50: PETITIONING THE VANÉ

(Grizzst’s story)

Grizzst approached the Kirpis forest. He came from the mountain side toward the north, mostly as a precaution. Last he’d checked, the Kirpis vané were engaged with a protracted war against the god-king Nemesan¹ to the south. Grizzst didn’t expect the vané would welcome anyone who seemed “human.” Thus, why he waited at the border, hoping for a peaceful entrance.

He’d been waiting for several weeks. This might have proven inconvenient if he hadn’t become a reasonably competent sorcerer over the centuries.

Still, this had grown tiresome.

The vané knew he waited. He’d never visited the Kirpis, but he knew the vané had been least affected by the disaster. They still had their technology, their magical prowess, their memories, and their skill. He hated to admit Rev’arric’s advice had been reasonable, but if Valathea knew all Var had claimed …

Unfortunately, the vané proved as unfriendly as Grizzst feared.

The forest itself was as beautiful as he’d heard. Giant redwoods soared into the clouds, with an occasional spruce or fir nestling in the gaps. The air smelled sweet with sap and sharp pine. Every so often, a deer wandered near the forest’s edge, gazed at him blankly, and then wandered away again. A fox went so far as to sniff at his leg.

After several weeks of this, the vané grew tired of outwaiting him.

They attacked.

Technically, Grizzst had no warning. In reality, he had strung every bush and weed for a half mile in any direction with a fine web of tenyé-laden filaments. He knew the vané were advancing on his position long before they arrived.

He stood in a clearing, eyes closed, either asleep or deep in meditation. They had to know his occupation; no one who could see past the First Veil would miss his talismans, the way they sharpened his aura. The vané had likely made certain assumptions. They certainly hadn’t shown up to invite him inside for tea.

“Oh, let’s not do this,” Grizzst said. “I just want to talk to your leader.”

They flooded the meadow with illusions in response, so powerful they clouded his sight even through his protections.

Grizzst sighed and lit the fuses he held. The fire sparked and trailed down the thin ropes he held like leashes, following the line back past grass and ferns to several dozen hidden pots, which caught fire. And then exploded into smoke clouds. Dismayed voices echoed through the trees.

He knew the vané would use magic. So he hadn’t. They couldn’t dispel the illusion of vision-blocking smoke because it hadn’t been illusion. And he didn’t wait for them to realize their mistake and summon a nice, strong breeze. So while they choked and gasped and dealt with the sudden lack of air, Grizzst attacked back.

As a truly flattering number of vané advanced, Grizzst gestured. Giant swaths of loamy ground vanished, revealing the carefully crafted pit traps underneath. And since the vané couldn’t see where they were going …

Once most of them had fallen into the traps, Grizzst changed the smoke into something less friendly. He waited in silence, listening to the quiet thumps of vané falling unconscious. A few managed to stay awake long enough to work varying magics—the lightning bolt actually came frighteningly close—but they’d prepared to face someone using magic.

Which he had. Just not in the manner they’d expected.

He sighed to himself as he pulled everyone from the traps, made sure they’d live, and piled their bodies into a neat pyramid like stacked timber.

Grizzst also left a note.

It read, “I just want to fucking talk to your king.” With the note, he left a small box, the metal treated with heat and chemicals so a flame-like shimmer licked up the sides.

He retreated back to the border and continued waiting. But this time, he sighed a lot and didn’t bother hiding his impatience.

It didn’t take as long the second time. A day later, a vané emerged from the forest. He didn’t attack; he didn’t cast spells. He was tall and so pale, Grizzst wondered if he might actually be an albino, with white hair and pink eyes. He wore matching clothing in white and silver and pale gray, with the net result of looking like a ghost.

“What does the stone do?” the vané asked.

Grizzst smiled. They’d opened the box. “I’ll be happy to explain—to His Majesty.”

That didn’t make the vané angry. Someone had expected that response. The vané didn’t mention the earlier attack. He didn’t even suggest Grizzst should remove his talismans. Instead, he made an elegant motion toward the forest.

“Would you join us?” the lead vané asked.

It could’ve still been a trick, but they’d reached the point where Grizzst’s next step was a leap of faith.

“Sure thing.” Grizzst followed the vané into their kingdom.