Hōz steered his horse off the cobble-stone road and onto the grassy plain, not taking his eyes off the single tent a few hundred yards to the south. The massive animal, three hands higher than most war horses and colored a lovely even tan from nose to tail, side-eyed the ranger briefly.

  “Don’t start with me, Allistar.” the blue elf replied. “You’re a Khelt stallion, aren’t you? I wouldn’t think a little grass would bother you.”

  The horse snorted but said nothing.

  White with large purple stripes, the tent was tall enough for a grown man to stand inside, but only wide enough for perhaps three or four people to stand without touching each other. He noted the faint blue aura outlining the tent against the plain that stretched out beyond it.

  He and Allistar had ridden about an hour from Daegna Teann, having just passed Argentum moments ago. The residents of Argentum were mainly human and Duarden, no elves to speak of. With no other settlements between that small trading post and the Waywards the ranger had not entertained any notions of seeing a pavilion along the roadside. Nearly a year had passed since he last visited the great market, Baroz Tua the elves called it.

  It was a nexus for all elven people on every world where their kind had roots. Baroz Tua served as a meeting place for dignitaries and religious officials, neutral territory for the signing of treaties, a gathering place for great festivals, an epic market bazaar, and even a place where he could leave messages for his clan and vice versa.

  A very large, extremely old bar’hnan, or extended clan, the Mirabillis enclave of the Hzul T’kah bloodline held territory beyond the Null Valley betwixt southern Ziliador and the wild lands north of Khelt. Other sects and enclaves of the ancestral line spanned a dozen more worlds, and every one of them had access to the Baroz Tua.

  As Allistar brought them nearer, the sounds of the marketplace emerged from inside the canvas structure; people walking and talking, music, livestock, laughter. The blue elf scanned the countryside in all directions for the last fifty or so yards, making sure he was indeed alone on the grassy flat-bottoms.

  He slid from the back of his mount, then led the horse to the side of the tent, away from the entrance. “Stay here.”

  He touched the animal’s neck and whispered a few words in elven. Allistar faded from view.

  The blue elf raised the tent’s flap and ducked as he stepped through the doorway. He passed out of a stone archway about the height of the tent and onto a crowded avenue with elves of every sort shuffling along and squeezing past one another.

  Hōz turned to his left outside the archway. Three high elves in regal attire, sipping wine from rose quartz Sauvignon glasses and laden with cloth bags full of merchandise crossed his path. A red elf, its face grizzled and gnarly, sneered as it strutted past, one hand on the hilt of a scimitar.

  Tents, huts, and tables lined both sides of the avenue. Behind the shops on Hōz’s side of the street stretched an open field with a large pond, beyond which sprawled a very old forest. Beyond the tents and booths across the street sat a row of ancient buildings, adorned with gargoyles, dragons, and reliefs of elves immersed in scenes from the many myths of the collective elven people across many worlds.

  The buildings were quite tall, reaching over one-hundred feet in some cases. One in particular, an obelisk tower, loomed many hundreds of feet above even the tallest of the other structures.

  To the ranger’s left, at an intersection where another avenue lined with shops crossed the main road, stood a twenty-foot tall humanoid form of polished gray stone. The giant had no facial features nor any lines of definition on its body. Motionless it kept watch, for this was no statue, but an Aeveragi – a golem-like magical creation used by the elves as soldiers and guards.

  The ranger scanned the tents and booths on the far side of the street until he spotted an open-air stall with a black awning held aloft by tent poles. The black canvas was decorated with stars and circles rendered in glowing pink and yellow paint.

  A particularly slight-framed female silver elf sat beneath the awning. Her hair gleamed in the light, and her lips and nails matched its silvery hue.

  He slowly made his way to the tent with the silver elf maiden. She spotted him, her almond shaped eyes - the color of sapphires – widened and a perfect smile overtook her countenance.

  As Hōz reached the table, where the silver elf had a deck of oracle cards shuffled and cut into three equal stacks, her expression shifted. Brow wrinkled and eyes stern she asked “What are you doing here Hōz’b’nahzioh?”

  The blue elf balked. “Good to see you as well Zemahilda.”

  “Have you not spoken to Tterwa T’ridtius?” the fortune teller demanded.

  “I have.” Hōz replied.

  “You know the Nokturim Tkris offer a fortune for your murder and still you come?” the flustered silver elf banged the table with her tiny fist.

  “Zem, really?” Hōz tried to downplay her reaction.

  “You know they have an enclave below these very streets! They probably already know you’re here.” Zemahilda insisted.

  “The Aeveragi won’t allow a battle in the market space.” The ranger pointed to the three stacks of cards. “Are those for me?”

  “Apparently.” Zemahilda said with a sigh. “I almost hate to look.”

  “Then don’t.” said Hōz. “I only came to see if there are any messages for me.”

  “None.” Zem said. “Save the one you left for yourself last time; do you want it now?”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “I beg your pardon?” Hōz always liked this quaint human expression, even though most other elves found it annoying.

  Zem rolled her eyes.

  “No really.” Hōz pressed. “I-beg-your-pardon. What are you talking about?”

  Zem sighed, reached into a bag under the table and produced an envelope with a complex spiral rune drawn on the front – it matched the mark on the back of Hōz’s right hand and wrist. She handed the envelope to the blue elf.

  “You said it would probably be weird, giving this back to you.” she added.

  “I never gave it to you in the first place youngling.” Hōz corrected the young silver elf who’d barely seen three centuries.

  “Ok H ō z.” Zem shrugged. “What can I say?”

  Hōz opened the envelope and pulled out the single page within it. A message written unmistakably in his handwriting read the following:

  You just left Terwa and Sha this morning. You sent that arrow wide and lost the match. Have your attention now do I?

  It’s me, Hōz. I’m you from the future – leaving this note for you in your past so you’ll see it now.

  Time will begin to loop for you very soon. It is the result of Moon Elf meddling and you’re going to be caught right in the midst of it. You will find yourself repeating moments, days even – just roll with it.

  You came here seeking a message from your clan as you often do. In my past I received a message from Althyra – typical news: three new babies this past summer, Jgobinnin has begun his apprenticeship as a sorcerer, and Remvettridge awaits your return over the winter and another match of haerikil.

  You didn’t get that message because I pre-emptively sent word to the clan on your behalf a few months ago. I needed your sole focus on this message.

  An enemy has sent three dark elf assassins back through time to kill you at this very pavilion – and they succeeded. I know what you’re thinking you grim bastard and NO – that’s not good news. You are needed in the future; others are depending on you and the stakes are quite high. You must survive this attempt on our life!

  They’ll be awaiting you outside the tent. Take care.

  One final note: in the future there will come a moment when you think the Mother of Thorn’s guard is down and you will be tempted to strike. It’s a trap! Avoid that mistake and you can avoid my being sent back through time.

  I know what you’re thinking now also… if I am not sent back the dark elves will get the jump on you once more. That’s not how it works; thwart them or escape this time and you’ll not have to worry about dealing with them again. Time travel is complicated, just trust me!

  Now get out of there and be alert. I’d say use another archway but you need to stay on your current course.

  “Who the hell is the Mother of Thorns?” Hōz asked himself.

  “Who?” asked Zem.

  “Nevermind. Sorry.” Hōz dismissed her.

  Stunned by the message, yet having lived long enough and seen enough to believe what he read without much ado, the blue elf stuffed the envelope in his cloak pocket and surveyed his surroundings. Nothing to be alarmed about just yet.

  Turning to Zem, he said “Thank you my dear. Be well until next time.”

  The ranger turned sharply and headed back towards the stone archway he had entered through.

  “What about your oracle cards?” Zem called out.

  Hōz turned back to look at the fortune teller. “Give me the short version.”

  Zem quickly pulled one card off each stack from left to right then turned them over. She saw in order: a spiral moving from right to left, or inward, a pigeon, and a devil with an effigy in its grasp.

  “Ah shit.” she looked up at the waiting blue elf. She wanted to lie to him but had an obligation to reveal what had been shown to her.

  “You’re either going to do some real soul searching and discover a new you or…” Zem trailed off.

  Hōz knew what the silver elf couldn’t bring herself to say. She had seen the inward spiral, the pigeon or the quill, and either the card of death or the rampaging devil. Such a draw of cards might mean introspection, messages from the spirit guide, and similar; it could also be a warning from the other side and mean destruction or death.

  He winked at the young elf because he didn’t know what else to do, then turned to leave. “Seems about right. Destined to die, finally able to leave this wretched abode, and here I have a message from my future self – left in the past mind you – insisting I not take the easy way out just now.”

  They await outside of the tent, future me said. They’ll see me with their heat vision if I try to slip past invisibly.

  The blue elf’s heart skipped a beat. “If those villains have harmed Allistar…”

  He quickened his pace, forming a plan on the go. Then he saw something that made him smile.

  The same red elf from before, wrinkled and scar covered, his red skin as stark contrast to his snow-white mussy hair. A second elf, taller (though a foot shorter than Hōz) and completely bald, with a sharp goatee that hung down to the top of his bare chest.

  These red bastards really are a savage offshoot. Hōz thought as he examined the two red elves, who in turn stopped to sneer at him.

  Dressed in the plain kilt common to many red elf tribes, both were bare-chested but the first at least wore a thin vest. No shoes of course. One had a scimitar on his belt and the other carried a long-handled, single-headed axe with a long spike atop the head.

  Red elves had rough complexions, wrinkled, cratered, dry and cracked. Their hair was often pure white – as was the case with these two – though reds and browns were common as well and some had deep gray and black hair. Their eyes ranged in color from black or deep brown to yellow like the two fellows Hōz sized up and orange or even deep red.

  Kari Dearg, the proper name for their race, were not considered evil like their black cousins the Nokturim Tkris. They were known to be a hostile, belligerent race, however, and little effort was made to reach out to their enclaves in the remote regions of the realms.

  “You got a problem blue?” the first red elf asked gruffly.

  “Actually yes.” Hōz conceded. “I think the two of you may be able to help me solve it.”

  The two red elves bristled and bowed up; the first snarled. The second retorted:

  “Shall we take this outside then?”

  Hōz clapped his hands. “Who said red elves aren’t so bright? Yes, my angry friend that is precisely what I was going to suggest.”

  ?