NICE OF FATE TO give her no warning whatsoever before it started whisking her around the most esoteric parts of Spheris by her non-existent ear. The sudden rush of Wisps bore her away once more, this time to a place Allory initially doubted was even part of the Deepwoods.

  Mountains. Great, brooding emerald mountains loomed all about her. In their midst she was a speck; indeed, less than a speck, but when they moved, Allory realised to her great shock that each was a living tree – of sorts. The dizzying sylvan slopes were indeed wood, time-scored and ageless beyond telling, but each creature stood over a mile tall and when they spoke, it was with voices as immense as mountains, and a shaking of their sheer forested cliffs that generated storm winds.

  “WE ARE THE FORESTAL DRAGON ELDERS!” they thundered.

  Allory ducked for cover. “Eep!”

  “SPEAK UP! WE CANNOT HEAR YOU!”

  “THEN CLEAN OUT YOUR PATHWAYS, OLD TIMER!”

  “DOLT!”

  “TIMID TIMBER-HEAD!”

  “STILL YOUR THUNDERING, BROTHERS! SPEAK, LITTLE ONE!”

  “I’m Allory Fae!” she shouted.

  “IS THAT A CHIRRUPING BIRD?”

  “YOUR EARS ARE COVERED WITH BARK!”

  “I’m Allory Fae!”

  “WAS THAT A BREATH OF WIND?”

  “NOW YOU LISTEN TO ME, YOU OLD WINDBAG –”

  “HUSH, YOU HIDEBOUND SLEEPERS! SPEAK WITH YOUR MIND, ELEMENTAL!”

  I’m … Allory?

  Ha. She had just learned something new.

  There. Was that so hard? Isn’t she just the prettiest particle you ever saw? What a delightful name, Allory Fae, the warm draconic voices thunder-chattered over one another. She’s a Scintillant, isn’t she? Weren’t there a lot of those about in my day? Could she be an Elemental? I believe she is: a Scinntarinae, to be precise. You would have to be definitive, wouldn’t you? So sparkly. I love her colouration, I do. Where did your kind disappear to, Allory Fae? Was it during the troubles?

  At least the voices were bearable inside her head. Not so audible outside. Even these earless sparkles had been half-deafened.

  Other draconic voices, farther away, boomed, Welcome to the Suylas Deepwoods, o Middlesun incarnate. Ooh, you’re poetic today. Been sharpening that wood for a thousand years, have we? One at a time, brothers. Or, let our sister speak. Speak, sister. Great is the wisdom of the eldest of our race, our peerless TAR-DAR-TAMOORAL!

  Despite their way of all speaking at once, Allory found that she understood each mighty being individually.

  A gorgeous, majestic feminine voice rose from the pack. Jostling mountains. What did these behemoths do for fun, hold races through the Deepwoods?

  I am Tar-Dar-Tamooral, o Scintillant Traveller, the mighty Dragoness greeted her. Traveller? She had been called that before, Allory recalled, frowning inwardly – ah, that Philosopher she had met, Jynnari Fae. As my brethren thundered, be most welcome in our Deepwoods. I am so sorry our feckless children pursued your companions. They have mislaid the wisdom of their elders.

  A great muttering of agreement rose from all quarters, but the Dragons quickly stilled one another.

  Allory tumbled over her sparkles. Oops. I – I am honoured, great Dragons.

  Tar-Dar-Tamooral boomed, We Dragon Elders remember a time when our world was young and fresh, and all things seemed possible. Now we are old and realise how much has been stolen from us, insidiously, over the millennia. No longer do our Deepwoods flourish. Allory Fae, though you imagine you are small, the abiding truth is that you are as great as any of our mountains, for true greatness is neither born nor bestowed; it is earned. When you rise against this foe who covets the riches and treasures of our utmost magic, we Forestal Dragons shall stand with you. Yet we would offer of our wisdom. Will you allow our fires to rage into your heart?

  Despite that the prospect filled her with fear and trembling, she managed to chirp, I wish to learn, great Dragons.

  Then having chosen well, listen well! You fear the storm. You fear to dance. Yet no storm ever rose which did not bend and break its object. I tell you, Allory Fae, that not all dance is for reason of joy, splendid as your joy has proven, for it has shivered places in these Deepwoods which have not stirred even in a Dragon’s aeons-long memory. Sometimes a soul must dance for grief or rage or injustice; it must find a way where there is no other way. Spheris will not save itself. You must knuckle down and do the hard, gritty, filthy, fiery cleansing that is needful, or this world and all we know might expire in the wrath of the Wraith, the foe who was before all else. Our word for you is this: unsheathe your talons, o Scintillant Faerie, and FIGHT AS NEVER BEFORE!!

  Her closing bellow swatted Allory away into the aether.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Quite the ride. Thankful that her sparkles did not react to pain in the same way as her old body, Allory tried to snatch a moment to reflect upon what she had learned. Fight, rise and fight some more. Stop being the pathetic wet blanket in the cocoon. Dance for joy, dance for grief, and dance for every reason in between. She desperately wanted to scratch her antennae. The Suylas Deepwoods must be telling her something, right? Had she not been listening, this treble slapping over the sparkles by the Unicorns, Wisps and Dragon Elders had certainly rattled a bit of good sense into her little head.

  She must fight for all she loved.

  On that note, Allory realised, healing might not be a sweet, gentle affair. It might be a battle to the death. Was she ready?

  Hurtling down to the earth again, the Elemental Scintillant landed in a soundless explosion of concentric circles of brilliance that raced away between the trees as far as her ethereal eye could see, and then as far as she could detect, which was leagues upon leagues beyond any form of sight. Every tree. Every bush. Every root stood outlined in gentle luminosity. Everything was intimately connected. Everything. Every leaf, bug and branch. This was the final lesson that the Deepwoods wished to teach her this night – for she had fallen right amongst her companions once more.

  Their startlement was a picture.

  Yaarah snarled up into Barakunal’s smirk. Orange flame leaked from between his bared fangs. The Dark Elf acted as cool as a shady jungle cenote.

  Xiximay knelt upon Hansanori’s chest, her left fist cocked in readiness to strike.

  Her arrival caught Ashueli with her left forefinger raised as if she wished to spear the digit up Jhoranyal’s nostril.

  Zzuriel had the Allory pouch half-slung upon her shoulder, reaching out with her free toward Varzune. The Chameleon managed to look impressed, infuriated and amused all at once. Quite the facial contortion.

  Sabline sat frozen in the act of licking her left forepaw, daintily murderous.

  Upon her bough-blasting arrival, the Dark Elves fell out of their chosen boughs once more. Oops. That was developing into a bad habit. Oh dear, and her two Pixie friends. Their pixels had just absconded to hide in their petrified hairstyles, dumping them on a spot of lime green moss and atop a small tan sandstone boulder respectively. At least they came well-padded for such landings. Despite that a Mean Fae Person had mistreated them, they appeared far more outraged than actually hurt. Giggle. Lovely Pixies!

  Allory picked her sparkles up. She picked up a few more for good measure.

  Oof. If I could, I’d have a beastly backache after that landing.

  Perhaps a certain Scintillant ought to stop exploding things at random moments. It hurt in ways for which she had no words. Also, it put her in mind of what she’d love to do to the boneyard given half a chance. She’d detonate the place with her healing power and restore everyone and everything to how it should be. Fight? This wimp was starting to get the idea.

  She rallied her weirdly loose being. Round up those sparkles!

  First, a few practical arrangements.

  In a clear, astonishingly steady voice, she called, “Xiximay, stop playing with my Harpist. I need all ten of his fingers and toes in their best working order. Uh, twenty … whatever. Nice touch on the black eye, though. Hansanori, you thoroughly deserved that.”

  His jaw sagged like a defective cocoon. “Eh?”

  Tarter than a jungle lime, she clarified, “Tends to be what happens when a Highness takes the path of lowness, wouldn’t you say? Yaarah, I’ll deal with Barakunal. Ash, bring your snazzy new girly accessory over here.”

  “What?” spluttered the Princess.

  “Jhoranyal, I meant.”

  Ashueli shot her the most horrified look since the dawn of time, or thereabouts.

  Despite that his knuckles whitened in clear aggravation, the Dark Elf drawled, “Since I’ve apparently signed myself into permanent vassalage as a kept husband of sorts, I suspect I might need to put up with a few jokes like that in the future.”

  His blue eyes appeared to spit an unspoken, Allory Fae!

  Her sparkles all tried to hide behind one another at the same time, much like Pixie dust in mortal peril, the net result of which was that she ended up staying in exactly the same spot but seethed like a pot of boiling water. She could not formulate a coherent word.

  Cheeky one moment, tongue-tied the next. Courage of the sparkly sort was clearly a work in progress.

  “However,” Jhoranyal added, turning his attention to Ashueli, “I wish to inform the Princess that engaged couples are most certainly allowed to hold hands in Dark Elf –”

  “You haven’t asked me yet, boy,” Barakunal snarled.

  Awkward silence.

  “Nor has Durc Durhelm,” the Master added, with a grin as fierce as his sword blade. “You and I need to pay that fellow a nice friendly visit. Together.”

  Jhoranyal’s dark crystal smile positively glowed at the prospect. “We do!”

  “Without me?” Ashueli challenged.

  “Hmm, more fun interviewing Durc with or without my murderous daughter?” the Elemental Elf pretended to muse, before his daughter mouthed, ‘and Zinueli?” That snapped his jaw shut with a sharp click. Suggids! Clearly, Barakunal had failed to consider this vital angle. How might it even work? She was a consort rather than a wife, but what about that hold over her family Barakunal had referred to?

  Probably another nasty piece of contractual entrapment.

  In this mood, however, Barakunal might just unravel that at Elemental speed. Almost, she pitied Durc Durhelm. He had no idea what manner of calamity was about to ravage his cocoon.

  Was the Elemental Elf … suggids, yes! He was blushing!

  She kept her snickering right where it belonged, in her mind and not out in the open. Now was not the time. What next?

  Allory tried to click her fingers and remembered she had none. “Pixels, at ease. Bring my lovely Pixie friends over here. Hansanori, on your feet! If you wish to have a realm to rule over in the future, then we have a great deal of work ahead of us. Apologies for the snipe, I’ll try to fix your eye later. Which reminds me, I’ve a few large friends I need to introduce you to … later-later. Hee-hee-hee. Did you know that the Deepwoods have Dragons the size of living mountains?”

  “Sap of my ancestors!” he spluttered feelingly.

  “I know!” she agreed, with an extra-bright tinkle to remind the royal that he had better be on his best behaviour. “Plus, we need to consider how we wake the Dryads and all the other denizens of the Deepwoods. We’re going to need all the help we can get, because I’ve a very bad feeling that this is exactly where the Wraith is headed.”

  “What’s first?” Ashueli inquired eagerly.

  “First, I need to brief you all about what I’ve learned this evening. Secondly, we need to go find your great-grandfather, Ash.”

  “Who’s that?” Barakunal asked.

  “The Seer Amazas, murrr-hurrr-harrr,” Yaarah supplied.

  Barakunal and Jhoranyal chorused, “Impressive.”

  The Master grunted, “Would you still have challenged my daughter if you’d known?”

  “Of course,” Jhoranyal scoffed. “With warriors of that calibre on both sides of her bloodline, what under Centresky had I to fear? I’m the Ula-Sali’karm of the Ahlumviar, unbeaten in battle since – oh, lunchtime, at least.”

  Ash exchanged disconcerted glances with Her Twinkleship.

  Aye. In other unbelievable news around the Deepwoods, uncompromisingly honourable and scarily martial giant Dark Elves came furnished with a laconic sense of humour. Who knew?

  Her sparkles were developing a very nice tingle about this relationship – however one phrased the feeling in Ethereal Sparklese, her new language.

  Ash and her giant pet fiancé. Cackle!