Lessons in the Vale

  Sing a song of Valerie, the girl with midnight hair

  She fled across the canopy, through mountains did she dare

  She met a man from Trahern after months long flight by foot

  His charming ways were unlike those of elder blood and root

  Oh, Valerie, Valerie, her eyes did shine for he

  But oh the ache when time did pass, alone again was she

  — Avonmora folk song warning of the dangers of love for humans

  An eagle’s cry cut through the canopy above—sharp, sudden, and commanding.

  In its wake, silence descended. The forest held its breath as wary creatures froze mid-song, instinct halting even the wind.

  A heartbeat later, the raptor vanished, gliding away on the same brisk current that had carried it in, a brook trout writhing helplessly in its talons.

  Below the canopy, Aehyl, Draefus, Grimus, and Portean pressed onward. They had been traveling for nine days, and now were but a two day's march from the boundary between Crystal-Mist and Venetia, the fourth lesser kingdom of the Obsidian Empire.

  The forest had changed around them as they journeyed.

  Gone were the towering Crystal-Mists of home, now scattered and sparse. Those that remained rarely reached even half the height of their colossal cousins deeper in the wood. In their place, great sweeps of pine, fir, and spruce covered the rolling foothills that signaled the approach of the Iron Stone Mountains, natural guardians dividing the Crystal-Mist Forest from the far-reaching domain beyond.

  The Obsidian Empire.

  Also known simply as the Great Empire, it stood as the largest union of kingdoms ever to kneel beneath a single crown.

  Giving it some thought, Aehyl found herself wondering how such a vast empire could have ever been formed. Since both Portean and Grimus were in talkative moods, the young druid decided to ask.

  She fell back from Portean’s side, deciding it best to broach the subject with Grimus instead. Though the nimble ranger would likely enjoy the discussion, Aehyl didn’t want to distract him from scouting. The strange creatures they had encountered haunted her mind, and she feared they still prowled somewhere within the Crystal-Mist.

  “Grimus,” she began, her voice curious as she waited for the aged elf’s eyes to meet her own.

  “How is it that a kingdom as large as the Obsidian Empire was allowed to form in the first place? I mean… I learned about Jerrid Bornsworth—how he was an unusually charismatic warrior and a deft strategist—but if humans are so volatile, then how did the man manage to create what he did?”

  “A good question, my dear,” the old druid replied after a time, clicking his tongue and humming thoughtfully.

  “A good question indeed. You know that Venetia, the country we must cross to reach Jerrico from the Crystal-Mist, was the fourth kingdom to fall during the Obsidian Empire’s rise. But it wasn’t as simple as one war among many.”

  He paused again, this time to extract his pipe from his travel pouch. The instrument seemed to appear whenever he needed an excuse to slow things down, to gather his thoughts before speaking.

  The pipe was deftly packed, and the druid took a few long draws before he was ready to speak again. When he did, his eyes sparkled, he had a fondness for history.

  “The Obsidian Empire’s formation began with an undeclared war, waged quietly for years between the poor but militaristic kingdom of Trahern and the mineral-rich kingdom of Iden.

  “Trahern was larger by a fair margin, but its lands were fractured, ruled by powerful clans rather than a single, undisputed king.”

  He paused to check if his lesson was falling on eager ears. Seeing Aehyl practically leaning toward him, her long ears twitching in anticipation, he gave a satisfied harrumph and continued.

  “Because of its lack of unity, it seemed inevitable that Trahern would lose, despite their superior numbers and fearsome reputation for savagery in battle.

  But in the year it looked as though Iden might finally rid itself of Trahern once and for all, an ambitious young warrior rose from one of the realm’s most powerful clans. He did what none before him could: united the tribal chieftains. Then, in a swift and brutal offensive, he crushed Iden.”

  Grimus paused and peered meaningfully at Aehyl.

  “Under the rule of King Jerrid Bornsworth, Iden fell in the thirteenth year of the war, and thus, the first piece of the Obsidian Empire was laid.”

  He gave a sage nod, smoke curling from his nostrils.

  “Let that be a lesson to the overconfident,” he intoned.

  Smoke billowed from Grimus’s pipe in small, wispy circles that spiraled into the air.

  They floated gently upward, dissolving like old memories into the canopy above.

  Watching them drift, Aehyl found herself wondering where the old elf had learned the trick, but the thought faded as Grimus resumed his tale.

  “Later, a smaller nation by the name of Vaugn grew fearful that the power-hungry young king would not stop at a single conquest. So they hastily formed an alliance with a larger realm called Cynyr.”

  He shook his head. “For Vaugn, that decision proved disastrous.”

  “Though Cynyr was formidable, it was far from uncontested. Vaugn’s long-time trade partner, Chad, happened to be an age-old enemy of Cynyr. In response to the alliance, Chad signed its own treaty—with none other than the rising Obsidian Empire—and immediately severed commerce with Vaugn.”

  Aehyl blinked at the chain of consequences as the druid’s voice took on a graver tone.

  “Thirty years passed. Then war erupted between Chad and Cynyr. Vaugn, bound by honor or desperation, came to its ally’s aid. The Obsidian Empire stood with Chad. The result was inevitable, Cynyr and Vaugn, outmatched and overextended, were slowly driven back and eventually destroyed.”

  Grimus paused, letting the gravity of those centuries-old choices settle. Aehyl rubbed her brow. The sheer mess of alliances and betrayals, of trade routes and grudges, was enough to make her head swim.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Seeming to notice, the old druid took his time re-stoking his pipe, letting the silence speak. When Aehyl’s eyes lifted again, steady and curious, he continued.

  “Due to their positions on the map, the Empire claimed all lands belonging to Cynyr, while Chad took over what had been Vaugn. With those defeats, only three of the original six human nations remained: Chad, the Obsidian Empire, and Cadhla—a small northern country that had managed to remain neutral by favoring no one openly… while quietly aiding the rising Empire.”

  Grimus gave a knowing puff of his pipe, the smoke curling in lazy spirals. “Cadhla’s king was shrewd. Rather than face inevitable conquest, he offered his kingdom to the Empire willingly, on the condition that he remain lord of his own lands, under the blessing of Emperor Bornsworth himself.”

  “And Bornsworth agreed?” Aehyl asked, eyebrows lifting. “He just accepted that? No invasion? No manipulation?”

  Grimus shook his head emphatically. “No, nothing so underhanded. Cadhla had long suffered under crippling debt. Their economy was in tatters. Joining the Empire offered stability, protection, and trade routes they desperately needed.”

  He tapped his pipe against a stone as they walked. “After that, the Empire counted four kingdoms among its holdings, and Chad, its oldest ally, was all that remained of the original six.”

  “Chad and the Empire stayed separate for another fourteen years,” he continued wearily, “but in that time, the two became… indistinguishable. Partners in politics. Trade. Military. Even culture. There was no war. Just… absorption.”

  Grimus looked up from the forest floor, his expression darkening. “That’s where the story ends, at least in terms of maps. But I’ll say this, child, talking about human history always leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. All the treaties, all the promises… yet always blood in the soil beneath them.”

  Aehyl shivered slightly, not from cold, but from the weight of what she’d just heard.

  “What happened to the Emperor?” Aehyl asked before she could stop herself. No Bornsworth sat upon the Obsidian Throne today.

  Grimus’s brows lifted. “Ah. That is an interesting story.”

  “The king of Chad and Emperor Bornsworth became fast friends, until Jerrid’s death at the age of eighty-one. Just one year before his passing, Chad formally joined the Obsidian Empire, making nearly all the land between the Great Sea and the Dark Troll Mountains part of an empire unlike any the world had ever seen.”

  “The only lands left untouched were the Crystal-Mist, ruled by our ancestors,” he said with a small nod, “and the Iron Stone Mountains, home of the dwarves.”

  Aehyl’s ears twitched as she tried to picture it: an empire born of charisma and steel, now held together by the will of strangers.

  “After Jerrid’s death,” Grimus continued, “the Empire nearly fractured. But King Kunagnos Ozewrath of Chad—wise and widely respected—stepped forward. He assumed the throne and restructured the Empire into five smaller kingdoms, each with borders that were more manageable.”

  Here Grimus paused and grumbled low in his throat. “Now, even I have trouble making sense of the modern monarchy, but I’ll do my best for your sake.”

  “As you know, each of the five kingdoms is ruled by a lesser king who answers only to the Emperor himself. Kunagnos declared the city of Blackrock, named for the strange black fortress that had stood there since time beyond memory, the new imperial capital.”

  “He renamed it Jerrico,” the druid added, glancing at her meaningfully, “in honor of his dearest friend, the late Emperor Jerrid Bornsworth. The fortress, unclaimed throughout all human history, had withstood time without even a blemish marring its surface.”

  “He later declared that a one-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius around Jerrico would be sovereign to the Empire alone—untaxed, unowned by any lesser nation. Since then, the city has become the beating heart of the known world. A hub of commerce, innovation, and ambition.”

  Grimus harrumphed, taking another thoughtful puff of his pipe. “Odd, isn’t it? The greatest of human cities, yet built almost entirely under the supervision of dwarven engineers… using human hands.”

  He exhaled, watching the smoke swirl and vanish. “Still, that’s the way of humankind. They feel no shame in using the skills of others. Maybe that isn’t wrong. Maybe it’s just pragmatism, born from short lives and long ambitions.”

  With the lesson concluded, Aehyl found herself wondering why the elves maintained such close ties with the emperor. Yet she knew there was more to the Ozewrath family than met the eye. They had ruled the Obsidian Throne for twelve generations, and each ruler had a suspicious habit of living unusually long lives.

  If she didn’t firmly disbelieve that an elf would ever mate with a human, she might have suspected elven blood ran in their veins.

  Raising a wrinkled hand, Grimus wearily called for a halt. They had pushed hard throughout their journey, traveling at a pace few would believe possible. To make even more impressive time, the old druid had used several oakmelds, magical passages through the trees, to transport them vast distances in mere minutes.

  The oakmeld was among a druid’s most powerful spells. It allowed the caster to request passage through the oakspace, a realm within the ancient trees, emerging from the heartwood of a distant sibling. While a lone traveler might cross great spans of forest in a single meld, Grimus was transporting all three companions along with himself.

  The strain of performing so many melds in such a short time was beginning to take its toll on the ancient elf. And the spell was far from guaranteed; the tree and its distant counterpart had to willingly accept the meld for it to succeed.

  This complication, combined with the greater difficulty of casting the spell outside of Vistadora, spoke volumes of the power Grimus still possessed. Though most of the ancient trees in this forest might permit a single druid to pass, few would tolerate the strain of four souls moving through their most sacred heartwood.

  With a groan, Grimus sank down against the trunk of an elm and motioned for the others to do the same. Portean unslung his pack and handed out a meager meal of dried meat and fruit to the two other elves.

  Then, reaching into another sack, he pulled out a freshly killed rabbit and presented it to the drooling bear at his side.

  Knowing full well he'd be scolded for eating in front of the others, Draefus scooped up his prize and lumbered a short distance into the forest to eat in peace. Aehyl knew the rabbit wouldn’t be enough, but she expected that once they made camp, he’d wander off to forage on his own.

  When the meal was done, Grimus and Portean sat speaking in quiet tones. As Aehyl had predicted, Draefus had ambled off toward a nearby stream.

  Left to herself, she sat with her back against a broad pine, watching a mated pair of squirrels scamper and leap between the branches above.

  An hour later, Draefus returned and flopped down beside her, resting his massive head in her lap in silent appeal. She absently obliged, scratching behind his ears, though her attention remained on the two elves who continued their hushed discussion ahead.

  Abruptly, Portean rose and crossed the distance between them in calm, steady strides. Without a word, he lowered himself beside Aehyl and leaned against the tree. One hand reached out, rough and familiar, to rub the bear’s head. Draefus gave a pleased huff.

  “Act like we’re discussing the forest,” he said in a low voice, guarded against unseen ears. “Is that clear?”

  When Aehyl nodded, as if merely commenting on the beauty of the day, he smiled and went on.

  “We didn’t want to alarm you earlier, but something’s following us, and it’s the best damned scout I’ve ever come across. Took me half a day to be sure I wasn’t imagining it.”

  The ranger picked up a small twig and began absently stirring the dirt at his feet.

  “My father and I have been onto it for a while. We thought we’d shaken it with a few of his meld-jumps, but it’s found us again. Only Faune knows how.”

  He paused, glancing at her sidelong.

  “He wants you to try an oakmeld, see if we can shake the thing. He’s too fatigued to transport us all again.”

  Portean chuckled, flashing a teasing smile. “Says you’ve practiced enough outside the city, seen him do it a hundred times.”

  Laughing softly, Aehyl gave him a playful swat, though her stomach had knotted.

  “You’re able, even with passengers,” he added, catching the doubt in her eyes. He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

  “Don’t worry, lass. Just breathe, establish the link. You’ll be fine.”

  Pointing toward the brook as if admiring the water, Aehyl leaned into him affectionately.

  “Is he certain he can’t manage it? I don’t know if this is the time for practice. I’ve only ever jumped between trees that were within sight of one another.”

  “This thing seems more interested in him than you,” Portean said, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s make it regret that mistake, shall we?”

  “We’ll move out soon. It’ll be dusk before long.”

  “Faune willing, the dying light will buy you a few extra seconds to establish the spell. We’ll be watching. And keep this lout close,” he added, giving Draefus a firm tussle.

  “I’d hate to see how mad this thing gets when it loses us in broad daylight.”

  With that, Portean stood, slung his pack over one shoulder, and called for the group to resume their journey.

  Aehyl rose, shouldered her pack, and began to walk, her steps numb and uneasy. She stayed close to her companions, unwilling to fall behind, always checking that Draefus kept pace.

  Though the bear was a creature few would dare trifle with, Aehyl had never seen him in a real fight, and she remembered all too well what the reptilian assassin had been capable of.

  By dusk, she was ready.

  She had reviewed the process countless times. There was nothing left but to find the right tree.

  Spotting an oak large enough to withstand the strain of the group's passage, she adjusted her path. At a walk, she began the chant, low and steady, the ancient words brushing against the forest air.

  As she neared the massive trunk, she placed her palms against it, and felt them fuse with the bark.

  Her mind entwined with the tree, root to root, ring to ring, connecting at a primal depth.

  Frantic, she pleaded with the oak, begging it to accept her offering, to let her carry herself and the three others anywhere but here.

  A sudden flare of heat burst in her chest, and the tree whimpered.

  Power surged through her and into the oak—wild, nourishing, overwhelming. Outside the meld, she sensed chaos erupt. Time slowed, narrowed.

  If she failed, there would be little hope of Grimus reaching the emperor with the news they carried.

  She kept feeding the spell, astounded by how much power was needed for so many travelers. Her sigil flared in response to her desperation, glowing bright, illuminating the darkening woods in searing white light.

  The heat, once unbearable, now felt oddly cool against her skin. The pain dimmed, fading into something she could no longer name.

  Just as her strength began to fail, a whisper stirred across her mind.

  Please.

  Aehyl accepted the bargain.

  A soft blue glow enveloped her as she became the doorway to the Oakspace.