To say that the wood elves in the Bloodwoods were an army with a country rather than a country with an army would not be an exaggeration. It would also be a stolen phrase, but Argrave supposed such things didn’t matter if one crossed over to another world. Still, he kept this thought to himself as the Supreme Myriarch led the royalty of the party to meet with the myriarchs. Nikoletta joined them, too, to officiate surrendering the ‘hostage.’
They walked across the open clearing of the elven city. The children watched with distrust, but their parents watched with caution or outright contempt. Even still, there were no incidents. The Veidimen were fitting in well, assisting with disassembly of creatures or eating or any number of the thousand tasks to do in the city. The Magisters, however, ate alone with a quiet caution of just about everything near them.
Finally, the Supreme Myriarch dipped below, heading into one of the large buildings below. Once inside, Argrave recognized this place as the commander’s room. Here, the myriarch of a Tumen would communicate with his officers. Now it served the same purpose, though the Supreme Myriarch would instead communicate with his myriarchs. As Argrave made way for Anneliese, Orion, and Nikoletta, he sized all of the elven commanders up.
Of the three myriarchs here, two of them were S-rank spellcasters. One they had seen coming in—Myriarch Batbayar, Ganbaatar’s mentor. He had dropped that tree on them. The other S-rank was Myriarch Otgon. Argrave’s eyes lingered on this one for half a heartbeat—this elf was the source of the malfeasance in the elven army, the one rotten egg in a batch of flawless discipline. His main sin was nepotism, but that sin made him puppet to another far rottener egg: namely, one of his officers.
The last, Myriarch Purev, was as magically mundane as the Supreme Myriarch. Still, none of those present could be discounted. Even Otgon, corrupt as he was, had tremendous intellect and leadership capability. Theirs was truly a meritocratic society. With golden hair and red eyes all, they seemed a completely unified clan, gathered around a rough square table as if to judge Argrave.
The Supreme Myriarch took his place at the head. “These are the commanders able to attend this meeting,” he explained. “All of the others are direly needed at the north to hold back the tide of winged demons advancing day by day. Myriarch Batbayar engaged with you as you entered… and Myriarch Otgon was responsible for carrying out my order to block off the centaurs’ holy land. The last is Myriarch Purev, responsible for the Army of the Wire.”
“I hope you do not mean to say the white-haired one is your cousin,” Myriarch Otgon began with some disdain. “Even we can tell an impure elf from a human.”
“Anneliese is my queen,” Argrave said with some pride, then put his hand atop Nikoletta’s shoulder. “Nikoletta of Monticci is my cousin. And hearing your arrogance, I question if you’re capable of holding your side of the bargain,” he shot back with equal aplomb.
“She will be safe,” Myriarch Purev assured—he was a grim and hard man, but exuded trustworthiness. “And her… father, is it? We will make our best effort. But humans do not live long in this forest.”
“That’s all I can ask for,” Nikoletta answered solemnly, seeming resolved to confront her father’s corpse if it came to that.
“Myriarch Purev—handle the king’s cousin,” the Supreme Myriarch delegated at once, sensing there would be the least problems there. The man stood and walked to Nikoletta, ready to move her along. “Once you have men on this, you may return.”
Argrave gave one final farewell to Nikoletta, saying, “Be safe.”
In response Nikoletta only gave him a brief hug, and then they parted. Argrave turned back to face Otgon, Batbayar, and the Supreme Myriarch.
“When we spoke, you mentioned seeking to learn of Bloodwoods cartography,” the Supreme Myriarch began.
Otgon scoffed. “Supreme Myriarch, if I may… can such a thing be surrendered so easily?”
“Can gods be so easily roused?” Batbayar said levelly, though with a force behind his words that was impossible to ignore. “Now is time to put aside disdain. The enemies batter at the north relentlessly, and discrimination earns us no allies.”
“…fair enough,” Otgon conceded, crossing his arms.
The Supreme Myriarch nodded in contentment, pleased he did not need to intervene. Argrave stepped to the end of the table opposite him and said, “I don’t need to learn the lay of the land fully. What I need are portions of the land where it might be vulnerable to collapse—places with caverns, caves, or perhaps even abandoned mines from the days of the ancient elves. Without roots in place to hold it solid, I believe we can cripple the centaur army without expending significant manpower.”
Argrave could think of caves in the region from Heroes of Berendar, but they were not fresh enough on his mind to pull together a plan of this caliber on short notice. To lure the centaurs into, or force, a landslide would be the perfect way to slow the centaurs’ assault. Broken legs and crippling falls would take some time to heal, and so they would retreat. Ideally, all the elves would have the time to prepare for the assault against Kirel Qircassia.
“How many men would you need?” Batbayar questioned, evidently intrigued.
“If we can find a proper location?” Argrave looked to Orion, and the prince gave him a quick nod. “One.”
Otgon laughed, but neither Batbayar or the Supreme Myriarch joined him.
“My men talked about a monstrous warrior that disrupted them. He could tear apart the ground with his bare hands, and no matter how hard he was struck he continued rampaging.” Batbayar rose, then pointed to Orion. “I believe he looked like that. And his armor still bears the marks from battle.”
“I have fought centaurs before,” Orion nodded. “Though fast… I am faster, stronger, and tougher. I can serve as the bait around which they rally.”
The Supreme Myriarch shifted on his feet, looking impressed. “That’s a generous offer… but one man alone might not draw their attention. Let my Kheshig assist you, should this truly prove to be a viable idea.”
Otgon looked at his leader. “…and what of your safety, sir? What of our southern front, left undefended for an ally of dubious reliability?”
“Our gods walk among us once again,” he responded. “Behold their forms as they spread their divinity across this land and ask if these people are the opposition that we need fear.”
Batbayar nodded in agreement, and then rose to his feet. “I can help with this task of theirs. Spellcasters that can work the earth are best suited for surveying the underground. I can gather a suitable force. Still… I cannot promise it will be quick. Days, at the very least.”
“Waiting that long will not cause problems for the forest?” Anneliese asked. “For your people?”
“Razing takes time,” Otgon answered. “It will damage the forest greatly, but the elven city in the area has already begun its migration, leaving wire traps to cover them. Can I order my Tumen to fall back completely, Supreme Myriarch?”
“You can,” he confirmed. “Then… you’ll be working with Batbayar, Argrave. But beyond that, we must refine our plan of assault on this breach by the foul interloper, Kirel Qircassia…”
#####
After a long strategy meeting, they exited that building to be greeted by the red moon directly overhead. Argrave watched it for a bit, and then looked to Anneliese. “Thoughts?”
“None of them,” she shook her head. “I cannot think any of them have ties to Erlebnis—or at least, not ties strong enough to draw an emotional reaction. We extracted what we could in the situation.” Her gaze wandered. “But frankly… the culprit must be among us.”
“Then…” Argrave sighed, mind running through the list of culprits. The Veidimen extended the list by many magnitudes. “Let’s suss out who that might be.” He paused for a moment, and then looked to Orion. “You’re alright with what I asked? I didn’t… push too much on you, did I?”
“I fought the Shadowlander, Your Majesty.” Orion pounded his chest. “Beastly people will prove little challenge.”
“Don’t discount them,” Argrave said, still feeling guilty. As his mind worked, he said decisively, “I’ll be near, ready to step in. And other than that, you should hold this.”
Argrave sent out a blood echo, casting a spell. It was a B-rank blood spell, and it conjured a huge claymore of blood. Orion took it firmly in hand.
“This greatsword…” he began, holding it near his face. “It conjures memories. My father used this in battle against me. And I used it to sever his hands, cripple him as a spellcaster and a human.” He swung it once, striking a monstrous image. “I can feel its power. And the black blood is far different from the nightmarish blade in my memories.”
Argrave hesitated to speak again, watching the prince brandish the blade with grace. “When the battle comes… will it help you?”
“Indeed.” Orion nodded, planting it down. “Weapons tend to break in my hands. But this…” he gripped its blade, squeezing tight. His gauntlets suffered deep gashes, but the bloody edge held strong. He slammed it against his knee, but even still it stayed straight. He nodded decisively. “With this, I can face all comers, Your Majesty.”
Argrave looked at his brother. Once, he’d felt only fear near him. Now, there was a certain security with him around.
“Like I said, I’ll be nearby,” he said, tapping Orion’s shoulder. "Unless you've forgotten the power I showed at the elven realm, that should comfort you."
Argrave would be sure to preserve this lunatic, even if he seemed determined to face death. It was the least he owed him.
