Part 13
North coast, late spring 347

The finding of the riven dell

Smaed continued his descent. Well before the coastal track reached the flat coast, less than a day’s march beyond where he had turned back the previous autumn, he could see that the track descended to what looked like an estuary. Smaed sighed. This would probably mean a major detour inland to find a place shallow enough to cross it. Scanning the terrain from his vantage point he could see that inland from the estuary was what looked like a shallow wooded valley that further inland appeared to deepen into a clefted and tree-clad dell running east-west diagonally across his path.

The nights were growing shorter, noticeable almost day by day, but the day was old, the shadows had been lengthening for some time and now at last dusk was falling. He could see smoke rising from chimneys somewhere in the dell and the welcoming gleam of lights from windows. It looked very much like a village, the first he had come upon on this journey. It would make sense, he thought, to head straight for it, for like as not there would be a ford there to cross by.

So Smaed left the coastal track and turned inland. He struck a barely-visible track that soon entered the trees of the Deep Forest before descending steeply down a northfacing tree-clad slope. Sheltered from the wind and away from the clamour of the beach surf, the stillness was almost tangible. As he reached the bottom he could hear a brook that tumbled and sang with the sound of silvery bells on its way to the sea.

To his surprise, here in the dell spring was far more advanced than on the exposed coast and the vegetation was rich and verdant, with springy moss underfoot and suggesting a deep loam beneath. Somewhere a nightingale sang and a cuckoo was calling. A woodpecker’s staccato tapping could be heard on a tree trunk some way upstream. Many different kinds of trees grew here – those on the southfacing dellside opposite were already in blossom – cherry, beech, crabapple and hornbeam. The scent of fragrant herbs lay on the dell - the pungent star of bethlehem mingling with anise, fennel, angelica and vervain. Curious trees, the like of which he had never seen before, shimmered strangely silvern in the rapidly-fading half-light. The dell had an aura of enchantment about it that he had never experienced before and that he could put no name to.

He began to walk upstream to where he had seen the lights. Passing first a barn then a byre he approached the first building on the banks of the brook, he saw that it was half-timbered and built with its north wall backing to the brook and a south-facing porch entrance in the style of many a Sosarian tavern. Streaming from its windows was a warm and welcoming light, and from within he could hear the fair voice of a maiden singing in a strange language. Reaching the house he looked up at the sign and read:
Silverleaf Tavern, owned by Phoenix

Slowly a smile spread across his face. This was surely the elven village called Silverleaf…

Part 14
The riven dell, late spring 347

Silverleaf Tavern

Smaed stood still, enchanted, listening for a few moments to the singing. Then, mounting the porch and passing between two welcoming flambeau cressets, he entered the tavern. It was empty except for the barkeep, a young yet ageless maiden with long flaxen hair. She it must have been who was singing but she had stopped as soon as she heard his footfall on the porch.

Smaed bowed deeply and, smiling, introduced himself politely, then took a barstool and ordered an ale. He looked at the barmaid with interest. She was tall and had a small, pert face with wide, honest eyes. She smiled back shyly and welcomed the weary wayfarer in his travel-stained gear, and replied with her name that sounded to Smaed like Reeva. Despite her shyness she bore herself with dignity and grace and gave a strong impression of being independent and self-contained. Smaed was strangely moved by her presence, distant yet alluring. He wondered if she was elf. He had heard that elven maidens were very pretty and she certainly was.

As he sipped his ale he tried to ask Riva some questions. He learned this was indeed Silverleaf village, but that all were asleep or away on journeys. And, yes, she was herself of elvenkind. He asked her if there was an elf living in the village called Talis, but she knew no-one of that name. Smaed was disappointed but not surprised. But then she added that the best person to ask might be Aegnor the bowyer, who lived in the next house upstream in the dell. But further than this information Smaed came not. Her Britannian was limited and conversation petered out.

He looked around the tavern with curiosity. It was much like any other tavern, with the bar and the ubiquitous dartboard on the wall. But it possessed none of the shabbiness of many taverns that he had frequented. It was well-appointed and spotlessly clean, with scrubbed tables and high-backed, cushion-seated armchairs. It was also well-lit by lanterns giving out a soft light. There was a lantern on each table and three lanterns along the outer bannister of the staircase leading to the floor above. In the northern corner facing the door through which he had come was a bear rug and on this a work-bench.On the bench sat a number of items that he could not identify. Most puzzling of these was a crystal, the like of which he had never before seen. He had not noticed it when he had entered, as his attention was fixed on the barmaid, but now he looked again and saw that it pulsated with light, as if it were alive, and he wondered what this strange object could be and what its purpose was.

But now it was getting late and was quite dark. Smaed was weary and feeling drowsy from the ale. Taking his leave, he rose and left the tavern, uncertain whether at such a late hour he should go to Aegnor’s house. But no, it would better wait until the morrow. He made secure camp a bit upstream, and soon fell soundly asleep.

Part 15
Silverleaf, late spring 347

Aegnor

Smaed woke at first light, but drowsed for a while in his bedroll through the long dawn until the light had slowly broadened into sunrise. Then he got up and lit a fire, sniffing the air, which was mild and fresh, and reminded him that summer had almost arrived. Looking up at the northern slope of the dell while he broke his fast, he could see that the trees at its crest were already rose-tipped from the rising sun.

He carefully put out the fire and broke camp, then walked the short distance to Aegnor’s house. He could see that its occupant was up, smoke spiralling from the chimney and soon the smell of bacon being fried was apparent. Smaed sniffed appreciatively, his mouth watering after his much more spartan earlybite. He hid himself discretely from where he could watch the house without being intrusive, waiting patiently until he judged that breakfast was over. But before he could go up to the door and knock, a male figure dressed in brown emerged, bending to pick up some logs from the side of the house.

Smaed emerged from his hiding place and walked towards the house, bowed politely and introduced himself, saying he sought words with a Silverleaftan, and that he understood that the owner of this house was one such.

"Aye, that is me, Aegnor the Bowyer at your service. How can I be of assistance?"

"I seek one who may be known to your people"

Aegnor frowned and looked narrowly at the man, showing obvious signs of suspicion. Smaed hastily added: "Nay, nay, nothing threatening. I seek one whom I have reason to believe may be my father. I am not sure of his real name but he went by the name of Talis. I was but a child of just a few summers when I saw him."

Aegnor’s expression was unreadable and he grunted, non-committedly. Smaed continued: "He escorted me and my aunt to Trinsic nearly 10 years ago. I was 8 at the time. I say my aunt, but actually she is my mother…"

"I do not know anyone by the name of Talis. The most nearly fitting name of our residents would be Thalandor, a Ranger. But I never heard him using the name Talis. We usually just call him Thal."

"Ah, tis a ranger I am looking for." said Smaed, with an eager light in his eyes.

"Well he is a bit taller than me, has green sparkling eyes and wide flowing blond hair. Would that be him?"

Smaed felt a spark of hope, Thal was close to Talis. but he realised he needed to provide more information at this point and decided to show Aegnor the diary. Slowly, reluctant to show his mother’s private diary to a complete stranger, he took it out of his pack. Blushing, he told Aegnor:

"Tis is a diary I found belonging to my aunt - I mean mother. I will show a page to you as a token of my trust." He puts the book down on the pile of logs, open at the page where Talis is briefly described. Smaed looked uncomfortable and embarrassed. "My mother's private diary… I have no business having it…"

Aegnor read the open page, reading aloud: "Mhh, travel worn green grab, that would fit most of our Rangers... Mhhh, north coast of the Deep Forest, that could mean here, aye..."

Smaed closed the diary with a snap and returned it to his pack. His eyes filled with tears: "I love whom I thought were my parents and Millie who suckled me and who cared for me when I was an infant. But I also love my real mother who brought me to Trinsic and to safety and who loves me as one of her own. I do so though she never told me the truth of my lineage, in which she did wrong, for I have a right to know! So I have borrowed her diary and have sought my father now for over a year."

Aegnor looked closely at Smaed as if to size up the man. Smaed glowed with an almost desparate eagerness,his eyes full of longing. Then as if coming to a decision, Aegnor said: "Mhh, I am not sure if this Talis and Thal are the same. If ye want to meet Thal, I think he planned to return soon from an extended hunting foray."

Smaed looked hopeful and nodded. He thanked Aegnor profusely many times, and then took his leave with a deep bow. He returned to the tavern where he spent the rest of the day. Smaed had much to think about and digest…

Part 16
Silverleaf, early summer 347 Stratics Reckoning

Waiting for Thalandor

Thalandor came not the next day – or the next, nor that week. Smaed waited, camping a little way upstream from the tavern, so enabling him to keep watch on both Aegnor’s house and on the tavern. He spent much time in the tavern and so also talking to Riva, who had promised to bring him word as soon as she heard anything of Thalandor’s return.

He got to know Riva quite well and she became less reserved with him, smiling at him freely and showing a depth of knowledge of the forests that for a barkeep surprised him. He said little about himself but she was perceptive and he felt she had learned more about him than he felt comfortable about. He felt strangely drawn to her, stirring in him feelings that he had not had before and that disturbed him. So he began to freqent the tavern less often, for fear of becoming too emotionally involved with her.

Summer had arrived, and with it the scent of rosehips and lilacs filled the dell. Everything seemed to be growing with great energy as if to make up the lost time of a long winter. Some of the lilac bushes grew here marvelously tall, towering above Smaed as he walked by them. Birdsong filled the dell and Smaed was already keeping watch for the first swallows, though he knew they were not likely to arrive for a while yet.

These balmy days of warm sunshine dried out the spring mud and gave him the opportunity to explore the dell and the village. It was very different from Leafsta or from the Shirefolk’s home of Underhill, though he understood there was at least one more somewhere. Silverleaf somewhat reminded him of the Celtic village of Kallahar that he visited when, as a trainee militiaman, he was befriended by a Celt named Beatane, who alas is no more. Like Silverleaf, Kallahar was also a collection of buildings, though protected by a barrelwall.

Silverleaf was different from all these in that it was not barrelwalled, but the buildings were close together and followed the riven dell to the sea. As far as he could ascertain, Aegnor’s house was the highest, being furthest inland near the head of the dell, not far below the wellspring from which the brook issued. The next building was a stone tower that looked like a guardkeep, after that was the tavern. Downstream were three more buildings, a merchant’s house on the south side of the brook where it ran gurgling over the pebbles to the sea, and a library on the north side of the brook. There was also what looked like a mage’s house. For a village with a small population this was an impressive number of buildings.

But what struck Smaed as special about the riven dell were two features. The first was that it provided effective shelter from the north winds. The second was more remarkable, in that near its mouth it abruptly changed direction liken to a dog’s leg so that its northern slope turned south just before the sea, sheltering the dell from the sea, as it were a ridge parallel to the beach. Smaed had never seen such a feature before. The whole effect was one of mildness of weather, a kind of microclimate in the dell that gave it a rich and distinctive vegetation, including the strange trees that gave the village its name.

After a few days of thorough exploration, Smaed began to range wider round about the dell exploring its outlying areas, especially inland a little way beyond the wellspring of the brook. Then at last the day came when it seemed he would meet Thalandor.

Part 17
Midsummer Eve 347 SR

Smaed meets Thalandor

Smaed woke to an early dawn on Midsummers Eve. At these high latitudes in midsummer, dawn came early. Indeed, for two or three short weeks it never became fully dark, for although the sun dipped below the horizon for a few hours each night it never dipped far enough for its light to entirely disappear from the northern skies.

He broke camp and and as had been his wont for the last few days of waiting he went into the tavern to break his fast. Riva had heard some news, that in the small hours Thalandor had returned to Silverleaf. It began to look as though the meeting Smaed had waited for was now at hand. He spent most of that day waiting and keeping a look out, but the late afternoon shadows were growing longer when he went for yet another look around. He waited a while then saw a tall elf approaching from the other side of the brook. He was bareheaded and dressed in green and brown, and wearing a travel-stained cloak. He carried a bow and on his back, sticking up over his left shoulder could be seen a quiver of arrows. Smaed went forward to hail him, and their paths met outside Aegnor’s house.

He had thought much over how best to address the elf and had decided the direct approach was best.

“Greetings, sir, my name is Smaed Fretting, I seek an elven ranger called Talis.”

At this the elf’s eyes widen with surprise and perhaps something else that Smaed couldn’t interpret. He plunged on:

“He escorted my aunt Agnes Fretting, together with me and my cousin Jern, to Trinsic when I was but 8 years old. Sir, the thing is that I think, or believe, that the elf Talis may be my father.”

Thalandor paused, clearly taken aback. First looking uncertain then deep in thought, it seemed to Smaed like an age before he finally spoke, appearing to choose his words carefully. There is no need here to repeat the conversation in its full detail, ‘twas long and somewhat tortuous, as if Thalandor was wracked by guilt. But as Thalandor’s account slowly emerged it became clear to Smaed that he had visited Leafsta and met Agnes. Thalandor recounted that summer day, that Agnes was lithe and full of joy, enjoying the forests and life itself and that the had talked much.

Smaed looked intensely, listening with full attention. At this point Thalandor shifted uneasily from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable and uncertain as to what he should say or how to say it. Thalandor continued: “Well, erm....it was nearly midsummer...the night was warm and comforting. I gave her the name I use when doing business with humans....they knew me then as Talis the Ranger.”

Smaed knew he had found his father.

But now Smaed, with some embarrassment, told how he knew of the name Talis by reading in his aunt’s private diary. Smaed looked as if he would say something but stopped and nodded. He had noticed that Thalandor’s demeanour seemed to change. He appeared to have made some sort of decision. Drawing breath, Thalandor dew himelf up straight, his eyes cleared and he continued in a firmer voice. He recounted how it was midsummer with its strange powers, while he being an elf and she a human would make everything complicated.

Smaed looked sad and sighed. He thought back to his days in the Yew Militia - the same old story of human intolerance. He smiled crookedly, and nodded in understanding.

Here is not the place to repeat the long conversation that ensued. Suffice it to relate that Smaed had at last found his father, and that Thalandor recognised Smaed as his son. They parted with an embrace of filial affection.

Part 19/20
Late Summer 347 SR

A confession in Silverleaf Tavern

It was a while before Smaed could meet his father again, for he had left a message with Riva to let his son know that he had gone on one of his frequent scouting forays. The rangers of Silverleaf were often away, Riva had explained.

It was a life of much journeying and danger, keeping track of those that might threaten their peace and security, exchanging news and rumour with other elven settlements and less frequently with elvish rangers living in mixed-race settlements like Underhill in the more far-flung corners of the Deep Forest, even to the very skirts of the Serpentspine Mountains far to the south. News of orc-raids, the movement of undead armies, monster-sightings or their spore, the campaigns and patrols of the Yew Militia, the activities of bandits, and much more were gathered and shared in the far-flung network of the elven diaspora.

Much of this Smaed recognised from what little he knew of the Militia’s own ranger division; the Waywatchers that Smaed once had aspired to join. But his limited military training also told him there were significant differences. Silverleaf’s ranger resources were far more limited and stretched and seemed to rely more heavily on a network of elvish ranger co-operation and intelligence-gathering and sharing. Smaed began to understand how difficult it was for Thalandor to find the time from his duties to make long journeys of a private nature.

The short northern summer was waning and the nights turning cool, with a hint of autumn in the air, when news of Thalandor’s return reached the Silverleaf Tavern. He would first have to make his personal report to Sir Phoenix, the village leader and perhaps also consult with other leaders before he could spare the time to see his son.

But at last the day came when Thalandor came to the tavern and greeted Smaed warmly, calling for two bottles of wine and taking them to a table where they sat down opposite each other in comfortable chairs with armrests. Thalandor offered no news of his wanderings and Smaed did not wish to pry, so he began to tell Thalandor about the happenings after Thalandor had left Agnes and the two boys in Trinsic.

He told of their years of waiting with fading hope of news from Leafsta as they struggled to adapt to life in a simple croft in the city’s foretown, of the death of old Digs Delver that left Jern, his apprentice miner, but half-trained and Agnes as owner of the croft. And finally Smaed told of Jern’s long journey as a 15 year-old back to the Norse Forest, his finding of the ruins of Leafsta, his learning of the existence of the Yew Militia in their Crossroads stronghold of Stonekeep, and the happenstance of his being there just as a big open day event was being held there.

Smaed then told of how Jern returned to the croft and recounted his adventures and how Smaed was siezed by an anger and sorrow of the loss of Leafsta and determined to travel to Stonekeep and, as a raw 15-year old to take service with the militia to help defend the small scattered communities of the Deep Forest.

Thalandor listened closely and though he paled when Smaed revealed he had been in the Yew Guardsmen Militia, he hid well his dismay and merely sighed.

Smaed then told of his life in the militia as a raw recruit barely knowing one end of a sword from the other, or how to hold – let alone use - a bow – in contrast to most recruits who came to the militia with average fighting skills in one weapon, often the bow. He told of his clumsy awkwardness as on patrols to the orc fort or to to dungeons he struggled to be more than just a piece of baggage that needed more help than he could himself contribute and his feeling of inadequacy and slowly eroding self-confidence.

Thalandor seemed to expect to hear that the Militia had conducted raids against other elven settlements and looked relieved when Smaed could say that no such abominations happened during his time. On the contrary, many militia mixed openly with settlements in which elves lived despite this being discouraged by some of the Militia officers. He told of one event, a performance competition at Underhill, that he had also been to, and that was well-attended by militiamen, some of whom took part with obvious enthusiasm. But also of another time that he was loath to remember when he was ordered to accompany a stern and harsh priest-knight of the Stonekeep Church to flush out a shirefolk man who was wanted for questioning and whom he took back as a prisoner to Stonekeep for inquisition.

Smaed also told of the sunday services he attended in Stonekeep Church in which a soldier-priest invariably haranged the congregation on the dangers of trusting elves who were described as inherently evil. Smaed had twisted uncomfortably in his pew listening to this hatred of elves that spewed forth and thought that it rhymed ill with the church’s teaching of love and compassion. Despite this, Smaed was drawn to the beautiful church and often went there alone to pray and seek comfort in its silence and peace.

Finally, Smaed told of his love for the Deep Forest and how his thoughts turned often to how the swamp round the ghost town of Yew might be banished and the forest healed and returned one day to its former glory,enabling Yew Town to enjoy a rennaisance. He told how he studied the swamp and tried with some of the guards various ways of dealing with it, all to no avail. He told also of how one day he sought out the Guardians of the Forest to beg for their aid, but they mistrusted the militia, cursing them for chopping down trees to build their toll-collection barricades, and Smaed being in footman uniform, though with his sword sheathed and his shield on his back, was turned away.

Thalandor listened to all this sorrowfully, with little comment, and sighed often. And recounting all this lifted the cloud of anxiety Smaed had felt for this meeting and healed his heart in a way that he could not describe.

Part 21
61st January 351 SR

Outside Silverleaf Tavern: Smaed ponders his place in the world

Thalandor had once more left during the summer on a long journey, and Smaed had also been away for a number of scouting trips to fill the time. The years had passed, and after each trip Smaed returnd to Silverleaf, staying in the village tavern. The Silverleaftans had been friendly enough and had even tried to organise a hunt for him to join.

The summer and a glorious copper autumn had passed. Yuletide came and went and the first month of the new year had almost ended. Even so far north where the winter days were short the magic of the riven dell kept the climate mild. The valley was rimed with hoar frost so that it sparkled in the clear mid-winter sun: every bough and branch, every blade of grass, seemed to be etched in silver.

Smaed himself was ambivelent. He understood the Silverleaftans. He knew that the small settler villages of the Yew Forest were all very inward-looking. Leafsta had been, as were the other villages he had come across during his time as a militiaman. All were busy with their own lives and with their own village affairs, and had little time for strangers.

Smaed was also aware that the undying elves had a view of life coloured by their long view and that the doings of humans were but a temporary abberation that should be viewed with detachment.

But what of Smaed himself? He wondered if he had inherited his father’s eternal elven life or his mother’s human lifespan: or, perhaps something in between? What was it to be halfelven? Would he now not belong anywhere: neither among elves nor humans?

Part 22
69th March 351

camped ouside Silverleaf Tavern: Smaed's decision

Though the moors were still bleak and wintery, the first signs of spring were appearing. The beck in the Riven Dell was in spate and the snowline on the moors above was now clearly higher. Even this far north spring would come.

Smaed sighed. It was time to make a move. He had to get on with his life and end this time of what seemed like suspended animation, waiting, waiting, to see his father, to be accepted by the village and to sleep indoors. He would wait a little longer, but, he realised, he had made a decision.

It didn't feel right at this time to live in Silverleaf, however appealing. He had longed to sit at his father's knee and learn from him to be a ranger. He had longed to be part of a community where he felt at home and where he belonged. But he also had to accept his fate. He was neither man nor elf but something in between. And he had grown up and come of age.

He would wait a little longer for the ground to dry out and then he would take command of his life and make his own paths and ways.

Part 23
1st May 351

Outside Silverleaf Tavern: Smaed leaves The Riven Dell

The last day of April - Walpurgis Night - drew to a close and the sun rose on the 1st of May to the noticeably calmer sound of the Silverleaf Brook. No longer was it a roar of rushing water flooding the banks. Though still loud and lively, it now gurgling musically over the stony riverbed. The spring floods were rapidly abating, even this far north. The blossoms were out in the dell and there was a shimmer of young green foliage around each tree.

Smaed broke camp and, following a goat track, he climbed out of the dell leading to the cliff path. There he stopped and looked out to sea, sniffing the salt air, listening to the cries of the nesting gulls on the cliffs below, watching their graceful glides on the air currents up the cliff-face. Soon the swallows would arrive from the south. He felt the springiness of the now rapidly drying turf. Yes, it was time to leave this enchanted spot.

He looked once again down at the tavern and the settlement and gave a shuddering sigh of longing. Then he turned and faced south, and with long strides he began the two-day coastal hike to Empath Abbey. He did not look back.

Part 24
43rd July 351

Empath Abbey: Smaed writes his story

He reached Empath Abbey a couple of days later and rested up, sleeping in a bed for the first time since he left Empath the year before. He had much time to think, digest his experiences, ponder his path.

He had changed since leaving Stonekeep on furlough three years ago to take a carefree spring holiday at Delvers Croft with his aunt and cousin Jern. A time of golden memories that seemed now to be of another age, enjoying his aunt's home cooking, the picnic trips to the tropical Hidden Valley, visits to the tavern in Trinsic with Jern. A world away, when he was but a child so it seemed. Since then he had learned who he was, resigned from the militia, searched for his father, found him. Now he was back in Empath Abbey.

Smaed sighed. He needed to spend some time putting his thoughts and emotions in order. He would do so by writing up his experiences in a diary of his own that he would call Smaed's Story.

So he bought empty books from the scribes and monks of the abbey and settled down to write. He was by now very short of gold, so he went on hunting trips in the swamp, sometimes as far as the haunted graveyard, to kill the monsters and undead skeletons that he would loot. But mostly he wrote, filling many volumes.

4th February 353

Empath Abbey: between two worlds

It had taken him over 18 months to write his story into 10 volumes. He could hear the wind howling outside the abbey, and from one of the north-facing windows he could see waves breaking wildly on the shore. He shuddered. He had one more task before leaving, to find a Militia Guardsman to give the bag containing his uniform, a sum of gold and an explanatory note. He had been carrying this around with him ever since he had resigned, seemingly an age ago, when he had passed through Stonekeep and found nowhere to leave it. All this time he had been waiting to come across someone to hand it to.

Just then he heard the sound of a mailed soldier entering the abbey and he smiled at how sometimes the thought produces the event. He left his room and saw it was indeed a guardsman, a footman - the rank he had himself attained. He approached and saw it was a lady, and handed her the heavy bag of equipment. He was taken aback by her hint, after she had read his note, that he may be marked as a deserter, but she was friendly enough.

So thats done! Smaed sighed. He had felt for a moment while talking to the footie the tug of the past, a kind of longing or reaching out, to become the Waywatcher he had once dreamed of as a 15 year old recruit. But he knew as a half-elf he could not go back. He had received no reply yet from Jern, and truth be told he had no great wish to return to Trinsic at this time. He felt a strong need first to find his place in the world, and then perhaps he might be ready to face his mother. He felt he was at some sort of crossroads in his life.

He went into the chapel and sat in contemplation for a while, fingering the wooden ankh he bore on a chain round his neck, wrestling with conflicting emotions. Then suddenly he knew what he should do: he had to return to Silverleaf and there make a clear choice of paths.

He waited a few days until the storm passed and a chill sun, low on the horizon, shone bleakly, making the rine frost glint. The following day he bade farewell to his scribe friend, Conrad, telling him where he was going. Then he set out well before dawn on the coastal path he had trodden before, arriving at the riven dell far into the night, under a diamond-filled sky, the waxing moon so bright that it cast shadows.

All was quiet, yet the village was well-cared for and indeed had grown. There stood now a shrine behind the tavern - a shrine to the Virtues, the sign clearly showed in the moonlight. He went in and was surprised to see that it had rows of benches facing a large Ankh, a bit like his once beloved Stonekeep Church!

He sat for a few moments on one of the benches and enjoyed the tranquility and the lighter effect of the marble interior contrasting to the stern gothic stone of the Militia church, smiling to himself. His decision to return had been right.

He would wait and hope to meet his father or one of the other villagers on the morrow.

66th August 353 Stratics Reckoning

Silverleaf: the end of the Yew swamp

The spring and summer both passed, with Silverleaf Village appearing to be deserted. Smaed left messages for his father but later learned from Riva that the populaton had sadly declined. Thalandor himself was away on a long scouting trip and with autumn rapidly closing in on these high latitudes Smaed prepared to overwinter in Silverleaf. But how long should he wait?

Then one day in late August, Riva had some astonishing news. The Yew Swamp had disappeared, and in its place was the old forest, complete with ancient yew trees! Smaed had to see for himself, so he would return to the abbey and overwinter there.

He told Riva his plans and left the next morning, arriving to find that it was true. The swamp was gone, and the forest had regenerated magically to a fully-developed part of the Deep Forest, complete with ancient full-grown yew trees. How was this possible? The Yew Militia, he knew, had worked on ridding Yew of the swamp. He had joined some of the attempts: to cut down the stinking blue-fruit trees, and to eradicate the evil swamp-spawn. But this regeneration can only have been done with magics: yet the Yew Militia abjured witchcraft of all kinds...

He would explore properly before winter set in.


6th September 353

Empath Abbey: death of a friend

While in the abbey, Smaed looked for his old friend of some 10 years standing - the scribe Conrad. But he could not be found. There were many new monks and scribes in Empath whom he recognised not. He asked one of these, Allyn the monk, who told him that Conrad had died that spring. She had been at the deathbed vigil and recounted the virtues for him, taking his confessions and last wishes. Among these was a letter for Smaed from his cousin Jern that had arrived just before Conrad's health had failed him.

Smaed was greatly saddened by the loss of his old friend who had taught him his letters when he first came to Empath as a 15-year old militia recruit. He picked some flowers and went to the chapel where he laid them in memory of Conrad, kneeling in silent contemplation and shedding a tear.

Smaed then read Jern's letter. Agnes was still away, now in Vesper and travelling south to Britain. Jern had a fine new home outside Trinsic, Ye Olde Poste Office, that he had named The Serfs´ Shop given to him by an elven lady called VanQa whom he much esteemed. He had much other news and begged Smaed to write and visit soon. Smaed felt the tug of family ties in Trinsic and determined he would make that great journey as soon as he had completed his business here. He would write in the dark of winter and send the letter in the spring. But first there was much to investigate here.

Yew Town: a strangeness in the air

In the following days, as the autumn colours began to blaze where before there had been but stinking swamp, Smaed scouted. The weather was stormy and unsettled, Golden birch leaves flurried in the air. New roads had appeared and Yew Town was now clearly discernable as a collection of huts and shops around a square. The land seemed strange and unstable, with invisible barriers blocking the way in unexpected places, that seemed to shift from one day to the next. A shimmering force, like to a moongate, appeared but at different times seemed to relocate mysteriously. Swamp denizens abounded, appearing angry and aggressive in their new forest home and it was dangerous to be abroad in such conditions, as fleeing from a Swamp Thing one might be unexpectedly blocked by an invisible barrier and slain.

As the days, passed the instability increased and Smaed was abroad less, it becoming increasingly unsafe. Yet adventurers appeared in growing numbers, some dressed garishly and mounted on bizarre creatures like giant beetles. He tried talking to some but all seemed engrossed in their own businesses.

Something strange was clearly happening, something that Smaed felt was momentous and of history in the making. The swamp's replacement by a fully-grown yew forest, he realised, was just one portend among many. He watched and waited, making occasional forays into Yew town to scout and observe.

67th September 353

Elves arrive in Yew

Then one morning Smaed awoke and lay with his eyes closed. Listening, he could hear that the wind had dropped and all was quiet. He snapped his eyes open and quickly rising, went to a wind-eye to look out. It was a beautiful autumn dawn. The sun shone out of an azure sky on a forestscape of gold and yellow and red and brown, showing autumn in all its magnificence. He flung open the wind-eye and the stillness was striking.

Quickly he dressed and marked how ravenously hungry he was. He bought several loaves of bread from the abbey provisioner and bolted them down, but was still hungry. He bought and ate several more before he felt full.

Leaving the abbey he headed for the town of Yew. The barriers were gone, as were the bog denizens, not one did he see, not even a giant rat. The earthquakes and airquakes that had troubled the forest all through september had stilled and all was wondrously beautful. Yet the traffick was if anything heavier than ever: men and women in garish costumes and mounted on neon-coloured giant beetles rushed about, a jarring contrast to the silent beauty of the forest.

There in the middle of Yew Town he stopped and gaped. A strange silver portal shimmered in the sunlight, its form unclear from its rythmic rise and fall. Unlike any moongate it was, or even witchcraft recall portals. He could see numerous adventurers running into the portal and vanishing before his eyes, while yet others appeared from it as it were out of nowhere and raced away into the forest.

By the portal stood a tall and haughty elf, dressed as an emissary or ambassador. Smaed approached to ask what was going forward. But he received no reply. He returned to the Abbey in the late afternoon and enquired there. Unusually among the contemplative monks, the abbey was abuzz with excited conversation. Smaed learned that the portal in the centre of Yew Town led to an elven community in a mighty tree. It was hard to comprehend. The elves had come to Yew!

But Smaed was too tired to think of what this might mean, and he was ravenous again. He bought and consumed large quantities of bread. He would explore the portal on the morrow. Then lying down, he fell immediately into a deep sleep.


68th September 353

The Elven Treetown, and a chance meeting with Kaine

Smaed rose early to another glorious autumn day. Ravenously hungry again, he bought several loaves of bread and bolted them down before setting off to the portal.

He arrived in the centre of Yew and stood watching the portal for a while. Now when it came to the moment of truth he felt divided. As a lowly teenage footman he had been through many moongates and also gates summoned by Militia soldier-priests casting witchcraft spells, yet he did so under orders. Now faced with the voluntary use of a portal he hesitated. All his background as a child in Leafsta and as a youth in the Militia had taught him that magicks were not to be trusted. It took him some time for his curiosity to overcome a lifetime of mistrust. Taking a deep breath he stepped into the portal.

The sounds of the forest disappeared, and he found himself in a long narrow way, as if it were the inside of a treetrunk. He stood a while, wide-eyed with wonder and some fear. Elves stood around, offering quests of varying sorts that Smaed ignored. Many adventurers walked or rode up and down this throughway. Numerous bags and pouches lay around, filled with weapons - bows of many kinds being the most common. Here were also rings and bracelets, doubtlessly magical, and other items, all for the taking. Ignoring these he followed the main trunk to where it branched.

There out of the corner of one eye he thought he recognised one of the Silverleaf elves hurrying by. A few moments later he returned and greeted Smaed warmly: Kaine the Silverleafstan alchemist!

It was a glad meeting. It had been long since Smaed had met a Silverleaftan other than Riva, the tavern barkeep. He asked after his father and they talked for a while of Silverleaf and of the elven treetown. Then Kaine asked Smaed if he wanted to do the quest that would gain him recognition as an elf, and if so that he, Kaine, who had completed the quest, would guide him.

Smaed accepted gratefully, despite some misgivings. He had not known of such a quest and it was a big step to take, yet the offer was generous and could not be refused. Here he had a chance to decide his identity - man or elf - and end this half-existence, in which he was neither one nor the other. To be accepted as a member of the elven race - even as a half-elf - was tempting indeed, and here was the chance! Would this be the moment of decision when he would choose his path - man or elf - and decide his identity?

54th October 353

The Lycaeum, Moonglow: I claim my elven heritage

Kaine guided Smaed through the various quests that needed to be completed before he could claim his elven heritage. Without the good Kaine's help it would not have been possible, for it required that Smaed travel through magic gates leading to the right locations. The Silverleaftan alchemist also watched over Smaed, aiding him with healing magics as he completed the distateful task of exterminating a whole pack of wolves.

The final quest completed, they gated to Moonglow to visit Darius in the Lycaeum. Stripped of everything, Smaed presented himself for the transformation. When it was done, Smaed gasped in astonishment as he saw and felt the changes that had taken place in himself.

He stood long in thought and meditated on what he had done. Then slowly his cheeks flushed as a smile dawned then spread across his face, as a sunrise that brings light and understanding. His eyes cleared and the care-lines on his face faded as if he had made a decision and felt it was right. He drew himself up to his full height and spake in a loud and clear voice:

I felt healed and as one with my fate, and tears of bliss ran down my cheeks. I no longer felt torn between two worlds, and resolved that from now on I would write my story entries in the first person.

Kaine gated us to Silverleaf. A new life was beginning.