Chapter 9 – Wartime Diplomacy

The first thing Shaelith noticed when she woke up was the unfamiliar scent of pine resin and damp forest floor, and it was cold, at least relatively.

Right. Sylvyn border fort. Not at home.

Beside her, Ryzinre was breathing evenly, even though her face was half covered by her long silverish hair. The young woman from a minor house associated with House Vyrnara, who was one of the servants accompanying Shaelith, had proven to be a pleasant traveling companion. She was uncomplicated, loyal, good in bed, and with a refreshing lack of political ambition.

Shaelith stretched carefully so as not to wake Ryzinre. It was two years since that birthday night when the news of the first massacres had arrived and two years in which isolated goblin raids had turned into a full-blown war.

The Third Goblin War, as the chroniclers were already calling it. Tens of thousands slaughtered and at least as many taken prisoner by the goblins, which was an even less enviable fate.  

For the past two years, Shaelith, like the other Daughters of the Matriarchs, had tirelessly performed her duties as envoy for the Council of the Matriarchs who remained in Myzelemaerlazin at all times, as was custom.

And Vyriz is out there somewhere fighting under Mirilenre Baerelin.

As always, the thought choked her throat. It had been three weeks without news from him. In wartime, that could mean anything from interrupted lines of communication to-

She forced herself to stop following that line of thought. Vyriz was an excellent swordsman. He would manage.

He must.

“Awake already?” Ryzinre’s sleepy voice snapped her out of her musings.

“Diplomatic meetings don’t wait for late risers,” Shaelith replied and swung her legs out of the cot. “Will you help me with my hair?”

Ryzinre yawned, but nodded and reached for the comb and the braiding ribbons and began the braiding while Shaelith slipped into her formal diplomatic robes, which were more high-necked than the usual Shaeravyn style, but still flatteringly tailored.

“House Vyrnara Speaks for Myzelemaerlazin,” Ryzinre murmured in concentration. “Myzelemaerlazin Honors the Alliance… and Unity in Crisis maybe?”

“Good enough for them.” Shaelith looked at herself in the polished mirror. Most foreigners didn’t understand any of it anyway.

She rolled her eyes upwards and the UI flickered on.

[Exceptional Beauty]
[Daughter of the Matriarch]
[Shaeravyn Sorceress]
[Polyglot]
[Diplomat]

Funny. I always used to think [Shaeravyn Sorceress] is my most important trait, but it turns out in this war, [Diplomat] and [Polyglot] matter more than any magic. At least for me. Although…

She scrutinized her reflection, with the flawless purple skin, the perfectly proportioned features and her mysteriously shimmering lavender eyes.

[Exceptional Beauty] also helps. Even grumpy dwarves become more talkative when they have something nice to stare at.

The wooden Sylvyn negotiation hall was built not of dead wood as humans and dwarves were wont to do, but Sylvyn-style from living wood. The walls were formed of intertwined branches and roof was made of tightly layered leaves through which a bit of sunlight filtered.

They way the Sylvyn constructed buildings was basically very similar to how the Shaeravyn built.

Different materials, same principles. We shape mushrooms, they shape trees, but in the end, it’s the same technique.

Master Chronicler Bornjek Pitrise was already seated at the oval negotiating table, drumming impatiently on the bark-covered wood. The dwarf wore a Chronosteel arm, which was not unusual in itself, but this was not an everyday version, but a particularly bulky version with all kinds of additional gadgets of the kind the dwarves used in battle. The arm looked impressive. A power play that did not escape Shaelith’s notice.

Elder Lindolin was enthroned next to him. He had light bronze, slightly greenish skin and his amber eyes wandered anxiously back and forth between the door and the window.

“Shaelith Vyrnara,” Lindolin greeted melodically in Sylvyn. “May the forest welcome your footsteps.”

“And may his roots remain strong,” Shaelith replied in perfect Sylvyn, causing Lindolin’s eyebrows to shoot up. She switched seamlessly into Dwarvish, “Master Chronicler, hand to the chest. I hope the journey wasn’t too arduous?”

Bornjek, who had just opened his mouth to complain about something, shut it again when he heard her perfect accent and he looked over at her and then his eyes widened noticeably as he really saw her. “I… uh… by the Forge Father’s Hammer, they didn’t say-” He cleared his throat. “The trip was acceptable.”

And there we have it. Even a four-hundred-year-old Dwarf is not immune.

Shaelith gracefully took her seat and positioned herself very deliberately so that the light filtering through the leaves made her purple skin shimmer. “Shall we begin? Storm season waits for no one.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Bornjek found his voice again, tore his gaze away from her and slammed his Chronosteel-fist on the table, before he continued in broken Sylvyn. “Three weeks! In three weeks, Hammer Pass will be flooded. If we don’t get everything through now, we’ll be stuck for four months!”

“And I say,” Lindolin leaned forward, “that no dwarven caravan will be trampling through Heartwood Grove.”

“Then we’ll take the northern route-“

“That takes two days longer and would pass two sacred groves!”

Shaelith raised a hand. “Master Chronicler, Elder,” she switched to Tulvian, the neutral trade language. “We all have the same goal. We need to move supplies, protect the refugees and most of all, we want to win this war. Let’s tackle the problems one at a time.”

Bornjek grumbled, but nodded. Lindolin relaxed slightly.

“First,” Shaelith counted off, “Chronosteel shipments. Master Bornjek, you want guarantees of payment?”

“Damn right! Last month, the humans only paid half the agreed-upon sum. ‘Emergency’, they said. Pah! Even if we want the alliance to win the war and we’re giving the alliance unbeatable prices because of it, we can’t just give stuff away for free.”

“Understandable.” She turned to Lindolin. “Elder, the Shaeravyn could vouch for the human part of the delivery so we can move forward here, but the shipments can’t be delayed any longer. We need the Underfire fungus supplies transported from the dwarven deep mines refrigerated. Surely you know how sensitive-“

“Wait a minute,” Bornjek interrupted. “Cooling costs extra, neither magical nor technical cooling is cheap!”

“We’ll be happy to compensate for that, of course,” said Shaelith smoothly. “But in return, we expect priority in route planning.”

Lindolin frowned. “Then I want the refugees from Silverleaf to get priority in the distribution. This month alone, three hundred Sylvyn families-“

“And two hundred Shaeravyn from the outposts,” Shaelith countered. “Plus four hundred humans from border towns. We won’t get anywhere if we play them off against each other.”

They spent the next half hour moving numbers back and forth like pieces on a game board. Shaelith juggled between three languages, translating not only words but also cultural concepts. When Bornjek spoke of “efficiency”, she explained to Lindolin that he meant “respect for time”. When Lindolin insisted on the “sacredness” of the forest, she translated for Bornjek as “irreplaceable strategic resource.”

“So,” Shaelith finally summarized, “we’re splitting the deliveries. First wave this week, with the Chronosteel and the refrigerated goods via the northern route. Yes, Elder, around the outside of the Heartwood and the dwarves promise to take good care not to accidentally get into the other two sacred groves near the route. The second wave follows next week and we’ll take refugees and the standard supplies over the southern route before the passes close.”

“And the payments?” Bornjek did not let up.

“Forty percent prepayment, remainder on delivery and Shaeravyn guarantee for the Tulvian shares.” She smiled. “Would you be satisfied with that?”

Both men looked as if they had been eating sourspores but nodded.

Mission accomplished. And all without sorcery. Well, almost. [Exceptional Beauty] also feels like some kind of magic sometimes.

The evening’s feast, if you could call it that, was a Sylvyn affair through and through. Shaelith looked at the artfully arranged platters with mixed feelings. Roasted nuts, candied flowers, some sort of cereal porridge with honey, various salads made from leaves she couldn’t identify.

All very healthy and nutritious, I’m sure. But what wouldn’t I give for a proper plate of hot spicecaps.

“A good achievement for all of us today,” Lindolin said as he handed her a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like tree bark soup. “Your reputation precedes you, Shaelith Vyrnara, but the reality surpasses even the rumors.”

“You flatter me, Elder.” Shaelith sipped politely and barely managed to keep her face straight. It was tree bark soup and it tasted exactly as it looked.

Even Bornjek, who spent most of the meal sniffing suspiciously at various vegetables and was visibly displeased that there was no meat, grumbled reluctantly. “The compromise could work. If everyone sticks to it.”

“They will,” Shaelith assured him. “No one can afford for this alliance to fail. Not even the dwarves. If we fall, the dwarven strongholds will be next.”

Her gaze wandered through the hall and lingered on a particularly tall Sylvyn ranger. Auburn hair with the typical autumn leaf sheen of the Sylvyn and amber eyes. Lean, like all of his people, but with broad shoulders, by Sylvyn standards at least. She’d never slept with a Sylvyn before.

And he had noticed her looking over to him. His green-bronze Sylvyn skin always darkened a little in embarrassed. But he didn’t look away. Interesting.

For the rest of the meal, they kept exchanging glances. Shaelith was subtly trying to make her interest clear to him, but as it often happened with the Sylvyn, subtlety worked about as well as if she had been trying to give subtle hints to a chair.

Directness is probably more appropriate here.

As the feast drew to a close and the first people took their leave, Shaelith stood up and headed straight for the ranger. He almost choked on his herbal tea.

“May I ask your name, Ranger?” she asked in her most polite Sylvyn.

“Captain Eibon, uh… Your Excellency?” He tried to keep a straight posture.

“Captain Eibon,” she smiled, “I find you very attractive. Would you be interested in spending the night with me?”

His eyes widened. “I… uh… this is…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have a partner, if that’s what you mean. I mean, I’m not… bound.”

Cute. He thinks I’m asking about his relationship status.

“That’s good to know,” Shaelith said softly. “I should mention that I’m already sharing my tent with one of my servants. She is quite dear to me, and we don’t have to send her away. Would that be acceptable to you?”

Now he looked really confused. “You mean… with you two…?” His voice rose a little. “But the Rites of Spring aren’t for months, are they?”

Shaelith suppressed a smile. “This has nothing to do with fertility rites, Captain. Only with pleasure. Of course, if you’re not interested, I completely understand.”

“No! I mean…” He darkened even more. “Yes, I am. Interested, I mean. Very much so. I’m just… that’s not… normal? For us, I mean. For us.”

“I know.” She touched his arm and caressed it a bit. “But what’s normal in these times. So?”

He swallowed, but then nodded with a shy smile. “Yes. I’d love to.”

There you go. Wasn’t that difficult after all, was it?

The tent was pleasantly warm and illuminated by the soft glow of a small mushroom light Ryzinre used to read a book about medicinal herbs while lying on the furs on the ground.

“Ryzinre,” Shaelith said, stepping inside, Eibon close behind her. “I’ve brought company. Captain Eibon of the Sylvyn Rangers.”

Ryzinre looked up and her eyes traveled slowly over the large ranger standing uncertainly in the doorway. An appreciative smile played around her lips. “Not at all unwelcome.”

Eibon cleared his throat nervously. “I… normally… we usually… it’s not…” He broke off and his green-bronze face darkened again. “Forgive me. I don’t know exactly what… the protocol here is?”

Both women laughed softly. Sylvyn are funny. They probably really think the Shaeravyn have a set of rules for this sort of thing.

“There’s no protocol,” she explained and already undid the fastenings of her robe. “We just do what the three of us enjoy. Relax.”

“Come here,” Ryzinre beckoned, tapping the hides beside her. “We’re not biting. Well, at least we’re not biting hard.”

As they helped him out of his Ranger uniform, Eibon visibly relaxed and his initial embarrassment gave way to genuine enthusiasm.

Eibon brushed hesitantly over Ryzinre’s bare purple shoulders with his bronze hands. The Sylvyn moved gracefully, but it was the careful restraint in his movements that mesmerized Shaelith.

So different from us.

She observed his amber eyes move back and forth between her and Ryzinre, as if constantly asking for permission.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” Ryzinre murmured in broken Sylvyn, reached for Eibon’s hand and resolutely moved it to her chest. “We won’t break.”

Shaelith let her dress slide off her hips and joined them.

“Ryzinre’s right,” she whispered in his ear and tickled him with her warm breath. “Just relax, you don’t have to be afraid.”

It’s so cute how he tries to hide his excitement. As if we can’t see how his body reacts to us.

Eibon turned his head and now his lips were just a hair’s breadth away from Shaelith’s.

“I’m not afraid,” he protested weakly, but the trembling of his voice betrayed him. “I just want to be… respectful.”

Ryzinre chuckled and pulled herself against him, pressing her naked body against his, rubbing herself over his hard length. “This has nothing to do with respect, my forest-dwelling friend. I want you to fuck me.”

Shaelith watched Eibon’s tension melt away as Ryzinre worked her skillful hands on his upper body. Shaelith knew this dance well by now, had danced it often and with pleasure. But she was still eager to explore how different it would be with a Sylvyn.

“You know what I like about you Sylvyn?” she asked as she gripped his wonderfully hard member. “You’re so straightforward, no knives in the back ever. I always know where I stand with you.”

Eibon moaned against Ryzinre’s lips as Shaelith started to stroke him. He himself grew bolder with touching them and explored all those purple curves before him with growing desire and likewise a pleasant heat was gathering between her own legs.

Eibon’s gaze kept drifting to her, even as he kissed Ryzinre and his pupils dilated as he looked at her perfectly proportioned breasts and surprised moans escaped him from only her hand working him.

Shaelith smiled. I have been a teenage boy for long enough that I’m second to none in beating the meat.

“Lie down,” Shaelith ordered maybe a little too demanding, but it was a Shaeravyn habit that she instinctively took the lead with a man. Although it could also be interesting the other way around from time to time. Eibon obeyed anyway and let himself sink back onto the soft fur.

Ryzinre and Shaelith exchanged an excited glance, waggled their eyebrows and silently agreed on the order. Ryzinre finally spread her slender thighs invitingly and positioned herself directly above Eibon’s face.

“Show me if your tongue is as strong as the rest of you,” she joked.

Eibon hesitated, glanced at Shaelith for a second, but then put his hands around Ryzinre’s hips and pulled her down on his face. The moan that escaped Ryzinre as his tongue touched her sent shivers across Shaelith’s own skin.

So much potential. If only the Sylvyn weren’t so terribly monogamous.

Then she took him slowly into her mouth, savoring his surprised gasp that emerged from between Ryzinre’s thighs. His taste was different from that of Shaeravyn men’s, a bit earthier and saltier. Like the forest itself, she thought as she let her tongue dance over his length.

She intensified her efforts and took him deeper as she slowly massaged his balls. Above her, Ryzinre’s breathing quickened as she moved on Eibon’s face, seeking her own rhythm.

“By the roots,” Eibon gasped and his hips jerked up on their own accord. Shaelith had to smile around his manhood.

She let it slip out of her mouth. “Not yet,” she reprimanded playfully. “We’ve only just started.”

She positioned herself above him and as Ryzinre briefly rose from his face to turn and face her, Shaelith noticed the admiration in his eyes, as he looked at her, mixed with something that looked almost like awe.

He’s looking at me like I’m a goddess. Well, compared to the Sylvyn women...

Finally she slowly lowered herself onto him and enjoyed the feeling of him filling her up. Good length.

“Mmm,” she murmured, “you’re well-built all over.”

Ryzinre laughed breathlessly and her body quivered over Eibon’s eager mouth. “Don’t torture him like that, start riding him,” she gasped.

Shaelith moved slowly at first, then faster and braced herself on Eibon’s chest. She could feel him grabbing her hips and he tried to control her rhythm and make her go faster, but she slapped his hands away.

“No,” she warned, “don’t get greedy.”

All the sounds in the tent, the moans, the gasps and the west sound of bodies moving against each other, intensified. As Shaelith approached the peak she reached for Ryzinre’s hand and locked fingers with her companion.

“Together?” Ryzinre asked breathlessly.

“We can try,” Shaelith agreed laughing.

They both intensified their movements, driving themselves and Eibon towards their climax in the process. Eibon trembled beneath Shaelith and his control slipped away. His hands grasped desperately at anything he could reach, he tried to grab her thighs, Ryzinre’s hips, the furs beneath him.

“I… I can’t go on much longer…” he gasped from between Ryzinre’s thighs.

“You don’t need to hold back,” Shaelith said and her own control was on the brink.

It was as if her saying that had broken a dam. Eibon cried out and his body tensed as he poured himself into her and the intensity of his release and the feeling of his warmth spreading inside her, brought Shaelith to the destination herself.

Ten seconds later Eibon was still twitching inside her.

My goodness, that’s what I call pent up.

Ryzinre groaned in front of her and her whole body started to shake in her own orgasm after she came to the aid of Eibon’s tongue with her own hand.

For a moment, everything was silent and only their heavy breathing filled the room. Then Shaelith dropped down next to Eibon and her body still rippled with gentle aftershocks. Ryzinre snuggled up to his other side.

“That was…” Eibon searched for words, breathing heavily. “I’ve never…”

“Never had two at once?” Ryzinre finished the sentence in Sylvyn with a heavy Shaeravyn accent and gave him a mischievous smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Shaelith gently stroked his hair. “Think of it as a cultural exchange,” she said and kissed him.

“Do we have to sleep already?” mumbled Ryzinre, who seemed to be getting into the mood again.

“Not yet,” Shaelith replied. “We still have time for one more round.”

“Good, because I want him inside me this time,” Ryzinre demanded.

Eibon lay between them, looking from one woman to the other. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he confessed.

“Then don’t say anything,” Shaelith whispered. “Just enjoy.”

~

The next morning, Shaelith carefully freed herself from the Sylvyn Ranger’s embrace. Eibon was still asleep, but his mouth was slightly opened in a smile.

How peaceful he looks. She reached for her clothes. Almost a shame we have to leave.

Ryzinre was already half-dressed and winked at her. “Quietly,” she formed with her lips.

But it was too late. Eibon stirred and blinked sleepily. When he realized where he was and with whom, his green-bronze face darkened yet again.

“Good morning,” he mumbled and sat up, obviously unsure of how to behave the morning after.

“Good morning, Captain.” Shaelith slipped into her traveling robes. “I know it’s very early, but we’re about to set off. It’s a long way to Myzelemaerlazin.”

He nodded and hastily reached for his uniform. Then, when he was almost finished dressing, he cleared his throat. “Will I see you again?”

Oh dear.

“Maybe when the war ends,” she said diplomatically.

Probably never. Wow, the rumors about Sylvyn getting attached really fast seem to be true.

He nodded gravely, as if she had made him a solemn promise, then they exchanged a formal but warm farewell before he returned to his duties.

Shaelith’s escort was already waiting outside. Ten armed guards plus a few more servants who didn’t sleep in her tent. The guards wore the new light mycelial armor that had proven its worth in the border war so far and kept their faces professionally expressionless.

“Sylvyn endurance really isn’t a myth,” Ryzinre sighed as she stowed her things away. “If only they didn’t have such weird ideas about sex. The poor guy looked like he wanted to swear eternal loyalty to you after just one night.”

“That’s the disadvantage of bringing the exotic into your bed, Ryzinre,” Shaelith replied and couldn’t help but grin. “It’s not just this excitingly different auburn hair, but also the strange customs that go with it.”

By now, even the customs that I grew up with as Jacob seem terribly uptight to me. So much stress around sex and all of it so unnecessary.

They set off, following the winding forest paths towards Shaeravyn territory. They were traveling on foot at first, and two days later they would join a supply caravan a few miles further south on its way back to Myzelemaerlazin.

The borderlands showed traces of war everywhere. There were burnt clearings, abandoned settlements, and far more hastily erected gravesites than Shaelith would have wished to see. Even the birds sang differently there, much more nervously.

“The scouts are reporting more heat-fever outbreaks among the goblins,” the leader of the guards told Shaelith. “It doesn’t follow any of the known patterns with the goblins anymore, let me tell you. Their raids used to be much more predictable before the war, in earlier wars even, if I can believe my grandfather.”

Shaelith nodded. One more worry.

They had reached the gorge shortly after midday. A narrow passage between two hills which, according to the maps, was the quickest route to the supply caravan’s stopping point in several miles. In three hours, they would set up camp for the night, the guard captain and Shaelith had decided.

The gorge narrowed and rocky walls rose up on either side like the teeth of a stone maw. The hairs on the back of Shaelith’s neck stood up.

It’s so quiet here.

There was no birdsong, no buzzing of insects, not even the usual rustling in the undergrowth. The silence was thick.

“Something’s wrong here,” she muttered, opening her mouth to warn the guards.

“GROFF’FUFFBAR! GROFF’FUFFBAR!”

Goblin war cries exploded from all sides and crude arrows whistled through the air, some of their tips glowing with the mysterious crimson runes that Shaelith had never seen for herself but had been discussed in many a session of the Court of the Matriarchs. A guard beside her gurgled as an arrow pierced his throat.

“STOP!” roared the guard captain, but it was already too late. The goblins poured off the cliffs like a green tide and their yellow eyes burned with red heat-fever madness.

Shit.