After checking in at several huts, Ulf returns with a middle-aged man dressed far more finely than the elves expected out here, a day’s bushwhack from other human settlements. His black cloak looks velvet, and his gray robes might even be silk. The fellow’s most distinguishing feature is the large bushy mustache extending out over his cheeks and down to his jawline, finely groomed to leave his chin and sideburn-area clear. It is the same salt-and-pepper color as his wavy hair, though most of that is concealed by a hat resembling the collapsed muffins Tric saw when purchasing loaves of bread in Dan’Tonk. In the flickering firelight, the man’s skin is the creamy white of last night’s mashed potatoes. His heft, however, indicates he has a far better appetite than Kachen does. He is not quite as pale as the afflicted young mage, but neither does his white skin have the tanning that an outdoor life would lend to a farmer. Heppa evaluates him with an eye to his health; if he is suffering from anything, it is an over abundance of rich foods and a lack of sufficient exercise.
“This is Tric Manu, and this is Hepalonia of House Thrandolil,” Ulf says. “I wish to introduce you to Gaenyn, the leader of the society here.”
“Now, what can I do for you all here? What brings you to my woods?” the new arrival asks in a drawl unlike any the elves have heard before in Wesnoth. Perhaps it is how people speak in the western regions or off to the south. It is certainly not the prim and proper tones they have heard from human nobility so far. This man is a strange jumble of contradictions, looking so well-dressed out here in the forest and speaking so oddly.
“We learned that you have a book that we’d be interested to see or perhaps copy things out of,” Tric says, getting right to business. “A certain Book of Rhys.”
Gaenyn puffs out a breath. “That is a big ask you’ve got there,” he says, shooting a glare at Ulf. “Not just something we give away to anyone who just walks up to the edge.” It seems they do not often get visitors just showing up here.
“Well, you put your encampment at the end of the road,” Tric says. “Of course people are going to walk right up to it. Did you not know you were on an elvish road?”
Gaenyn’s mouth twists in a way that suggests, no, he did not. “We need to build some trust before we can have any sort of exchange here,” he says. “The manner of that exchange, and what information or materials it covers, that’s something we’ve gotta work out here.” Gaenyn talks about how supplies are hard to come by out here, which Tric is initially delighted to hear, given what he has saddled Butterbell with. However, as Gaenyn continues, his emphasis is on getting help with some specific and imminent action to replenish their supplies. “Some extra hands would really lighten the load on our upcoming supply run,” the man concludes.
Tric understands. He sees that Gaenyn is not the only human here dressed so finely. When Tric loaded Butterbell with supplies, it was on the assumption that these humans would be in rickety shacks, barely getting by. These buildings do not look so impressive, but the smells lingering on the night air indicate dinner was not just scraped together from berries growing at the edge of the clearing. Yes, yes, you’re going to hit the caravan. I don’t think I can help you with that, Tric thinks dismissively. Knots and the Beard might have no trouble changing sides as their employer varies, but Tric has no interest in attacking people he knows.
Heppa is currently oblivious to the subtext of the conversation, still distracted by what Domathengalin said about the corruption in the forest. Ever since they left the woses, she has been trying to determine whether she can feel any differences. Is it creepier here than it was when we entered the forest? So far, she is coming up dry. Is the sensation just more noticeable underground where the woses’ roots are? Or maybe Mother was right, and I should have applied myself more. Heppa’s self-confidence is shaken. They are so far from home now, and she worries that she is just not ready for this. Maybe there would be some benefit from another season or two of classes. Grow some deeper roots.
Tric considers his approach. Do I try to tell him it will be too dangerous because they have hired extra help? Or will that just mean he presses harder for our help? “You need more supplies? Now, even with this supposed ‘lightning magic’ I’ve heard about, raiding a—excuse me, doing a supply run is a very risky venture. What if instead the supplies came to you?” Tric pulls a sack from Butterbell. “This is just a sample of some of the exquisite wares we have brought straight from Dan’Tonk. Fine cheese, fancy spices, fresh bread. No need to endanger yourself for such luxuries. Besides, you wouldn’t want to go after that caravan, anyway.”
Now that he has started talking, words continue to roll forth from Tric. “However much of a pushover that last caravan from Carcyn down to Dan’Tonk was, this new one heading up to Carcyn has some very experienced fighters. It’s not just your standard hard-nosed mercenary guards, either. They’re transporting prisoners from Weldyn and South Tower who are being guarded by a knight with a full retinue. They’re in the service of some Lord Uchal, a really nonsensical person. The guy is a total pushover.” Tric is now thoroughly warmed up, enjoying spinning a story so much that he starts laying it on a bit too thick. “Oh, and there’s a mage that they have with them. And an apprentice mage, I think,” he adds, dressing up Tomos and Ffion. “But they don’t have any ghost hunters, not anymore. None of that’s a problem for you, is it?” Tric asks, eyebrow raised archly.
“It doesn’t look like there are very many fighter-types here,” Heppa observes. The only people near enough to see in the dim light look used to soft clothes and a soft life. The incongruities confuse her some; she is not sure whether they would respond to politeness or have rejected that trapping of society.
Gaenyn strokes his mustache, deep in thought as he revises his current plans. That is a big-sounding caravan—a big hit. And it sounds like it comes loaded with reinforcements already. He remains silent for now. There is no way to get in a word edgewise anyway, as his talkative visitor prattles on further.
Fearing he has given up too much information on the caravan, Tric decides to pad it with disinformation. “Yes, Lord Uchal has taken a personal interest in the safety of this shipment. Look, I said it was a knight and his retinue, but you cannot fully understand. This knight is known as a killer. Some even say Sir Sior mastered the arts of magic! I cannot verify that myself; I could not even see his face. Plus, they’re meeting up with reinforcements from the Ford of Abez. They’re bringing in mercenaries from some new barony up to the north. They’re really serious. I don’t know if they’re going to push into these woods themselves, but I wouldn’t put it past them. They know elves don’t live in these woods. Obviously they wouldn’t push into our woods because we would cut them down immediately…” Feeling he has gotten a little off track, Tric brings himself back to the caravan itself. “And did I say they were transporting criminals? It’s actually a drake. You need to be careful.”
Heppa looks at her cousin in surprise. “Really?” She does not remember a drake. Did they pick that up in Dan’Tonk?
“Uh, but I’ve told you enough about the caravan! The point is, that you don’t have to deal with that. Let these supplies we have, these fine cheeses—as well as sugars and flours in case you have any among your group who enjoy baking—let them be,” Tric forces himself to say it, though he had really hoped it would not come to this, “a gift to you.” He had wanted to make a fair trade, but things are not headed in that direction this time. Maybe this can at least nudge Gaenyn away from the topic of the caravan. “Yes, please accept everything here but the hock of ham. I may need that… Those come in handy. But everything else, let those be a gift. As you said, to build some trust.”
“We’re just interested in the knowledge for our elvish research projects,” Heppa assures Gaenyn. “We aren’t planning to use it against humans or sell it to someone else. We’re really no threat. And we’re not involved in knowledge trade as a business. I’m just so interested in all the things—well, really, about anything.”
“I can appreciate that. Our society here is dedicated to the pursuit and gaining of knowledge,” Gaenyn says. Heppa reflects that if they were not planning to attack a caravan, this seems like it would be a great place to spend some time learning things. “But acquiring and cultivating knowledge, now that’s not always a simple matter for those of us who depart from Alduin’s curriculum. A harsh fate awaits such as us out in broader Wesnoth society. Our secrecy and security do not come cheap. Hence the importance of gaining supplies to further support our little society here. We do not have the luxury of being able to just stroll to the market in the center of town. But do not get me wrong; we are not completely defenseless here. Certainly, we have our scholars, but we have a variety of hangers-on with diverse skills.”
Little society? Heppa looks around the dark clearing, trying to gauge the size of the Society of Shadow. There is movement along the edge, and a man enters the encampment, wild turkey slung over his shoulder and bow in hand. He nods at what Heppa had previously thought was a tall bush. The form nods back, and Heppa now makes out more details. It is a large woman with a morning star. The criminals in the caravan might actually be good recruits for them, Heppa realizes. And Gaenyn does have troops of a sort. There are dozens of humans here, and clearly some of them are more inclined toward violence than books. So far, Heppa has not heard or seen anything to indicate whether the scholars here are all Alduin dropouts. Perhaps some never bothered going to Alduin at all. Who knows their level of magical ability, though? Gaenyn certainly seems very self-assured. Heppa takes some comfort from knowing that Rhodri said they would hire additional guards following news about the lightning mage attacks. And Heppa has seen Knots and the Beard fight; she would not want to go up against them.
Gaenyn walks the elves further into the settlement to a fire that he says they can share with Ulf for the night. As he moves, his cape billows, exposing a sword at his hip. It glistens in the firelight… or with its own internal light? Heppa is not sure. Could it be an artifact? Or just a magical sword? Is there a difference? She has so many questions!
It seems to Gaenyn that these elves know an awful lot about the next caravan coming through, and he wonders why such a disinterested party would want to protect it. “Elves haven’t been seen in these here woods in centuries,” he says. “Now, I have no objections to you taking knowledge back to your tall trees across the river, but why put up such resistance over such a minor matter as us resupplying off a human caravan? This is the way of things in Wesnoth. The king would try to crush us if he knew where we were. We’re simply extracting our own form of tax upon the land, small remuneration for the troubles it has caused us. With your help or not, we will supply from the caravan. It’s just a matter of you demonstrating that you’re worthy of an exchange with us. Ashievere didn’t stop us. Nor Delfador. Nor Dacyn. This caravan is like dust in the wind.”
Those names all fly right by Tric, probably just players in some human tales of old. He gets Gaenyn’s point, though. Still, as much as Tric enjoys playing both sides in human affairs, he definitely does not want to shoot on both sides. He waves away Gaenyn’s words. “The ways of elves are so unlike the ways of humans. Our view is much longer than you can imagine. Let us not speak of this caravan, for raiding is not the way of elves. We live off the land and do not need to seize goods. We do not begrudge you for the way you choose to live, but we will not take part in that. And we respect that there are no more elves in these woods; you are now living here, and we make no claim to it. But there was once a great elvish society here, and if you look closely enough, you can still see there are many paths. We saw many of your blazes, but you do not always find the right path. We can show you ways to move more quickly in your woods, if that would be a fair trade to you.”
Gaenyn accepts this offer, considering the exposure of secret elvish ways to be a sufficient demonstration of trust. And he makes sure the exchange will include the northeastern areas of the forest, providing more efficient routes to use on their caravan raids.