Over the course of autumn, although she is engaged in projects with her father and with Fenowin, Heppa still finds time to write letters to Alric. Aderyn shows up every now and then to deliver correspondence. The messages from Alric tend to not be very long. They are messily written with large letters, but they do show he is making progress in literacy.
On one of these occasions, Tric also gets a letter. It is short, simply requesting he be at Connie and Marvin’s still at the next full moon, and it is signed with just a K. There is nothing terribly urgent Kachen needs to discuss—no demands for repairs from his landlord—just the desire to spend some time with a person who truly understands him and is safe to be around. The still is a location of sufficient safety that he is able to teleport there from his accommodations in South Tower, a spell he feels the need to practice. Although he has recovered from his ordeal among the goblins and orcs, he is not keen to march across that whole countryside again when the time comes to seek Anador’s circlet.
Unfortunately, word about this meeting gets around. Tric is the one who set up a trade arrangement between the distillers and his forest, and part of the reason he did that was so information could flow. That comes back to bite him when he is on a scouting patrol down to the south of Estbryn Forest with Baeowin’s squad. “Where do you put the safety of this forest among your priorities?” she asks him. “Or do you not trust the judgment of the council?”
“I am putting the safety of the forest foremost,” Tric says, at first wondering where this is coming from. “And I believe the council is working towards that, too. Is this about the human that I see sometimes? Look, yes, I see him sometimes out near the still. I thought it would be good to keep an eye on him. He is free to walk around all outside the forest. If he chooses to do so, that’s fine,” he assures Baeowin. “I want to make sure that he’s still safe but also that he’s not up to anything untoward. And also, he is a magical scholar of some renown and has practical information. That’s why I continue to meet with him from time to time.” Those all sound like really good reasons, they are just not the full story.
Baeowin is impressed and compliments Tric on his strategic long-term view. “You’d make a good elvish noble, if only you had the blood for it,” she tells him, unaware of his true pedigree. “In other forests, like Wesmere, your natural skill would be enough.”
“Ah, well, who knows what will happen?” Tric says innocently. “But, yes, we have to keep a close eye on him. He can still be a useful ally. The council made the decision to exile him. I respect that decision, but I also don’t want to overstep it by completely casting him out of the list of people I know. That would be going beyond what the council said. The council did not say to never speak to that human again.”
Baeowin sees wisdom in his words and floats the idea of Tric leading his own little scouting group. “The council and Lord Volas have been talking about sending forces to observe and perhaps repel other forces in the area. What if we gave you your own special task force for solving small problems adjacent to that overall conflict?”
“I don’t want to say that I have a lot of expertise in that area,” Tric begins with false modesty, “but I’ve fought undead. In the Foul Fen. In the Grey Woods. In the Heart Mountains. Right here in Estbryn Forest, unfortunately. Outside South Tower. Underneath South Tower. High in the sky above South Tower.” He gets a little carried away. “We must be vigilant for things around, things below, and things up high.” Right on cue, Mate flies by overhead, sounding his magpie yodel. “I will accept this charge. Don’t worry, I’ll assemble my own team to handle it.”
Unlike his cousin Heppa, Tric has no qualms about commitments or official responsibilities. This arrangement is actually perfect, in his opinion. He will have no need to explain himself when he and Heppa—and whatever allies they can assemble—peel off from the main Estbryn forces to go after Anador’s circlet and perhaps blow up Mal-Ravanal’s old lair. “We might need to take Endathalas with us,” Tric tells Baeowin, throwing his thumb over his shoulder to point back where the other scout is drowsing in his pony’s saddle. It could be helpful to have someone other than Mate who can run messages back and forth.
Baeowin approves the reassignment and then begins to tell Tric about all the responsibilities that come with being a scout leader, including pony maintenance. He is initially taken aback by this; Mate is the only animal companion he needs. “Uh, actually, I’ve been practicing my running,” Tric says, hoping to demonstrate he is fast enough on his own two feet. He limbers up a bit, talking to himself all the while to magically augment his speed. He challenges Milquetoast to a race, forcing Endathalas to wake up. Although the scout is indifferent to the outcome, his pony is proud. She beats Tric, no question.
Baeowin shakes her head at the silly display and tells Tric to visit the stables after this outing. Renwick outright mocks Tric for ever thinking he could outrace an elvish pony. Tric gets harassed from the sky, too. Mate swoops down and pecks at him, unhappy that he will have to share attention with another animal. Tric assures Mate that the pony will not get any of the precious peanuts, but the magpie is not appeased.
Eventually the patrol gets as far south as the ruins of Hishanham. Tric approaches the featureless trunk of Roombledoombledeur and raps politely. The bark shifts, revealing glowing orange eyes that match well the current color of its leaves. “You’re looking fashionable for the season,” Tric compliments the wose. He delivers greetings from Dolmathengalin of the Grey Woods.
“Ah! I have not touched roots with Dolmathengalin in a long time,” Roombledoombledeur says, grateful for any news.
Tric shares the trials they experienced in the Grey Woods, including their eventual successful cleansing of shadow mages from the area. He is not as interested in the metaphysics of corruption as his cousin is, so he does not broach that topic with the wose. Instead, he takes out a small pouch. “And Dolmathengalin asked me to deliver some of its seeds to you. What is the appropriate way to plant these?”
Roombledoombledeur shakes its branches. “Cast them to the winds. That is how woses spread.”
With the wose’s blessing, Tric throws the seeds around the monument commemorating those who died here thirty years ago. When he is finished, he stops by Roombledoombledeur again to share the news that there is an undead army north and east of here.
“Should we start moving that way?” the wose asks.
“To take part?” Tric is surprised by the question.
“I do not wish Estbryn to become another Grey Woods.”
Worked up at thoughts of the Grey Woods, Tric actually stumbles over his words formulating a response. “No! It emphatically will not! We the elves, those of fast feet,”—he ignores Renwick’s snickering at that—“are sending a contingent. The humans are sending several contingents. I’m going to speak with the dwarves as well, those of the axes. For better or for worse, we’re all moving to put a stop to this. You need not worry yourselves. I don’t want you to be in harm’s way, and I don’t know if the humans would understand or if they would just cause more trouble. Besides, you never know what other threats might come around from the south,” Tric adds, throwing an arm out toward where the Sandy Wastes lie in the distance.
“We will guard the rear,” Roombledoombledeur agrees.
“You’re doing the most helpful thing here right now, as I understand it,” Tric says, “extending the forest and taking the proper long-term view. We whose lives are shorter—shorter still, for some of us—have to take the shorter view and deal with what is an immediate problem.” Tric cranes his neck back, looking up into the wose’s eyes. “Do you have any advice? I’ve fought undead, but I’ve never fought an undead army.”
“Smashing is the best approach. But an even better approach is not being there.”
“Well, unfortunately the undead are coming.”
“I understand that. Be careful my small friend. What allies can you find who are even smaller, fleeter of foot, and shorter lived than you?” Roombledoombledeur asks, extending Tric’s logic about long-lived woses in the opposite direction.
“I suppose we could talk to Hezzis of the saurians. They live even less time than humans. Heppa and I will be headed out to the Foul Fen soon anyway for some sort of meditation practice. I’ll have to get some hocks of ham before we go. Say, what’s your opinion of faerie fire? When dealing with undead or just in general. Effective? Dangerous?”
“When woses and elvish forces work together, the elves are so much faster that their sorceresses are farther up front. They cast their faerie fire away from the woses so we do not catch fire. The fiery blasts are extremely effective when employed by skilled sorceresses.” The wose describes seeing it used in war before, and Tric gets a feel for just how wide and hot a blast it can make.
Tric lets out a long, low whistle. “Tricky thing when your allies are in the mix,” he observes. He imagines High Lord Volas’s input on this. That is a tactical call that must be made in battle. As an elvish lord, you would be expected to not throw faerie fire into places where it would hurt elves or to make the choice to sacrifice elves when needed. If you are not prepared to make those choices, maybe you’re not prepared to be an elvish lord.
Regardless of whether Tric is ready to be an elvish lord, he is about to go make some deals on behalf of his forest. Once he returns from this scouting expedition, he and Heppa are headed to the Foul Fen and then the eastern outpost of Untdunben. Right now, the forces to be fielded against the orcs and undead are the Estbryn elves, Merriver’s human bandit militia, Terwaen with the Horse Clan knights, and Mhaev with Gweddry’s troops. Why not throw two more armies into the mix?