s tunnel. Should we take further action?”
In thinking what was best for the nation, the Supreme Myriarch often first thought of what would be worst for the nation. And what would be worst for the nation… surely, it would be angering their gods. That would sow irreparable disunity in all Tumens. With the centaurs rampaging, the winged demons seizing their high homes, and the grounded monsters nipping at them from below… many felt it the end times. Already, people thought this coming a salvation—a light amidst darkness.
The gods asked to meet with him. And as a leader, he could not refuse them, even if they brought humans on their shoulders.
“I shall receive them with the Kheshig,” he decided, then reached into his Amarok-leather armor’s pocket.
The Supreme Myriarch blew a whistle quickly, and then jumped down from the trees. He nimbly maneuvered through the canopy with elven wires in a show of extreme prowess, and in a few moments was joined by a coterie of his kin moving quickly enough to put even his skills to shame. These were the Kheshig—guards of the Supreme Myriarch, and archers skilled enough to strike a man down even if he hid beyond the horizon.
As they grew near, the elven god with long golden hair stretching down to his feet—Merata, god of agriculture—slammed his crook upon the ground. The nearby redwoods all bent and contorted to his will, and the Supreme Myriarch and his Kheshig slowed in caution. Roots and branches and trunks all heeded the god’s directive, pushing through the forest ahead of where they walked. When they stopped, all the forces called upon converged to make a platform.
The scarred patriarch of the gods, Ghan, reached up to his shoulder. Those standing by his neck walked out to that hand, and he lowered it to the platform where they stepped off. As the Supreme Myriarch watched, he noted their group was not human alone. There were elves of impure heritage in great numbers coupled with one of their true kin, undoubtedly born in these woods.
“Do not act rashly,” the Supreme Myriarch reminded his Kheshig, and then began his departure towards this platform.
The wood elves landed on the sturdy wood platform that felt as alive as any branch one after the other. Even in this extraordinary position, the Kheshigs maintained a disciplined formation that was well positioned to protect the Supreme Myriarch in the event of any danger. And as they watched, four approached.
Their apparent leader was an exceptionally tall human with obsidian-colored hair reaching his shoulders and calm, confident gray eyes. He had a heavy gray duster on, beneath it a metal breastplate depicting a sun with four biting snakes as its rays. His movements left a bewitching maroon trail, lending every action he took an otherworldly dignity and grace to it. With gods standing behind him, all felt small before this single man.
At his side walked an impure elf of the northeastern continent. Her clothes matched the human’s perfectly. Her long white hair fell past her waist, presently braided back in a half-crown to keep it from blocking her vision. Her amber eyes seemed like a calm that came before a storm—the Supreme Myriarch had seen their like on great commanders. His intuition about the measure of a leader had made him successful as commander of all Myriarchs, and he felt this woman had that measure.
Beside and behind the both of them walked a gargantuan knight in golden armor and an elf of the forest, still clad in Amarok-leather armor and still with wires hidden in his bracers. Though he was well and truly born to this place without a doubt, the Supreme Myriarch did not recognize this kin of his. He wondered how his name had escaped Myriarch Batbayar’s reports.
“I am King Argrave,” the leading man introduced himself, placing his right fist over his heart. “I reign over all the lands of Vasquer with an army in excess of one hundred thousand willing to fight for me, a number growing day by day.”
The king of Vasquer. That title alone invoked enmity, as those who held it caused great wars of ages past and ostensibly stood responsible for the dissolution of the Old Empire. Yet now this title was conveyed in a manner customary to their people, not in the belligerent fashion in which kings reputedly acted. Tumens often had disputes, managing ten thousand soldiers as they did. Disputes or negotiations began with introductions and establishment precisely as the king displayed.
The Supreme Myriarch raised his brows briefly in surprise, but recovered quickly and responded in kind, explaining, “I am the Supreme Myriarch of the Bloodwoods, commanding all pure elves alive.”
The king looked pleased, like he was speaking to the person he’d hoped to speak to as he continued, “Standing at my side is my queen, Anneliese, and my treasured brother, Orion. I have come here at the behest of this good elf, Ganbaatar, as the leader of all humans in Vasquer, as the protector of my family, and as the favored of your gods.” As though to prove this claim, the man held up a worn coin, though the Supreme Myriarch was ignorant of its purpose. The king continued formally, finishing, “I seek peace and cooperation between us, that we might drive out the threats that endanger both your homeland and the entire continent. I have aided your gods in returning to this realm as a show of goodwill… and an act of optimism for the future.”
Though the words were formal and customary in their society—a formal introduction, followed by establishing the purpose of the meeting—both the purpose behind them and the gravity of the man who spoke them caused the Supreme Myriarch to feel a rising nervousness. Discipline and duty kept him composed, and yet even those two constants were pushed to their limits.
Now that formality was set aside, the Supreme Myriarch spoke more freely and questioned bluntly, “Can centuries of hostility and war so easily be set aside, even if we both will it to be so? Wounds linger on my people. A little over a decade ago the king of Vasquer led his swords singing into battle, seeking elven flesh.”
“That was my father’s doing, not mine,” the king raised and waved his hands, his stiff and proper speech gone. “I won’t make excuses. I love my family dearly… enough to die for them, even, but I hold no love for my late father and his actions were inexcusable. They were unjustified wars of conquest, nothing more. But another god threatens to eliminate all of you in the wake of his descent, and I believe that holds the greatest importance.”
“You must notice that times without a precedent come,” the queen, Anneliese, spoke. “If your people seek restitution, let us aid in preserving their lives where they were once ended.”
At the impure elf’s words of unique times, the Supreme Myriarch’s gaze wandered to the gods standing behind as silent authority behind the king’s words. Ghan and Ujin, patriarch and matriarch, and Chiteng, Dairi, Gunlik, Merata, Lunho, Orda, Murgid, and Volgar, the five sons and three daughters… this could be no human trick. Even as his gaze wandered, he saw elves filling the canopies to behold this scene.
As Supreme Myriarch, he favored neither the religious nor irreligious elves in the Tumens. The law dictated religion was a personal matter, and never to be used as excuse for disputes. But this… this spoke of things afoot grander than what mere mortals were able to contend with.
“I simply cannot consent to human forces entering the woods en masse, even if they come to our defense,” the Supreme Myriarch shook his head. “Our borders must be preserved.”
“Rather fortunately, I don’t intend to bring in human forces en masse,” Argrave said with the faintest smile. “Just as you faced winged demons, my people face the risen dead—and soon, far worse. I cannot spare enough to send an army. I must protect my family and my people.”
“Then what do you intend?” the Supreme Myriarch pressed.
“Supreme Myriarch—though I violated the chain of command, I sought Argrave’s aid in securing us, alone, as sole vying species in the Bloodwoods.” The one named Ganbaatar stepped out and kneeled. “He intends precisely that.”
“You do not kneel,” the Supreme Myriarch reprimanded by instinct. “You are a soldier, not a subject. Rise.” When Ganbaatar came to his feet, he turned his gaze away and stared at this king for a long while.
Everything about this meeting had been staged perfectly. The king adhered to local customs, brought one of their kin with them, brought the backing of the gods themselves… certainly, everything was in place for easy acceptance. But the Supreme Myriarch defended against conquest by deception as much as conquest by sword.
“I need a guarantee of your sincerity,” the Supreme Myriarch said.
“Such as?” the king pressed. “An example in battle, perhaps? We have time for nothing else.”
The Supreme Myriarch stared, thinking. From what the king had said of his love for family, and from what he knew of the human kingdoms, they placed much stock on blood relations.
“We would take one of your kin with us to establish sounder relations,” the Supreme Myriarch decided.
The king narrowed his eyes. “Is that necessary?”
“If you’re sincere, yes,” he nodded, feeling this was all the more pertinent after his hesitation.
The king stepped away, speaking to his queen in a hushed tone. He looked torn. When he turned back, he said heavily, “…I can do this. But this is a very significant gesture. Those beneath me will be greatly unsatisfied to bending, and I can’t be perceived to lose face. If you can help with this…”
“What must be done?” the Supreme Myriarch pressed, deciding it must be a human custom.
“My cousin, Nikoletta. She’s here with me today. Over a month ago, her father entered this forest. If you take her in under the pretext of aiding search for her father, and indeed make some effort to genuinely do so…” Argrave sighed as though this concession weighed on him heavily. “I will instruct her to stay here. But if she is harmed, there will be no forgiveness,” he cautioned, voice low.
“I can spare a hundred good men for a search and give them the authority to extract information from all Tumens in the forest,” the Supreme Myriarch suggested.
Argrave’s lips twitched as though he hid a smile, but the somber expression that soon overtook his face suggested that it was merely a mistaken observation. After a time of mulling, he decided, “Alright. She can stay with your people.”
The Supreme Myriarch sighed, some tension draining from his body. “If this is true salvation, it is welcomed. We face threats from the north every passing day—winged demons, just as you said. Now, with the centaurs attempting to raze every part of the forests…”
“The centaurs?” Argrave pressed. “They’re launching an attack?”
“Aye. A raid like nothing we’ve ever seen before,” the Supreme Myriarch nodded, relaxing a little. “Their numbers were thinned greatly by the disturbance of the roots in the woods, but when united, they are a force to be reckoned with. If they had our discipline… we would be dead, surely.”
“Hmm.” The king closed his eyes. “I haven’t intended on doing this early, but… if things are like that, plans need to change.” He opened his eyes again, and faint traces of maroon danced on the grays of his eyes. “I can demonstrate sincerity best by helping you overcome this problem, certainly. And in cooperating, we will come to know each other better.”
The Supreme Myriarch nodded. “Then… it is time for you to meet more than our armies alone.”
