B4 – Chapter 36: Lord and Protector

“What do you mean?” Onyx asked as he clomped down with a hoof onto the dirt. “They killed some of ours.”

“We killed some of theirs,” Tristan replied. “We just need to stop their Realm Protector from trying to graft more of the Fey Realm so The Matriarch can seal us off once more.” He glanced at Bertram. “Why don’t you explain the idea behind it.”

“My pleasure.” Bertram hefted his sword on his shoulder. “A dragon finds a cave. A cave with something inside it. That dragon won’t go in, ripping and tearing. Instead, it prods. It provokes. It tries to get the thing to come out. If it cannot, then there are two options. Smoke them out with whatever spell type at their disposal, or go in.” He gestured to the trees. “Notice something about the sky?”

Felicity looked up, and dropped her invisibility. “No light. It’s pitch black.”

“Exactly,” Tristan said. “Who said that every realm progresses the same when it comes to innovation? If they never needed light sources, they would never invent fire.” He pointed to the now blasted battlefield. “This is proof enough, for me. Why would a Realm Protector knowingly create species that have such a potent weakness?”

“Tristan just challenged them,” Onyx said. “He made a statement.”

“Correct,” Tristan replied, happy that others were catching on. “Their whole realm has these trees. I could, Hells, anyone could just throw a torch into the forest and reduce this whole place to ashes. With that one spell, I just showed any of their scouts left behind to monitor us that we can destroy them utterly.”

“They’re forced to come and face the threat,” Betram replied. “Just like smoking a creature out of a cave.” He looked at Tristan and raised an appraising eyebrow. “Have you been employing dragon tactics in every fight?”

“Just the ones that are large scale conflicts,” Tristan replied. “It works well enough – they can fight armies on their own. Why not employ their skillset? Plus, it’s not like we were students of warfare.”

“Fair enough.” Bertram walked through the wooden gates, but Tristan stayed put.

Felicity spoke. “What are we waiting for?”

“Their response.” Tristan wasn’t waiting for long, as not thirty seconds passed before one of the inhabitants of The Witchwood emerged from the tree line, removed arrows from their quiver, and stabbed them down into the blackened loam before retreating. “I would bet they are saying “don’t cross this line and we won’t cross it.” It is a risk, giving them time to plan. But, a risk worth taking if we can avoid wholesale destruction.”

“Couldn’t their Realm Protector just change the realm like you did? Remove the flammability?”

“Realm Protectors cannot do what I can, for some reason. I can always use smoke elementalism while in the Fey Realm, and send it through the rift in an endless stream. Literally smoke them out. The same with water elementalism. That would avoid even more bloodshed.” He turned to the gate and went through it. Spriggan lowered the massive, wooden door behind him.

Krik was rapidly setting up the staging ground that led back into the Fey Realm. The remnants of the Daylight Dell had been turned into an adamant wood fortress; clearly demarcating the split between claimed land and what was theirs. The enormous spriggan still covered the far end of the ravine, and the one up above had stayed put. The Matriarch shouted down from above. “How goes it?”

“We’re trying a new tactic,” Tristan shouted back. He turned to Krik and addressed the Warmaster. “Keep building up the gates and front wall—”

“Lord Tristan!” one of the fairy dragons atop the new fortification shouted. “There’s people gathering on the field!”

“Onyx, back through the gate. We will attempt to speak to them.” He wheeled around with Onyx and went back through the gates; raised just enough to allow him through.

The tree line was filled with the inhabitants of The Witchwood, all of whom had weapons that were not pointed at Tristan or raised to fire. He rode out halfway between the fortification and the tree line. He kept his sword lowered at his side, but still in his hand. Raising his voice, he spoke first in Elvish, and then cycled through all of the languages he was fluent in. “I am Tristan Winterbloom! Lord of the Fey Realm! You grafted a sealed part of my realm. I would speak with your leader to avoid further bloodshed.”

As he cycled to Dragon’s Tongue, there was chatter among the inhabitants. One of their number; a tall, lanky woman covered in the leather-wood plates and holding a massive staff tipped with bladed leaves, rode forward from the tree line atop a sinuous, bark-covered serpent that left behind a crimson trail of sap. She stopped a hundred feet away from him. “You speak the tongue of the invaders. We killed them, too.”

“I am fluent in many languages,” Tristan shouted back. “I can destroy your realm if I desire, through fire and smoke.” He kept the flooding with water elementalism to himself, not wanting to reveal every possible win condition at his disposal. He also felt something in his chest. A weird tingling sensation.

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“I am the Realm Protector, Oma’yasha. Firstborn of the Coven. You speak with the voice of yours?”

“I rule the Fey Realm,” Tristan replied. “I am above the Realm Protector in authority.”

She hissed, and her tongue flickered out – a serpentine tongue with a fork in the tip. “Then if you die, your realm falters and is ours for the taking.”