Chapter 1: Day One

Earlier today, I couldn't move. The bright summer sun was beating down on my eyes, what there was of it that made it through the thick redwood canopy, at least. Sweat dripped down my face from my forehead, blurring my vision.

 I could barely see the top of the railing of a veranda-like section of the stairway that spiraled up toward the host tree’s crown. I was pinned to the wooden planking, a soldier on my back in a thirty pound chainmail hauberk. 

 An attempt had just been made on my life, an assassin with a crossbow high in the branches of a redwood on the other side of the broad Grand Boulevard of Jedicar. The soldiers, my guard, two of them, were doing their best to shield me and return fire. The assassin had taken their first shot the moment I exited a covered section of the stairway and became exposed. The soldier not holding me down, a sergeant, was firing a crossbow of his own. Suddenly there was a thump sound and a yell. The sergeant had been struck. “By the Gods!” he screamed, “Ludic, give me your water flask!”

 Once he had it, and had jerked the crossbow bolt from his arm, he began saturating the wound with water, “The son of a whore is using acid arrows! My gods it burns!” The acid from magical acid bolts would keep burning the flesh for another few seconds then stop. It would leave a horrific scar, but he would live. The two valets who had been carrying my small luggage were crouched against the safety panel of the wooden railing crying. Terrified. 

 Another bolt zipped over the banister, stuck in the tree, and began sizzling, The acid boring into the tree trunk.

 “That's the one,” the sergeant said confidently as he took careful aim and loosed a bolt. A sharp kathunk and a scream, followed by a sound like someone dropping a sack of potatoes told me his aim had been true 

 “Was he the only one, Sergeant?” 

Everything went quiet except for the screams of pedestrians from below, now gathering around the assassin's body.

 “As far as I can tell, Ludic.”

 “Not quite the reception you were expecting, Mister Bascombe?” he asked me.

“Actually, Sergeant, with the Swalesians in attendance, I was afraid something like this might happen. They have a reputation.”

“Indeed they do, Sir. And that's not the first one we've taken care of this week. I believe that was number four. I can see down there, that was a woman. Curly black hair, olive complexion, my guess is Swalesian. How'd she get up that tree unnoticed? Must have been there a few days, too.”

 “That's concerning, Sergeant. Shows how determined they are.”

 “You must be terribly important, Sir.”

 “No Sergeant, they've just been terribly misinformed.”

 From street level, much screaming ensued and a crowd formed around the crumpled figure of the assassin. It would be a long couple of weeks ahead.

 The Gray Elves live in a part of the Taliswood dominated by massive redwoods, and they've built everything wrapped around these trees, high up near the forest canopy Even the massive Royal Palace is built so, all from wood and glass. Houses, shops, banks, libraries, museums, restaurants, and cafes, all built around the trees. The whole thing is navigated by a network of rope bridges and pulley platforms. 

 Many of the trees have stairways that circle their host tree in an ascending spiral, most of it covered, but there are long, veranda-like sections only partially shielded from the elements and it was in one of these in which the attempt was made on my life. I had two valets carrying my smaller items while my trunks were going up to my rooms by way of pulley platform. Two soldiers accompanied us. They were wearing fine mithril chainmail and helmets with one spike at the crown, longswords at their waists and light crossbows cocked and ready. The uniform was completed by a lavender tabard with a seven-pointed star at the chest.

Really, how hard could trade talks possibly be? Well, that depends on several factors. One is the experience level and skill of the negotiator. Two is the parties involved. Three,  the quality of assassins sent to kill you, and four, charm — can you charm their stockings off?

 One, I have no experience outside mock negotiations at university. Two, I am in the midst of a group of pit vipers as far as my competition goes, seasoned negotiators, ambassadors, and envoys. Three, they have assassins of exceptional skill, and four, I could sell life insurance to the undead.

 Behind me, I have the money and reputation of the Hard Coast Company, the most powerful business institution in the world with its hands in shipping, banking, financial markets, shipbuilding and trade in coffee, sugar, tobacco, and every spice imaginable. 

 But I'm up against a formidable assemblage of eager parties, all after the same thing, the amber concession of the Gray Elves. That's where I am now, in their city of Nez Ambríl in the great forest known as the Taliswood — what the Elves call Imskíli. It's been their ancestral home for over 9,000 years. Amber is its number one export, and the amber here is of such an exceptional quality  and purity that it rivals diamonds on the precious gems market. The color of honey, Éliks in Elvish, it's like a small piece of sunshine trapped in crystal, seemingly a living thing.

 For whatever reasons, the Elves are selling their position in the trade to the highest bidder or whoever they favor in the bidding process.

 My name's Tendil Liste Bascomb, Esq. by the way. I'm from the thriving port city of Wikehold on the northwest third of the Hard Coast in the kingdom of Feersland, some 350 miles due west of the Taliswood.

 I'm attempting to keep an accurate journal of my time here for posterity and for my memory. We shall see how I do.

 I won't lead you on, I'm here because of the nepotistic practices of the Hard Coast Company. My father and my maternal grandfather both sit on the board. I'm honored that I'm getting this opportunity, but it isn't deserved.

 There are four main parties being considered for the amber concession. One is the High Elves out of their capital of Nez Clarë, 75 miles to the west of the Taliswood in an area they call the Inix'Shert, or “Wheat Garden.” They are shrewd and often underhanded traders, supplying the Gray Elves with wheat and military assistance if needed. That gives them a big bargaining chip. They don't deal in assassination. Yes, that will remain a concern here.

 Next is the Wood Elves out of their capital, Ilníst, 50 miles to the southeast of Nez Ambríl. Their king, Mestil, II, is fast friends with Queen May, the leader of the Gray Elves. Advantage to the Wood Elves. 

 Third is the Gnolls, hyena-headed creatures out of the great desert to the east called the Waste. Their capital, the great oasis city of Yis-Gláz sits at the Western terminus of the Trade Road that crosses the Waste bringing goods from the Eastern Ocean. They are represented here by their leader, the Witch Queen, Mag'stula. The Gnolls are fabulously wealthy thanks to their near monopoly on East-West trade

 Lastly come the Swalesians, Humans, slavers, pirates, their country is twice the size and population of Feersland with three times the coffers. Their capital of Prim, on the shores of the Southern Sea is a living monument to their leader, Aber’Dai, the Khan of Swalesia, also known as the “Mouth of God”. He has the status of a demigod among his subjects and is worshiped as such. He sends his second son, Prince Anoresti to the table here. 

 The Swalesians are known for their use of assassins and purportedly train the best in the world. You see, this is my greatest fear if my emphasis hasn't already suggested it: assassination. My first day here, and an attempt has already been made on my life, or at least a warning was issued. I'm not just paranoid.
 
   I finally reached my rooms and they were beautiful. All blonde woods, stained glass, and damask upholstered seating in the sitting room. Just out of the way , a four -poster bed that looked like it needed an occupant. 

 My nerves were so frayed by the day's events that I decided on a hot toddy before I turned in. I had a little paperwork to go over anyway.
 I rang the service bell and the head butler, apparently assigned to me, appeared in a flash. That was some feat all things considered. Gray Elves can reach 1,000 years old, but. They all have silver hair, grayish skin, gray eyes none of them look as old as they really are. The butler looked like he could easily be 800, just something about his manner.

 He said “ My name is Greer, Sir. Whatever needs you have, I'll be here to fulfill what I can. Now, what may I get for you?”

 I believe I would like a hot toddy, Mister Greer.”

“Very well, Sir, but I'm obliged to remind you that you have an audience with Queen May and her Senior Advisor on Trade, Count Pelisir, in the morning at ten bells.

 “I'm aware, Greer, thank you.”

 “It's just that we want you to be well-prepared, Sir.”

“Yes, Greer, I'm going over my notes now. The toddy will help me sleep.”

 “Do you normally need alcohol to help you sleep, Mister Bascombe? The accommodations are comfortable enough, yes?  We just don't want your head to be foggy in the morning.”

 “I'll be fine, Greer, just please get me a hot toddy.”

 “Doesn't the elder Mister Bascombe, your father, own vineyards?”

 “Why, yes he does, why do you ask?” 

 “Alcohol is a big part of your life I would imagine?”

 “Okay, Greer, just what are you getting at?”

 “Well, Sir, I've just heard of people who need a drink before they do anything of consequence and I want to make sure you don't feel the need before your audience with the Queen in the morning.

 “Sir! If you're implying that I have a problem with drink, your thoughts are misguided! I'll be fine in the morning. Please, just bring me my toddy” 

 “If you need it, Sir.”

 “I don't need it, Greer, I want it. Spot the difference?”

 The old Elf flinched when I raised my voice and I felt like the worst sort of bully, but this back and forth was wearing on me. 

 “Please, Greer, my toddy?” I implored him.

 “Very well, Sir, if you insist.” 

 As he stepped away from the door, hopefully to get my drink, he looked back over his shoulder and asked “ But it will be just the one, Sir?

“Yes, Greer, yes!” One drink! For the love of the gods, just one drink!” He flinched again and I sighed, slamming the door behind him.