The elves led Laryn to the place where trees met sand, and grew out over the water. As they walked, Kenna grabbed Laryn’s arm. Her eyes were wide, not with fear, but with excitement. Her hair hung in golden curls around her face.

  “Why am I going with you?” she whispered. “Why did they select me?”

  “Hospitality, I think,” Laryn said, trying not to recoil from her touch. It had been a while since he’d walked with a woman on his arm. “Elves have strange rules about those kind of things. You served them food.” He looked at the woman for the first time. She was young, about his age. She would have been a teenager when Jardensvalee was founded. He wondered what her story was.

  “They didn’t even eat it.” Kenna watched the elves intently. Her amber eyes danced from elf to elf, taking in the moment. Her grip was firm and steady on his arm, and Laryn drew strength from it.

  “It must not matter,” Laryn said, appreciating her for the first time. He did not shake her arm free from his, but walked with her as they followed the elves.

  They reached the river.

  A large stone rested on the shore and protruded into the water here. A short scramble to the top of that rock revealed the elves’ secret for crossing the water.

  A long rope, thirty or forty meters long, spanned the river. Anchored to this stone by metal rings, and held taut by a sinching contraption, the rope provided a kind of bridge. The swift flow of the current rushed past beneath.

  One of the elves stepped onto the rope, and, balancing elegantly, walked across it to the other side of the water.

  Kenna gasped, fingers squeezing into Laryn’s bicep.

  Gaten whitened.

  The Ilydia turned to Laryn and gestured at the way across. “You will need assistance,” he asserted.

  Laryn nodded.

  The elf who had crossed first emerged returned. He had tied a second rope to a secure place across the river, and, uncoiling it as he walked back, created a kind of chest high hand rail for the humans to use.

  He secured this to a tree, then gestured for Laryn to cross.

  Laryn swallowed. He was [Ruler]. He’d read the romantic stories of heroic leaders going first. It would be a gesture that would be remembered. He could lead the way across this elven bridge. A few of the villagers had ignored his instructions and followed them here, watching from the shore.

  He took one step forward, and Kenna brushed past him. She grabbed hold of the guide rope with one hand, and walked carefully out over the water.

  Her legs shook, and the rope vibrated, rocking from side to side beneath her. She paused, composed herself, and continued on to the other side. When her feet rested on solid ground, she turned and waved, a brilliant smile flashing on her face.

  Laryn couldn’t help but grin back. Not to be out done, he stepped out onto the rope. His injuries from fighting had begun healing, but the careful precision required to cross the rope aggravated his leg. He slipped once, but caught himself on guide rope and continued on across.

  When he reached the other side, his skin tingled, body awash with the energy of fear and triumph. Kenna flashed him another smile, her eyes alight.

  “What was that?” he asked her.

  “I… I’m sorry for pushing past you,” she said. “I just knew that if I didn’t do it right away, I’d lose my nerve.”

  “It’s fine,” Laryn said. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  She seemed to enjoy the experience too much.

  Gaten was having a harder time convincing himself to cross over the rope. He stood at the edge of the rock, probing the rope with his toe.

  “Come on, Gaten!” Kenna cried, yelling across the sound of the rushing water. “You can do it!”

  Gaten took two tentative steps out onto the rope. His legs shook. The rope swayed beneath him. He tried taking another step, but his hands held too tightly to the guide rope, knuckles white.

  “Loosen your grip,” Laryn yelled. “Relax a little.”

  Gaten managed to move forward a little further. The ropes swayed wildly as the boy tried to control his trembling legs.

  He made it around ten meters from across the water before he slipped. Kenna gasped. The bridge rope rippled, and Gaten fell, catching hold of the safety line with both hands. He hung, dangling in the air over the rushing water.

  Kenna grabbed Laryn’s arm arm again. “I can’t watch,” she whispered.

  The elves moved quickly. The Ilydia, the leader, walked calmly out over the water. He snatched Gaten up by the waist, and, in a display of significant strength, tossed him over one shoulder like a sack. He walked Gaten over to the other side of the river and placed him on his feet.

  Gaten slumped down and sat on the ground.

  The elves across the river collected the guide rope and crossed their bridge. Laryn helped Gaten to his feet.

  “Good job,” he said. “You made it.”

  “I can’t go back,” Gaten wheezed. “I… can’t do that again.”

  “Don’t think about it,” Laryn said. “We’ll make sure you stay safe.”

  A half dozen additional elves appeared around them, materializing from the forest. They must have been hiding in the woods, watching the beach. A cold chill trickled down Laryn’s spine as he realized what would have happened if he allowed his people to ambush the elves. A dozen elf fighters, dashing over their bridge and joining the fray. Hundreds of arrows flying over the river. They would have made short work of Vallor.

  The elves led them along a narrow, winding track through the woods. At first they were in Vallor claimed tiles, but they soon reached that border.

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  Without influence aiding them, moving through the woods, pushing tree branches aside, and the other labors of travel grew slightly more burdensome.

  The land and forest here bore fewer marks of wilderness. The elves clearly tended to this place. Gobo berry trees grew in thickets that had been cleared of undergrowth, and trimmed to allow easier harvesting.

  The trail widened into a path, and they passed between fields of some kind of grain.

  Up ahead, the border between unclaimed tiles and Annar shimmered. Laryn felt the moment they crossed over to it. The ground felt harder and rougher beneath his feet. Even the air felt thicker. His core interface informed him that he’d entered claimed tiles, with an influence of one and a half.

  The elves stepped more lightly, and walked at a quicker pace.

  With one and a half influence, they could claim more tiles. Surely having all the area where they worked covered would be better than the higher influence here. Why didn’t they claim more tiles then?

  He guessed that it might have something to do with the mechanics of their kingdom core. As far as Laryn understood, every core had a core essence burn rate—other than his core, that is—requiring a certain amount of essence to be added to the core each day to maintain a given level of influence.

  Some cores burned at higher rates than others. And some had more complicated functions that determined the burn rate. A common example being: tiles further away from the core increased the burn rate by more than tiles close to the core.

  If that was how the elves’ core worked, it would explain their reticence to claim more land.

  They passed the fields of grain and entered into Annar. A small, elven village, just like Laryn had often seen them depicted in idyllic paintings. Dwellings stood dotted about in an organic pattern, blending in with the natural terrain and flora.

  Constructed of mud, dirt, sticks, bark, and other natural elements, they were crafted into their surroundings in an elegant way, that acted as a kind of camouflage.

  Tall, old growth trees laden with emerald green leaves graced the paths. Laryn had the distinct impression that Annar had been here for a very long time.

  In human realms, nothing remained the same for so long. Villages either grew into cities or died off. The sense of legacy here was strong.

  A clearing in the center of the village hosted a well groomed garden of thorny plants. A slate grey kingdom core rose from the ground in the middle of the garden. Laryn guessed that the maze of plants was carefully calculated to be pleasing to the eye, as well as serve as a kind of defense for the core.

  He observed the core, but they remained too far for him to make out any writing or imagery on the core that might give him a hint about the core’s abilities.

  They rounded the hedges and entered into a dwelling. A wooden door, masterfully crafted to blend with the trunk of an old, hollow tree, opened at a light touch. The building opened into a large room, with several passages to either side hinting at a larger structure.

  The companions of the lead elf did not enter with them, but waited outside.

  “Sit,” Ilydia said, gesturing to benches surrounding a table.

  Laryn, Kenna, and Gaten did.

  “I will bring you food,” the elf said. “Then my burden is fulfilled, and you will leave Annar.”

  He disappeared through one of the side passages.

  “Wow,” Kenna said, looking around at the decor. Candles dangled from a chandelier, and clustered in alcoves, lighting the room and twinkling like stars.

  “This makes me feel like we’ve been living in the mud my whole life,” Gaten muttered. “I thought we were doing well in Jardensvale.”

  A voice emanated from somewhere deeper in the house. “Who have you brought home with you?” The speaker’s voice had a lilt to it, a touch of an accent Laryn did not recognize.

  The reply was muffled, and Laryn couldn’t make it out.

  “Well, I’m going to meet them! I’m still your senior, after all. You are not yet the [Ruler].”

  A new elf emerged. She did not wear the heavy, grey-green cloak they’d seen on all the others. Her willowy figure was wrapped in a thin, silvery cloth, which caught the candle light and glittered. She was clearly a woman.

  Walking into the room with a graceful step, she paused, then stared at each of them in turn, drinking them in with her eyes. The smooth features of her face betrayed no age; Laryn would have guessed that she was younger than Ilydia. But she had just referred to herself as his senior.

  “Humans,” she said. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you,” Laryn said, uncertain whether it would be appropriate to rise.

  “You don’t look like warriors,” she said. “My son seemed to think you were.”

  “We hope to be peaceful,” Laryn said. “But sometimes the wildlands demand a fight.”

  She smiled at this. “I am Lawal,” she said. “I would have gone to you myself, but I am afraid I am too old to venture out much.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Laryn said. “We did not mean to encroach on your land. I hope we can find a peaceful resolution to our problem.”

  She nodded. “I hope Ilydia will work with you to the same end.” Laryn wondered why Ilydia had been assigned this task. Wouldn’t it be better to speak as one ruler to another?

  “I believe that we can come to an agreement,” Laryn said, considering an idea that had been coming to him in pieces. He wanted to claim an additional ring of hexagons, boosting his constitution by another point; but that would require taking even more of the land that the elves worked on.

  He decided to share his thoughts with Lawal. She seemed more open than Ilydia. “We don’t actually want to use the land we have claimed,” he said. “Our kingdom core is old, and has a few quirks about it. We claimed the land to gain bonuses from our core, not for the land itself. Perhaps we can arrange some kind of treaty, which would allow you to use the land however you want, while it remains under our influence. The only difference for you would be positive—you’d get the benefits of Vallor influence over land which has hitherto been unclaimed.”

  “Interesting proposal,” Lawal said, tilting her head to the side.

  At that moment, the Ilydia—who must have been the son she referenced—returned. He bore three platters, each with a spread of food on it.

  “Ilydia,” Lawal said. “How was your conversation this morning? It must have been productive?”

  The food consisted of several kinds of whipped creams, along with portions of smoked fish.

  “Far from it,” Ilydia said, placing the platters in front of Laryn and his friends. “They refuse to leave, and must be driven out.”

  “We can’t leave,” Laryn said. “We have no coresmith. No way to move our core.”

  “Ah,” Lawal said. “And there are few coresmiths in this corner of the world. But surely you came here, and planted your core for a reason? You would not move away even with access to a coresmith.”

  Laryn glanced at Kenna and Gaten. "Erm… The location was not so thoughtfully chosen.” If the elves could provide him with a coresmith he would gladly move it. How much would that set back his kingdom’s growth?

  “And you will not abandon the core?”

  “It is too valuable.” Laryn said. Ilydia’s head twitched, and he thought he caught a glint of greed shining in the elf’s eye. “To us,” he added quickly. “We are very poor.”

  If the elf knew the power of the kingdom core, might he not try to take it for himself?

  “Have you spoken of the proposal you just shared with me?” Lawal asked.

  “What proposal?” Ilydia snapped.

  Laryn explained his idea, while trying not to detail the powers of the Conqueror’s Core.

  “What benefits do you gain by claiming more land?” Ilydia demanded.

  “It’s… As elves, you impress me with your ability to live in harmony with the land around you. It is a beautiful balance.”

  Lawal smiled, but Ilydia scowled.

  “Our core has a preference for balance too,” Laryn said. “Claiming more tiles that are not mostly water essence helps reduce our burn rate.” A lie, but a reasonable one.

  Ilydia seemed to consider. “Humans are never content with what they have,” he grumbled. “They always spill beyond their borders. Men are setting up settlements to the south. Any agreement with you can’t last.”

  “We will commit to terms and geas to insure the preservation of the agreement, Laryn said. “At least consider what might work for both of us?”

  Beside him Gaten smacked his lips loudly, all the food on his platter eaten. He blushed as everyone turned to look at him.

  “My obligation is fulfilled,” Ilydia said. “It is time for you to leave. We will escort you back.”

  Laryn grabbed a portion of fish and tossed it into his mouth, suddenly upset that he had been distracted by talking. The fish, seasoned and smoked, tasted delicious.

  But Ilydia ushered them out the door. Two elves fell in with them.

  Ilydia did not walk with them.

  They walked in silence, back the way they came. As they walked, Laryn noticed that both of the elves wore a gold chain around their necks. A dark jewel dangled from the chain, the cold, black color of void heart. It sang to him.