Page 22 of Wings of War

After eating and making her way from the passenger car to her bunk, she wedged herself inside, shut the curtain, and slept the rest of the way to Estyra.

When the train pulled into Estyra the next morning, Pip had four hours to spend before her next train left south for Escarland. She stowed her luggage in a wooden locker provided in a tree near the train station, then joined the bustle of the elven capital city.

Towering trees rose so high into the sky that she couldn’t even see the tops beyond the network of branches, empty of leaves as winter verged into a tentative spring. Without the leaves, the tiers of elven homes and shops grown into the trees were even more visible than in the summer, with elves strolling along branches between homes that were dizzying heights in the air.

At ground level, elves walked on either side of the meandering pathways while bicycling elves filled the center. The occasional elf on horseback rode by, but as bicycles were cheaper and required less maintenance than horses, many elves had switched in recent years.

To one side of the station, a massive airship hovered among the trees, a wooden gangway connecting it to a platform several stories in the air. A few humans strolled from the airship, heading into Estyra for sightseeing on this stop of their airship cruise.

A signboard at the train station showed a map of Estyra with important points marked in both Escarlish and the elvish language that was shared by the elves and trolls. It denoted the locations of Estyra’s various inns, places to eat, and, of course, the elven palace of Ellonahshinel, the great oak tree that dominated one side of Estyra. Its name meant Heart of the Forest in elvish, and the tree itself was held in reverence.

Since she wouldn’t be there long enough to need a place to stay, Pip wandered down the main street—well, grass-covered pathway—stopping at a few of the shops. She ate at a small café, then wandered east, heading in the direction of Ellonahshinel.

As she neared, the forest cleared slightly, giving her an unobstructed view of the oak tree that was so gargantuan that it made the already massive trees surrounding it look skinny. While Ellonahshinel wasn’t the tallest tree, it was thick and sprawling, its branches holding the many grand rooms of the elven royal palace.

While Pip didn’t have the full elven depth of veneration for trees, she halted at the end of the pathway, taking in the wonder that was Ellonahshinel, and something inside her stirred in a way that made her think she might have a bit of her dacha in her after all.

A thin fence formed of interlocking saplings demarcated the public roadway and the space beneath Ellonahshinel that was off-limits for regular citizens or tourists. A few elven guards, dressed in full elven armor regalia from shining helmets to metal and leather breastplates strolled back and forth across the open gateway to Ellonahshinel, looking for all the world as if they had stepped out of a different era. One where elves had ruled an empire and the great warriors of old fought with a strength of magic only a few living elves could match.

Pip stepped off the road, standing at the fringe of a cluster of humans who were also gaping at Ellonahshinel. The men wore fine bowlers, trim jackets, and polished shoes while the women trailed long skirts over generous bustles in the back with pristine, frilled blouses. One man was in the process of setting up photography equipment, proclaiming in Escarlish about the light in between trying to cajole one of the elven guards to take a step to the right so that he would be perfectly in the frame next to Ellonahshinel.

Pip stood on her tiptoes to better peer over the sapling fence, which must have been designed with elven height in mind rather than a short half-dwarf.

“This is even more magnificent on the ground than it was from the airship.” One of the ladies waved toward Ellonahshinel.

“It was quite the experience as the airship drifted down to the dock and the trees closed over us, wasn’t it?” Another lady frantically fanned herself, as if she hadn’t quite recovered her nerves. “It was like the forest was swallowing us whole.”

A movement on the long sweeping staircase that spiraled down the side of Ellonahshinel’s trunk caught Pip’s eye.

Two male elves strode down the steps, their bearing tall and regal. The one on the left wore a thin crown on his black hair, his tunic a dark green emblazoned with a silver oak tree. He could only be King Weylind of the elves.

The elf on the right, though…Pip’s heart beat in her ears, and she had to press her hands over her mouth to stop her squeal. It was Prince Farrendel Laesornysh. The Prince Farrendel Laesornysh. Co-inventor of the magical power cell and a hundred different devices that were powered with his magic. Her childhood hero—well, he was still her hero—was right over there.

“Oh, I say. Is that the elf king?” One of the men pointed in that direction.

The women burst into a flurry of murmuring and squeals as they crowded the fence, trying to get a glimpse. The man with the camera yelped, barking at them to move out of his shot even as he dove beneath the hood and fiddled to focus his lens.

All the commotion drew the elf king’s gaze in their direction. He lifted his hand in a single, regal wave before he continued his conversation with his brother.

Prince Farrendel glanced in their direction, just the briefest flash of movement, before he ducked his head. Moments later, he and the king turned a corner of the staircase and were hidden from sight.

“Oh, and they’re gone. Bother.” The lady fluttered her fan before her face despite the early spring chill. “Tell me you at least got a picture, Gerald.”

“I’m not sure how it will turn out since all of you kept crowding my shot.” The man, Gerald, disentangled himself from the hood of his camera and glared at the rest of the tourists.

One of the other men glanced in Pip’s direction, his brow furrowing. “Miss, are you all right?”

The women turned to Pip, and the fan lady bustled closer and waved her fan vigorously in front of Pip’s face. “Dear me, you look like you are about to faint. Are you feeling quite the thing?”

Another reached into her reticule. “I have smelling salts.”

“Gerald, fetch that bench for the poor girl.” Another of the women flapped her hand at Gerald.

Pip’s entire body was petrified with hero-worship overload, her breath seizing in her chest, her joints cramping.

Gerald placed a wooden bench behind her. The fan lady firmly pressed on Pip’s shoulders, shoving her to sit on the bench.

With a great effort, Pip blinked, then shook herself. Her breath whooshed out, then she gasped in a breath of the fresh, forest-scented air.

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