Chapter 2

The market square bustled with activity as Patrina wove between colorful stalls and haggled with merchants. Ahead, a cluster of stocky figures loaded crates onto wagons with practiced efficiency – dwarves, their beards hanging like ornate curtains over broad chests. One stood apart, checking items against a list, his russet-brown beard braided with tarnished metal clasps. His companions addressed him as "Felag," their gruff voices carrying deference beneath the roughness. Patrina slowed her pace, watching them secure goods for what appeared to be a significant journey. East, if the position of their wagons indicated anything.

"Careful with that!" Felag barked as a younger dwarf nearly dropped a wooden crate. "That's Solasan crystal, not mining rubble." His accent curled around the elven words like smoke around stone, foreign yet somehow fitting.

Patrina approached cautiously, clutching her satchel closer. The banner stretched across one wagon proclaimed "Forge of Gold Merchant Group" in both dwarven and common script. A trading company – exactly what she needed. She noted the details in her mental catalog: six wagons, perhaps fifteen dwarves total, goods ranging from fabrics to metalwork to bottles she assumed contained wine or spirits.

"Excuse me," she called, stepping into Felag's line of sight. "Are you by chance traveling east from Solasa?"

Felag looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly beneath bushy brows. He gave Patrina a slow assessment, taking in her scholarly attire, the ink stains on her fingers, the hopeful tilt of her head. "We might be," he answered, his voice deliberately noncommittal. "Depends on who's asking and why."

"I'm Assistant Professor Patrina Warden from the Collegiate Alliance of Vyhelm." She straightened her posture, summoning the dignity of her academic position. "I'm on sabbatical researching elven cultures, and I need passage eastward. To the Greenways, specifically."

A few of the other dwarves paused in their work, exchanging glances. One laughed – a short, harsh sound quickly silenced by Felag's sharp look.

"The Greenways?" Felag stroked his beard, the wooly texture catching on his calloused fingers. "Wood Elf territory. Not many humans venture there." There was something calculating in his eyes, as if weighing risks against profits.

"I have official permission and letters of introduction," Patrina explained, extracting a sealed document from her satchel. "The High Elves have been most accommodating. I expect the Wood Elves will be similarly receptive to scholarly inquiry."

Felag barely glanced at her papers. "We're the only caravan heading east this week," he said, his tone suggesting she should be grateful for this fact. "Taking the trade route through the lower passes. It'll get you within a day's ride of Wood Elf lands."

Hope bloomed in Patrina's chest. "That would be perfect. I'd be happy to pay for passage."

"It's not just about payment," Felag said, turning to bark orders at his men before continuing. "We don't take passengers for leisure. Everyone pulls their weight."

"Of course." Patrina nodded eagerly. "I'm quite capable. What would be required of me?"

Felag considered her slender frame, her scholar's hands. His mouth twisted into what might be a smile or a grimace – it was difficult to tell beneath the beard. "Camp chores, same as anyone. Help with cooking, washing up, loading and unloading when we make camp." He named a sum for passage that made Patrina wince internally, though she kept her expression neutral.

"And protection?" she asked, glancing at the armed dwarves securing the wagons. "The road east is said to have... disturbances."

"We've hired guards," Felag confirmed, gesturing to several dwarves with battle-axes strapped to their backs. "No extra charge for keeping you alive, Professor."

The way he said "professor" carried a hint of amusement, as if her title was a child's pretend game. Patrina felt a flicker of annoyance but pushed it aside. This was her only option.

"Then we have an agreement," she said, extending her hand.

Felag stared at her offered hand before taking it in his much larger one. His palm was rough as sandstone against her skin. "Half payment now, half upon arrival," he said, releasing her hand quickly. "We leave within the hour. Don't be late."

"I'll gather my things immediately," Patrina assured him, already mentally calculating what she'd need to pack. "Thank you for this opportunity, Trader Stonedelve."

Felag paused, giving her a slightly sharper look. "You know my name."

"I observed your companions addressing you, and I recognize the Stonedelve merchant mark on your wagons," she explained, pointing to the stylized anvil and flame insignia. "My research isn't limited to elves."

Something shifted in Felag's expression – a brief reassessment. "Observant," he muttered. "Be at the eastern gate in an hour. Second wagon from the back will have space."

As Patrina hurried away, excitement quickening her steps, Felag turned to a dwarf with a graying beard. "A human scholar," he said quietly, lighting his pipe with a strike of flint. "How... convenient."

The older dwarf grunted. "Mavros will pay extra for one with education. They like breaking the clever ones."

"We're not taking her all the way to the Dark Elf border," Felag reminded him, puffing smoke that masked his expression. "Just close enough for an unfortunate... detour." His fingers tapped against the trade agreement in his pocket – one signed not with Wood Elves, but with a Dark Elf merchant house that paid handsomely for human acquisitions.

Meanwhile, Patrina rushed toward the inn, her mind racing with plans. This unexpected opportunity meant she wouldn't have to wait days or weeks for alternative transportation. The Wood Elves' territory – unvisited by humans for centuries – would soon be open to her scholarly examination. What insights might she gather about how their isolation had shaped their culture? What evolution of language and customs might she document?

She passed a fountain where High Elven children tossed silver coins into the sparkling water. They paused to watch her hurry by, their timeless eyes following her human urgency with bemusement. Patrina barely noticed them, her thoughts already racing ahead to the Greenways, to the notes she'd take, to the monograph she'd write that would secure her full professorship upon her return.

Only a small voice in the back of her mind questioned why a dwarven merchant caravan would welcome a human academic with such minimal negotiation. But she silenced that voice with practical reasoning – they'd named a fair price, she'd work for her passage, and the route served both their purposes. The Forge of Gold Merchant Group was simply being practical, as dwarves are known to be.

By the time she reached the inn to collect her belongings, Patrina had convinced herself that this arrangement was not only acceptable but fortuitous. She packed quickly, gathering her journals, her herbal identification guides, and the small crossbow she'd never had to use but carried as a precaution. Her armband felt secure against her upper arm, hiding her secret as it always did.

"The Greenways," she whispered to herself, testing the name on her tongue as she buckled her travel pack. The second step in her academic journey, a path to recognition and respect in her field. What scholar from Vyhelm wouldn't seize such an opportunity?

An hour later, as promised, she stood at the eastern gate of D'Gnilth, watching the dwarven caravan prepare for departure. Felag nodded to her once, gesturing toward the second wagon from the back, where a small space had been cleared among crates of trade goods. Patrina climbed aboard, settling herself among packages wrapped in oilcloth and wooden boxes stamped with elven seals.

"Ready, Professor?" asked a dwarf with a scar running through his beard.

"More than ready," Patrina replied, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. "To the Greenways."

The dwarf exchanged a look with his companion that Patrina didn't quite understand, but she was too focused on the journey ahead to give it much thought. The wagons lurched forward, and the High Elven city of D'Gnilth begins to recede behind them, its white spires catching the midday sun like distant beacons.