Morning light bathed the interior of his apartments in a soft golden glow, wood grains vibrant under their limelight. In the midst of a particular sunbeam, Ulric watched dust particles drift in Brownian adventures through the air, and considered the effect of his gift. Things were definitely perking up. Geyrt was thrilled with her new toy and, he had a feeling, with the prospect of putting it to use on someone. Ulric could imagine that some kind of ritual celebrating the fact that it had drunk the blood of her little brother's enemies was in her near future. Those circumstances no doubt played a role in her enjoyment of the instrument, which she still hadn't put down. Just as Ulric was starting to question whether she'd be sleeping with the damned thing in her hands she slung the bow over her shoulder to hang naturally. He figured he ought to give her a heads up about the arrow situation, he'd learned a painful lesson about what that draw strength would do to shafts carved too thin of lesser material.
"I had to make the arrows custom for it so feel free to use the quiver I have laying over there with the rest of my gear. Steelwood arrows were the only thing that would hold up, it was ruining the normal ones from the impulse of the shot. We can get you some new arrows made up whenever you want though, that's all my homemade stuff from the glade." Ulric told his Shadow, offering her the complete set.
The normally staid, if not dour, woman damn near skipped to the stacked equipment and, in short order, had his quiver looped around her own belt, before taking out arrows and giving each a thorough once over. A professional eye tracked like a laser down their lengths as she held them out, checking for deviations from true. Bronze-flecked emeralds examined their feathers, alongside the handspan glassresin heads, one by one, any deficiency intolerable.
Ulric felt like his thesis was being reviewed, or a submission to his old bosses for getting approval on a metal chalcogenide doping trial. He had taken great pride in his work, once upon a time, too much, probably. Most of that was gone but he had not lost his attention to detail, his passion to Do The Thing Correctly. That had proven to be a marvelously necessary survival instinct. Doing things wrongly led unerringly to tribulation. It was among his mantras thusly: Varda punished mistakes. He directed his grey eyed gaze from the products of his labor in the glade to the Elf that would pass judgment on them to offer an observation regarding her ability to use the gifted equipment.
"You're about my height and our arms look to be pretty well the same length so I don't think you'll have any problems with shooting. In any case, you know how to adjust things so it'll work out." He finished, amused at this unexpected enthusiasm from the Huntress.
In another minute the arrows had passed muster. Now the bow was unholstered smoothly, one of the glassresin tipped broadheads was nocked, and a small "mmph" of effort accompanied her draw. The length was just about right, the arrowhead resting just in front of her knuckles on the hand holding the bowstave. Slowly Geyrt relaxed and quivered the arrow before reshouldering the bow. She looked like the cat that got the canary, all satisfaction. At last, his Shadow rendered her judgment, "Your fletchings leave something to be desired Ulric, but they are not bad for your lack of practice and will hold. The shafts are true, however, and the heads affixed without flaw. The arrows will be serviceable. Especially those arrowheads, this substance you have used, what is it? I have never seen it's like." Geyrt asked curiously, thumbing the razored edges of the glasslike substance incredulous at their sharpness.
The arrows will be serviceable. Good enough for the Elven princess who might also be an assassin. He repressed a grin at that and basked in the small victory of not being a shit fletcher. Ulric was glad to be praised for his workmanship, and more than a little surprised at the feeling. Nice to be appreciated he supposed. He wasn't one to take even his small wins for granted, hard-earned as they always were these days. That was a change from his life in the Before and to the good; a man made himself miserable when he ignored all that he did well for the things he did not. Besides! Ulric told himself gratifyingly, not only was his craftsmanship acceptable to the feyfolk, which boded well for his other projects and trades with them, but he'd managed to successfully navigate putting his Shadow in a good mood and that, Einar Old Boy, constituted a victory in truth. He answered her question as best he could.
"The arrowheads are glassresin. It is composed of the crystalline sap that flows from the roots of one of the giant elder trees on the [Plateau of Ancients]. My glade was made when one of them fell, which must have been a hell of a thing I might add, that tree was a kilometer high if it was a meter. Anyhow, when it went, its roots pulled up a massive crater, creating my spring, and some broke off. This stuff sits in pools, like little ponds of amber. It's fucking unbelievable how hard it is. I can break it loose with a pick on account of it shatters along faults, kinda like flint, and use fire to soften the material, where it can be readily molded. I use it for my wood carving knives, bonding things, and like a resin, it's what the bowstave is coated with.", Ulric told her passing on what he had discovered of glassresin as best he could.
Suddenly, the breaking of his spearhead on the [Forest Lord] came to mind, as did the loss of several arrowheads when they passed through a target and hit a rock.
"It's hard as hell but extremely brittle, so I wouldn't shoot at anything rocky or the head will probably shatter. Goes right through wood no problem though, they're beyond razor sharp." Ulric warned.
The dusky Elf lass was responding oddly to this information. Where before she'd been most certainly pleased at the bow and its accouterments, especially knowing how they'd been put to use, oddly enough Geyrt was now looking at the gifted archery gear with something close to worship.
"It is made from the lifeblood of the [Godtrees]?" She asked shakily.
"Well, I didn't know that was the name for them, but yeah." Ulric replied.
"The whole plateau is covered with them, trees like pillars holding up the sky, kilometers high, and wide around as three of this tree holding up Ireilhos. The dead ones that have been buried turn the flat of the landscape into rolling hills. It's a weird place, the old forest up there. Feels like a little like a cathedral." Ulric said, remembering the wonder of his awakening to be surrounded by those colossi.
Geyrt shook her head, braid lashing.
"It is more than a temple, and less Ulric. We do not worship the gods with our homage of the [Forest of the Forgotten]." She said with hushed reverence.
"It is difficult to describe the relationship between the Elves and the [Plateau of Ancients] or the [Godtrees], Glade Chief. At least, without spending great amounts of time speaking of Elvish history and times of yore on Varda. I am no Loremaster so I will be brief. Mistake me not, it is of utmost importance that you understand, at least in part, the relation between Elves and the plateau, Glade Chief. This could mean your life, Ulric. Listen well." Geyrt said quietly, despite their privacy.
"The [Ancients], a people we refer to as Those Who Came Before, were the first people of Varda. The very first civilization, the oldest known folk to do more than scratch and fight amongst the beasts. Even the Svartalfin, the deep dwarves, have never excavated relics of greater age than Those Who Came Before. It is generally agreed, by all folk, that these first people colonized the entire world; spread their works over land, under sea, and deep beneath the earth. Relics like the [Ancient's Gate] remain scattered across the landscape, many of them working though we know not what they all do. Only the dungeons, the self-sustaining enclaves designed to protect all that lies within, are outright hostile." She recited, very much like a school marm speaking to a child she thought a little slow. Or a priest speaking to an unrepentant heathen.
"In any case, the Elves consider themselves descendants of the [Ancients], consider most peoples their descendants, in fact. When the great civilization fell to darkness, its people shattered into isolated tribes. Eons passed and these folk, long separated from each other, changed to become the beastkin, the humans, the elves, and the dwarves. Or, by their proper names, the Jormun, the Valin, the Aes'r, and the Svartalfir. The beastkin and humans are called children of the earth, those who colonized the surface of the land and seas. The elves and dwarves are called the children of the heavens, those who were not content with the surface and ranged above, to the trees, or below, into the depths. This relates to the plateau in which you lived and the [Forest Lord]." Geyrt said.
Ulric was rapt, besides the stories Brighteyes had told him, this was the first he'd heard of the history of his neighbors and it was striking several parallels to mythologies spread by his own people on Earth.
"Once, we Aes'r were thought to have lived and originated on the plateau, the grove grown by the [Ancients] in their last days when they knew their end was at hand. Instead of building citadels, altars, relics, or dungeons to protect their heritage, these particular [Ancients] chose to grow a forest, a tribute to life and the living to come. The trees were created to be greater than any others, infused with mana to reach deep into bones of Varda drawing on the leylines for strength, that they might send their crowns soaring to the sky, and to live beyond the span of any mortal creatures. We Elves were the children of the gardeners, the grove tenders. In addition to the Elves, there was a race of Greater beasts, guardians of the grove to protect the tenders in their work, to drive away hostile beasts or dangers. These were the forebears of the [Forest Lord]. The Greater beasts never left the plateau and never raised harm against their wards. As time passed, the tenders died out or migrated away. As they did, both of these lineages drifted away from their parent stock. We don't know how long it took but, eventually, the Elves came down from the Plateau, to what is now called Iriel, the Deep Wood. The Plateau itself was left whole, as a sacred land. Never were the [Godtrees] to be felled by axe or fire, never was the land to be despoiled, not while the Elves live to keep it. Of the race of guardians, they all died. We do not know why. It is believed that the [Forest Lord] was the last of them, a corrupted remnant of those creatures, so much lesser that it had devolved to savagery. All that remained to the creature was the instinct to destroy anything that encroached on its territory. And this it did, for thousands of years." Geyrt spoke softly, the tale clearly holding a dear place to her.
Geyrt looked at Ulric seriously, the weight of her eyes impressing him with her next statement.
"The beast you slayed was a shadow of its former glory, the last whisper of Greater beasts unrivaled. The [Forest Lord] was, according to all tales we have of it, untouchable by blade or magic. That you were able to slay it probably means it was near death of its own age, unable to utilize the vast part of its strength. I do not say this to denigrate you Ulric, you have done a thing of untold heroism, to put down that ancient terror. However, if ever you meet a Greater beast such as that again, do not try to fight it. Run. Run as well as you are able Glade Chief. If it chooses not to hunt you, you might live." She said grimly.
He wasn't about to contest her advice. The old monster had moved faster than anything that size ever should and now he was learning it wasn't the barest fraction of what it could offer. Fuck, Ulric remarked to himself, there was nothing down in the forest, no sign of prey before he'd killed it that he'd seen in those early days. Was the [Forest Lord] he'd faced on the verge of starvation? His nightmares concerning the creature were about to get worse. Thankfully, the images of a maw bearing ivory fangs, a roar like a goddamn Tyrranosaur, flashing claws, and the inevitable rending of his miserable bones were dispelled by Geyrt's voice.
"This is then, the abbreviated history of the Elves. The plateau on which you came into being is sacred to the Aesr, to all of Orlethrem, but even more so to the Iriel'en. Not for the presence of the gods but for the gesture of a dying people to create a monument of life for the land, to the world they would not be able to cherish any longer. It is an Elvish thing, the heart of Elvish things, to do such. It is our duty, and our joy, to protect this parting gift."
She must have read the concern on his face, that he'd been blithely squatting on Elf Jeruselem.
"Worry not that any would begrudge you your existence there," the sylvan princess assuaged, "That you were born into this world in that place is a thing in your favor among us. The Eternal Gaze does not often tread in mortal affairs and it would not have done so in that place without purpose. It also does not mean little that the All-Knowledge granted you lordship of the territory guarded by the [Forest Lord]. In this, you are bonded to the mission of the Aes'r, to protect that place from harm. Tend it well." Geyrt commanded, the longest, most impassioned speech he'd had of her.
It struck Ulric as a poignant thing this story of the Elves and their grove. A new light was cast on their commitment to becoming part of the forest, to join themselves with the trees.
"Sonofabitch." Ulric muttered, no wonder the Deep Woods Elves were so hardcore. They not only considered themselves the children of a race of gardeners but also the guardians of their forebears' work. Which explained their near-fanatical warrior culture and insular attitudes alongside a remarkable openness with one another. Outsiders would not share their reverence for the hallowed arbors of the [Plateau of Ancients] and so they sought to reject those who could only gaze on the plateau and its [Godtrees] with impure intent. Heavy stuff.
That also colored the relationship he had with the Aes'r the Elven folk. He was responsible for the welfare of a part of the land they held sacred and he had gotten there, in part, because he had killed the last descendant of the guardian creatures for that land. He was then, in more ways than one, the new guardian of that place. At least to their sensibilities. It was fortunate then that they took the view that the new custodian of the place was to be trained up to competence rather than killed and replaced with one of their own people. He probably had Bald'rt to thank directly for that decision. It would have been nothing for them to slay him and keep their grove free from potential harm. Wait a fucking second.
"Sonofabitch." the reborn Engineer mouthed again. They had definitely considered killing him. One hundred percent, sure as the sky is blue and the grass is green, and Gigabears shit in the woods: Bald'rt Iriel had deliberated on his murder as a Valin intruder on land held sacrosanct and had declined to pursue that course of action. Maybe he wouldn't dig that pit trap full of shit for the old Elf King after all.
Geyrt's story gave him a newfound perspective on his lessons with Gother, Idra, and the Wives of Bald'rt. He wasn't just receiving the fruits of a bargain, he was being given a probationary tutelage on wardship of their holy land. Good thing he'd been taking it fairly seriously. A dim view would the Elves of Orlethrem have taken of someone being lax in their preparation for a role so dear in their hearts. Most especially the Deep Wood tribe.
If the Orlethrem Elves considered themselves gardeners and caretakers of the land, undoubtedly, of all the clans he'd heard tale of from Brighteyes in their talks, it was the Iriel'en that considered themselves the last line of defense, the sharpest blade that guarded their ancestral grounds. This further drove home the political implication that they had named the Iriel Chief as head of their collective, to lead the direction of the people as a whole. The Elves had, essentially, declared themselves to be on a war footing even before the recent events pushed them into overt action. Whoever thought they had stolen a march on Orlethrem was about to find out the depth of their miscalculation. When Bald'rt slipped his leash it was going to get ugly.
Glad that he didn't have to put his hands into that particular pot Ulric determined that he would approach the subsequent training with a less cavalier attitude. Even Gother's, damn the dry desert of a bag of bones to an eternity of moldy books.
Morning light bathed the interior of his apartments in a soft golden glow, wood grains vibrant under their limelight. In the midst of a particular sunbeam, Ulric watched dust particles drift in Brownian adventures through the air, and considered the effect of his gift. Things were definitely perking up. Geyrt was thrilled with her new toy and, he had a feeling, with the prospect of putting it to use on someone. Ulric could imagine that some kind of ritual celebrating the fact that it had drunk the blood of her little brother's enemies was in her near future. Those circumstances no doubt played a role in her enjoyment of the instrument, which she still hadn't put down. Just as Ulric was starting to question whether she'd be sleeping with the damned thing in her hands she slung the bow over her shoulder to hang naturally. He figured he ought to give her a heads up about the arrow situation, he'd learned a painful lesson about what that draw strength would do to shafts carved too thin of lesser material.
"I had to make the arrows custom for it so feel free to use the quiver I have laying over there with the rest of my gear. Steelwood arrows were the only thing that would hold up, it was ruining the normal ones from the impulse of the shot. We can get you some new arrows made up whenever you want though, that's all my homemade stuff from the glade." Ulric told his Shadow, offering her the complete set.
The normally staid, if not dour, woman damn near skipped to the stacked equipment and, in short order, had his quiver looped around her own belt, before taking out arrows and giving each a thorough once over. A professional eye tracked like a laser down their lengths as she held them out, checking for deviations from true. Bronze-flecked emeralds examined their feathers, alongside the handspan glassresin heads, one by one, any deficiency intolerable.
Ulric felt like his thesis was being reviewed, or a submission to his old bosses for getting approval on a metal chalcogenide doping trial. He had taken great pride in his work, once upon a time, too much, probably. Most of that was gone but he had not lost his attention to detail, his passion to Do The Thing Correctly. That had proven to be a marvelously necessary survival instinct. Doing things wrongly led unerringly to tribulation. It was among his mantras thusly: Varda punished mistakes. He directed his grey eyed gaze from the products of his labor in the glade to the Elf that would pass judgment on them to offer an observation regarding her ability to use the gifted equipment.
"You're about my height and our arms look to be pretty well the same length so I don't think you'll have any problems with shooting. In any case, you know how to adjust things so it'll work out." He finished, amused at this unexpected enthusiasm from the Huntress.
In another minute the arrows had passed muster. Now the bow was unholstered smoothly, one of the glassresin tipped broadheads was nocked, and a small "mmph" of effort accompanied her draw. The length was just about right, the arrowhead resting just in front of her knuckles on the hand holding the bowstave. Slowly Geyrt relaxed and quivered the arrow before reshouldering the bow. She looked like the cat that got the canary, all satisfaction. At last, his Shadow rendered her judgment, "Your fletchings leave something to be desired Ulric, but they are not bad for your lack of practice and will hold. The shafts are true, however, and the heads affixed without flaw. The arrows will be serviceable. Especially those arrowheads, this substance you have used, what is it? I have never seen it's like." Geyrt asked curiously, thumbing the razored edges of the glasslike substance incredulous at their sharpness.
The arrows will be serviceable. Good enough for the Elven princess who might also be an assassin. He repressed a grin at that and basked in the small victory of not being a shit fletcher. Ulric was glad to be praised for his workmanship, and more than a little surprised at the feeling. Nice to be appreciated he supposed. He wasn't one to take even his small wins for granted, hard-earned as they always were these days. That was a change from his life in the Before and to the good; a man made himself miserable when he ignored all that he did well for the things he did not. Besides! Ulric told himself gratifyingly, not only was his craftsmanship acceptable to the feyfolk, which boded well for his other projects and trades with them, but he'd managed to successfully navigate putting his Shadow in a good mood and that, Einar Old Boy, constituted a victory in truth. He answered her question as best he could.
"The arrowheads are glassresin. It is composed of the crystalline sap that flows from the roots of one of the giant elder trees on the [Plateau of Ancients]. My glade was made when one of them fell, which must have been a hell of a thing I might add, that tree was a kilometer high if it was a meter. Anyhow, when it went, its roots pulled up a massive crater, creating my spring, and some broke off. This stuff sits in pools, like little ponds of amber. It's fucking unbelievable how hard it is. I can break it loose with a pick on account of it shatters along faults, kinda like flint, and use fire to soften the material, where it can be readily molded. I use it for my wood carving knives, bonding things, and like a resin, it's what the bowstave is coated with.", Ulric told her passing on what he had discovered of glassresin as best he could.
Suddenly, the breaking of his spearhead on the [Forest Lord] came to mind, as did the loss of several arrowheads when they passed through a target and hit a rock.
"It's hard as hell but extremely brittle, so I wouldn't shoot at anything rocky or the head will probably shatter. Goes right through wood no problem though, they're beyond razor sharp." Ulric warned.
The dusky Elf lass was responding oddly to this information. Where before she'd been most certainly pleased at the bow and its accouterments, especially knowing how they'd been put to use, oddly enough Geyrt was now looking at the gifted archery gear with something close to worship.
"It is made from the lifeblood of the [Godtrees]?" She asked shakily.
"Well, I didn't know that was the name for them, but yeah." Ulric replied.
"The whole plateau is covered with them, trees like pillars holding up the sky, kilometers high, and wide around as three of this tree holding up Ireilhos. The dead ones that have been buried turn the flat of the landscape into rolling hills. It's a weird place, the old forest up there. Feels like a little like a cathedral." Ulric said, remembering the wonder of his awakening to be surrounded by those colossi.
Geyrt shook her head, braid lashing.
"It is more than a temple, and less Ulric. We do not worship the gods with our homage of the [Forest of the Forgotten]." She said with hushed reverence.
"It is difficult to describe the relationship between the Elves and the [Plateau of Ancients] or the [Godtrees], Glade Chief. At least, without spending great amounts of time speaking of Elvish history and times of yore on Varda. I am no Loremaster so I will be brief. Mistake me not, it is of utmost importance that you understand, at least in part, the relation between Elves and the plateau, Glade Chief. This could mean your life, Ulric. Listen well." Geyrt said quietly, despite their privacy.
"The [Ancients], a people we refer to as Those Who Came Before, were the first people of Varda. The very first civilization, the oldest known folk to do more than scratch and fight amongst the beasts. Even the Svartalfin, the deep dwarves, have never excavated relics of greater age than Those Who Came Before. It is generally agreed, by all folk, that these first people colonized the entire world; spread their works over land, under sea, and deep beneath the earth. Relics like the [Ancient's Gate] remain scattered across the landscape, many of them working though we know not what they all do. Only the dungeons, the self-sustaining enclaves designed to protect all that lies within, are outright hostile." She recited, very much like a school marm speaking to a child she thought a little slow. Or a priest speaking to an unrepentant heathen.
"In any case, the Elves consider themselves descendants of the [Ancients], consider most peoples their descendants, in fact. When the great civilization fell to darkness, its people shattered into isolated tribes. Eons passed and these folk, long separated from each other, changed to become the beastkin, the humans, the elves, and the dwarves. Or, by their proper names, the Jormun, the Valin, the Aes'r, and the Svartalfir. The beastkin and humans are called children of the earth, those who colonized the surface of the land and seas. The elves and dwarves are called the children of the heavens, those who were not content with the surface and ranged above, to the trees, or below, into the depths. This relates to the plateau in which you lived and the [Forest Lord]." Geyrt said.
Ulric was rapt, besides the stories Brighteyes had told him, this was the first he'd heard of the history of his neighbors and it was striking several parallels to mythologies spread by his own people on Earth.
"Once, we Aes'r were thought to have lived and originated on the plateau, the grove grown by the [Ancients] in their last days when they knew their end was at hand. Instead of building citadels, altars, relics, or dungeons to protect their heritage, these particular [Ancients] chose to grow a forest, a tribute to life and the living to come. The trees were created to be greater than any others, infused with mana to reach deep into bones of Varda drawing on the leylines for strength, that they might send their crowns soaring to the sky, and to live beyond the span of any mortal creatures. We Elves were the children of the gardeners, the grove tenders. In addition to the Elves, there was a race of Greater beasts, guardians of the grove to protect the tenders in their work, to drive away hostile beasts or dangers. These were the forebears of the [Forest Lord]. The Greater beasts never left the plateau and never raised harm against their wards. As time passed, the tenders died out or migrated away. As they did, both of these lineages drifted away from their parent stock. We don't know how long it took but, eventually, the Elves came down from the Plateau, to what is now called Iriel, the Deep Wood. The Plateau itself was left whole, as a sacred land. Never were the [Godtrees] to be felled by axe or fire, never was the land to be despoiled, not while the Elves live to keep it. Of the race of guardians, they all died. We do not know why. It is believed that the [Forest Lord] was the last of them, a corrupted remnant of those creatures, so much lesser that it had devolved to savagery. All that remained to the creature was the instinct to destroy anything that encroached on its territory. And this it did, for thousands of years." Geyrt spoke softly, the tale clearly holding a dear place to her.
Geyrt looked at Ulric seriously, the weight of her eyes impressing him with her next statement.
"The beast you slayed was a shadow of its former glory, the last whisper of Greater beasts unrivaled. The [Forest Lord] was, according to all tales we have of it, untouchable by blade or magic. That you were able to slay it probably means it was near death of its own age, unable to utilize the vast part of its strength. I do not say this to denigrate you Ulric, you have done a thing of untold heroism, to put down that ancient terror. However, if ever you meet a Greater beast such as that again, do not try to fight it. Run. Run as well as you are able Glade Chief. If it chooses not to hunt you, you might live." She said grimly.
He wasn't about to contest her advice. The old monster had moved faster than anything that size ever should and now he was learning it wasn't the barest fraction of what it could offer. Fuck, Ulric remarked to himself, there was nothing down in the forest, no sign of prey before he'd killed it that he'd seen in those early days. Was the [Forest Lord] he'd faced on the verge of starvation? His nightmares concerning the creature were about to get worse. Thankfully, the images of a maw bearing ivory fangs, a roar like a goddamn Tyrranosaur, flashing claws, and the inevitable rending of his miserable bones were dispelled by Geyrt's voice.
"This is then, the abbreviated history of the Elves. The plateau on which you came into being is sacred to the Aesr, to all of Orlethrem, but even more so to the Iriel'en. Not for the presence of the gods but for the gesture of a dying people to create a monument of life for the land, to the world they would not be able to cherish any longer. It is an Elvish thing, the heart of Elvish things, to do such. It is our duty, and our joy, to protect this parting gift."
She must have read the concern on his face, that he'd been blithely squatting on Elf Jeruselem.
"Worry not that any would begrudge you your existence there," the sylvan princess assuaged, "That you were born into this world in that place is a thing in your favor among us. The Eternal Gaze does not often tread in mortal affairs and it would not have done so in that place without purpose. It also does not mean little that the All-Knowledge granted you lordship of the territory guarded by the [Forest Lord]. In this, you are bonded to the mission of the Aes'r, to protect that place from harm. Tend it well." Geyrt commanded, the longest, most impassioned speech he'd had of her.
It struck Ulric as a poignant thing this story of the Elves and their grove. A new light was cast on their commitment to becoming part of the forest, to join themselves with the trees.
"Sonofabitch." Ulric muttered, no wonder the Deep Woods Elves were so hardcore. They not only considered themselves the children of a race of gardeners but also the guardians of their forebears' work. Which explained their near-fanatical warrior culture and insular attitudes alongside a remarkable openness with one another. Outsiders would not share their reverence for the hallowed arbors of the [Plateau of Ancients] and so they sought to reject those who could only gaze on the plateau and its [Godtrees] with impure intent. Heavy stuff.
That also colored the relationship he had with the Aes'r the Elven folk. He was responsible for the welfare of a part of the land they held sacred and he had gotten there, in part, because he had killed the last descendant of the guardian creatures for that land. He was then, in more ways than one, the new guardian of that place. At least to their sensibilities. It was fortunate then that they took the view that the new custodian of the place was to be trained up to competence rather than killed and replaced with one of their own people. He probably had Bald'rt to thank directly for that decision. It would have been nothing for them to slay him and keep their grove free from potential harm. Wait a fucking second.
"Sonofabitch." the reborn Engineer mouthed again. They had definitely considered killing him. One hundred percent, sure as the sky is blue and the grass is green, and Gigabears shit in the woods: Bald'rt Iriel had deliberated on his murder as a Valin intruder on land held sacrosanct and had declined to pursue that course of action. Maybe he wouldn't dig that pit trap full of shit for the old Elf King after all.
Geyrt's story gave him a newfound perspective on his lessons with Gother, Idra, and the Wives of Bald'rt. He wasn't just receiving the fruits of a bargain, he was being given a probationary tutelage on wardship of their holy land. Good thing he'd been taking it fairly seriously. A dim view would the Elves of Orlethrem have taken of someone being lax in their preparation for a role so dear in their hearts. Most especially the Deep Wood tribe.
If the Orlethrem Elves considered themselves gardeners and caretakers of the land, undoubtedly, of all the clans he'd heard tale of from Brighteyes in their talks, it was the Iriel'en that considered themselves the last line of defense, the sharpest blade that guarded their ancestral grounds. This further drove home the political implication that they had named the Iriel Chief as head of their collective, to lead the direction of the people as a whole. The Elves had, essentially, declared themselves to be on a war footing even before the recent events pushed them into overt action. Whoever thought they had stolen a march on Orlethrem was about to find out the depth of their miscalculation. When Bald'rt slipped his leash it was going to get ugly.
Glad that he didn't have to put his hands into that particular pot Ulric determined that he would approach the subsequent training with a less cavalier attitude. Even Gother's, damn the dry desert of a bag of bones to an eternity of moldy books.
