The Odigwe carried sacks full of provisions atop their great backs, brown feathered wings folded patiently in wait. Their glistening black eyes peered at the approaching party, absent of pupils, only darkness that shrouded their gentle nature with a sinister glare.

Shael would have preferred to journey with her mated, for that was what Hector was to her now. To watch over him, so that he would not, could not fall without her watch. But as Spearhand, her Chieftain needed her in this coming war. Her people needed her.

She pressed her forehead to Hector’s and kissed him hard, ignoring his fellow kin’s surprise.

“Remember your training,” she whispered. “Trust your instincts, for they are worth more than empty words. May you walk a bright path.”

Hector nodded, “And may yours shine brighter.”

Shael had insisted that they ride with a full val’krunn (war party of nine) but Hector’s forefather refused with the stubbornness of such an Elder. He may have been Eilraz (reaper of many) yet he acted as any seer, unbudging in their way. The reason was that the smaller party of Hector, Celdan and Daelith would travel quicker to the Romir, and that they would not need an honor guard.

“King Umir is prideful, but he is honorable in his word,” Celdan promised. “He will aid us in the war.”

Shael watched as they mounted the Odigwe, Celdan and Hector upon one bird and Dealith atop his own. She stood beside Naal and gripped her spear tight, her gaze following them up the pale horizon.

“Your fear for your mate is warranted,” Naal spoke. “He cannot be more safer than beside his own kin. Come, we must hurry.”

Shael nodded, following in her Chieftain’s stead.

As they bounded along the branchworks Shael could see the Ro’krunn (army) of the Odigwe Tribe below, faraway figures that poured out and around the Elder Trees. Though their Ro’krunn was mostly made up of its riders, the Odigwe were known for their combined skill in the bow, of which they claimed had no equal amongst the Tribes.

The strength of a Ro’Krunn was not decided by any one sylvarii, but as a whole. Every Tribe had their own Warden parties, those that kept their eternal vigil over their arboreal’s borders from any threat, be it the forest or man. These were the tip of the Ro’Krunn spear, the vanguard experienced from decades of dealing with the various beasts the Elder Forest had to offer.

What worried Shael was that her Tribe had the only Wardens that had dealt with humanity. There were the Forest Crusades following Celdan in the centuries after, but the sylvaren had depended on the cover of the Elder Trees and led the humans to succumb to the Mag’harren.

Now they were to fight in the open, in mankind’s territory that had not fought against beasts but with full fledged armies. Yes, they knew of their tactics and ways from Celdan. But those tactics had evolved over centuries of constant war that would bear their full devastating effect upon her people.

Death was a certainty in the face of the sylvaren. Looming over all their heads now, waiting to strike. Shael did not trust Vath in his judgement that he would ignore them from his gaze. She had seen far too many fall from lesser odds. Now they would be warring upon the whole of humanity.

Perhaps it was all for the balance. Perhaps none of their lives meant anything compared to the scope of the fate for this world.

Naal was growing older, his steadfastness fading with each decade. The Chieftain would need her in these coming times, to carry out his say and will to their Tribe’s Ro’krunn.

How unjust is it to be wizened with one’s years, Shael thought. For all your wisdom, you cannot help but be beat down by one’s own body. She grew impatient with her Chieftain’s slower pace, but she did not pass him. She was his Spearhand, the keeper and enactor of his will. Such was her duty. Duty stemmed from purpose to one’s own people. Duty made up one’s honor. So was the Warden creed, Val’ashei et val (I will, so I am).

When they reached the borders of the Elkin arboreal Naal croaked after several wheezing breaths, “You must take the mantle of Chieftain should I fall.” He raised a hand to quiet Shael. “We are at war. You are our most capable Warden, only you and a few others now that have fought the humans. Our people need no guidance but tested spirit in these coming days. I will make the arrangements with Elder Natu. Should I fall you must see our Tribe through.”

Shael bowed her head. “I am your Spearhand Chieftain, but if this is your will I shall see it through.”

Naal nodded, “Rest for the night and see to your kindred. We will all meet at the Focal Grove by the morn.”

***

Shael buckled her leather bracers with practiced deftness and sat down to redon her boots. Her oza (sister) watched in silence, eyes wide as she brought Shael’s new pack overfilled with supplies.

“Be sure to go to the stream to water the orchids,” Shael murmured, taking the pack from Lanni. “And never go to the forest floor at night.”

Lanni merely nodded.

Shael was glad Lanni was not yet of her second decade to hold a bow nor wield a spear. Her oza was slender and too thin, her mind too open to the world, still untrained and not even having yet taken her first hunt. She did not know what man was capable of. She did not know even what Shael was capable of, and Shael would do everything in her power that it be kept that way.

“All will be fine Lanni,” Shael forced a smile. “I do not know when, but I will return.”

She lifted a hand to place on Lanni’s shoulder, hesitated and instead swept past the covers of the opening. She avoided contact with Lanni for fear of finding out that she was now Hector’s mated. What would she think of her? For too long Lanni had seen her as a sylvarii that followed the ways of her people, always honorbound and bringing respect to their line.

Now who is the gutless one? Shael shook her head. She should have offered some lasting token of sentiment. But whereas her sister sang with the birds and brought flowers to full bloom Shael only knew of the bow and spear, never knowing how to grow nor form, something to create, not destroy.

Perhaps one day Lanni would become a dryad, and enthralled by her song vanni from all Tribes would journey for her hand.

Ravshi was a sacred rite that Lanni would take part in. Only vanni she deemed worthy would be allowed to call a Ravshi. Even then she could refuse should he prove the victor. Yet Lanni would be seen as selfish should she refuse, ignoring her duty as a sylf. For sylvaren were slow to give birth, the earliest birth after a union remembered was a decade. She would be seen as impetuous after the first refusal, selfish after the second, and whispered of being lost to the way after the next. Lanni would be shunned, not cast out entirely but not one with the people. A fate that Shael wished on no sylf. Thus she preferred the company of fellow Wardens that did not care for such rumor mongering.

Perhaps Lanni would be able to make that choice for herself, not having to serve the way of the people. Not having to choose to give her body to the vanni thought best to strengthen their Tribe. Warriors they would need in this war, and there were so few as Shael joined the gathering of the Elkin Ro’Krunn at the Focal Grove.

Every arboreal was shaped in a circle, the Grove its center. All sylven would gather there in times of great change for their Tribe. It seemed this would be the greatest change in all their Tribe’s history. Sylvaren touched their foreheads in offering and cleared a path for her to stand to Naal’s right at the forefront of the vast Grove, Elder Natu to his left.

Only a third of the open grassy ground was filled with able sylfs and vanni, a few hundred at most. There was a discontent that filled the Grove, sylvaren speaking in low tones.

“So few,” Shael murmured so only her Chieftain could hear.

“We have the aid of all the other Tribes and the Mag’harren,” Naal replied. “Celdan will bring the Romir to our cause. It will be enough.” The Chieftain raised his voice over all. “We shall wait until the other Ro’krunn have arrived!”

The sylvaren sat down, some pressing their heads to the hafts of their spears and muttering their prayers to Vath. Others argued with wild erratic gesturing, seeking to burn out their fear with anger. Some as Shael tested their bows or sharpened their spears with their whetstones. A few merely stood mute and still, looking to the somber grey sky, the surrounding Elder Trees casting their shade over all.

The other Tribes trickled into the Grove. First came the Wolven, their beast companions lurking in the trees, grey and black fur blending with shadow, countless amber eyes glinting in the stray suns’ light.

Then came the Anmir, stocky as the beasts they farmed, brown as the earth they tread. Vanni held the ocher colored shells of their namesake as their shields with both arms while the sylfs behind wielded spears twice as long as an Elkin spear.

The Tauri were bulky and broad to the taller, lean and slender Elkin, holding heavy headed roken cudgels or toothed maces.

The Odigwe were last to show, for they were deepest in the Forest. All in their Ro’krunn carried their bows at their backs and quivers crammed with arrows at either side of their packs.

The Chieftains alongside their Spearhands joined Naal and Shael. The Spearhands took their place behind their charges in a unified line. The Chieftains then stood in a circle, each placing one hand over Elder Natu’s.

Ozai (sisters), ovar (brothers), Naal’s voice drew all the restless sylvaren to stillness. Today we journey towards man’s domain, to war. The Mag’harren have deemed to aid us, and we shall join them as they approach the Long Wall.

Chieftain Erul followed without pause, We Odigwe shall roost up the treetops until we know the Mag’harren’s intentions.

The Wolven shall stay hidden in the cover of the Forest, Quani said.

The rest of the Chieftains, Kaelin and Ythra, spoke in unison, As shall we.

Naal spoke once more, We shall ply the Mag’harren as we would a spear point, to first drive through man’s defenses before we soon follow in their wake. You all know the forethought that has been taken. The path ahead of us will be unknown. He recited the mantra of the Seers, Make the most of this life, for Serendrial has given it freely. Make peace with your death, for Vath shall judge all.

“So will we find our way back to the next life,” all sylvaren intoned.

The sky darkened to dusk, seeping clouds ebbing away to show the orange suns’ set. Elder Natu rested a hand over Naal’s shoulder. The Elkin chieftain nodded, his voice unspoken to all, They have come.

The Mag’harran trudged around and past the Grove, seemingly never ending. All sylvaren watched with wary yet entranced eyes. The Husks of once men shambled and shuffled with wooden movements, holding their worn weapons that had once been keen for sylvarii blood. Their eyes were as yellowed tree resin, glazed over and lifeless. Their skin was of varying tones from a dull lichen pallor to lush evergreen. Those darker in tone strode with a smooth gait, their armor battered from time yet their bodies moving with some hidden power, their eyes gleaming with unnerving sentience.

The true Mag’harren lumbered overhead, the very earth shaking with their collected burdening steps, dirt spraying out in light tufts. They were few and far between the flooding of once men.

The pungent scent of earth unsettled by fresh rainfall filled the Grove when there was none, the sharp tang of rusted metal on Shael’s tongue.

Steady onward did the Mag’harren move, and when what open sky settled onto night and revealed the bright moon did the sylvaren move with them. Weilün’s soft light uncovered the countless charred blackened husks of the razed sapling forest. Ash plumed upwards to the Mag’harren’s plodding steps, stinging sylvaren eyes and choking their throats. Still they pressed on.

The Long Wall snaked and twisted over the ascending slope that they trudged up to meet. The sylvaren moved with patience to the slower Mag’harren. The ground trembled with all their shifting weight. Dark figures ran along the wall, frantic in their movements. Shots from what Hector had called muskets pelted out their contents of metal, but the sylvaren ducked under the line of Anmir shelled shields. The sound was dissonant and broken compared to the massed number that Shael had faced in the razing. A few Husks fell from a stray shot only to rise and rejoin the tireless assault of the Long Wall. Men shouted in panic, their faces outlined by the torches they now held. They tossed them over the sea of Husks that were swarming and even clambering over each other to scale the sapling tall wall.

Orange tinged yellow fire plunged into the dark, forcing Shael to cover her eyes with her second lids at its sudden strength. The Husks were like tinder, adding and spreading at a ravenous speed to create a wall of sputtering flame before the rigid stone. The harsh smell of burnt pine traveled with the gusting howls of wind.

The remaining Husks, of which there were still many, halted then and grew still. The Mag’harren waded past, the fire furious yet leaving them unharmed from its burning wrath. Stone shattered and crumbled as they struck with prodigious strength against the barrier that had long separated them from their ancestral homes.

Men wailed as chunks of their wall fell with them. Odigwe soared and dove down, two sylvaren upon each bird’s back loosing arrow after arrow over the humans that still lived. Mag’harren stood before the fire and clapped their hands with such force the flames shivered and were snuffed out, their claps echoing out over the hills.

The Husks then stirred to renew their march, forming columns that were akin to the human formations of their past lives that fed through the broken openings of the Long Wall. The Mag’harren turned away and lurched back to the forest.

“Where are they going?” Shael asked her Chieftain. “They are leaving us!”

“Calm,” Naal chided. “Their will is of their own. What we do now is ours as well.”

Shael nodded, biting back her words.

The sylvaren followed the Husks past the wall to face the open plains, the night breeze soothing their singed faces. A distant city of man imposed itself over the simplific beauty of the surrounding landscape. A river silver from Weilün’s light snaked behind the city, carving a path back to the Aqir (ocean). Dark structures clawed at the twisting sky, seeking to snatch even the stars themselves. Unnatural, Shael thought with disgust. To twist and force the world, not guide it, all for one’s whims.

The workings of Shael’s jaw tightened as she saw even in the far stretch the countless pinpoints of torch light and the shining armor of the army that swarmed out from the city’s walls like a hive of malevolence.

The Husks spread out, no one body too close to the other, forming a loose horde that moved towards the city. Still more leaked through the broken wall, ambling past the sylvaren.

The course of action was simple: the Mag’harren, or what remained of the Husks, would attack the city while the sylvaren marched on to meet with the Romir. A task thwarted by the growing human army in their path. The sylvaren waited as more of the Husks advanced.

The humans, more of Hector’s kind, were closer now, harsh shouts and their horns calling out with deep foreboding. Cracks of flashing musket fire echoed along the flat grassland, the mass of Husks blocking the Sylvaren from death’s reach, for now.

Each step closer and closer to the peril of man’s blood stained hands. Each hand wielding the sharp deliverance of a stab or a slash, the keen promise of a butchered death. The muskets silenced, the light of the torches glaring with hateful heat upon the humans’ faces as they hurled them overhead.

The Husks quickened their seeming stumbling steps into a now coordinated charge. Some burned to the thrown torches, but where one burned others gave a wide berth to create pockets of flaming figures and move past to collide against their shieldline, a clatter of metal scraping and renting at another until it found flesh and blood. Except the Husks did not bleed.

When their rusted armor gave way to the blows of the recently wrought weapons of the humans they did not fall. When a limb was chopped off, when a chest was stabbed through, they did not fall. The Husks continued in their relentless attack. Their numbers seemed even, yet the Husks did not fall. Only a strike to the head, of which one was hard pressed to succeed due to their helms worn in their past lives could a Husk be set free, only for its body to scatter into dust that the men inhaled and coughed until they too fell.

The Husks that bore some cunning and deft movement jumped and cut down the men with deceptive swiftness. One grabbed the helmet of one man and he screamed as it crushed it and his skull within. Shael could see the entire battle clear as day. The hundreds of Wolven that had raced across the open field with predatory silence now crashed against the backs of the humans, knots of men dying in seconds to slavering teeth long as curved daggers and bone spears from their now howling riders. Before they could answer with a mounting defense the Wolven retreated to the darkness of the mens’ eyes, prowling round in wait for their next ferocious charge. Odigwe flitted past the full moon, arrows piercing the tight knit formations.

A horn deafened the sky, once, then twice. The humans were giving way before the merciless Husks and repeated flanking of the Wolven Tribe. The gates of their city opened, men breaking formation to flee to seeming safety behind their walls. The Husks did not move more than a hundred paces from the city, suddenly still.

“We have them,” Shael hissed to Naal, who shook his head.

“We press onward, to the Romir and to your mated. We press onward!”