Chapter 4

The eastern gate of D'Gnilth diminished behind them as Patrina settled into the second-from-last wagon, wedging herself between crates stamped with dwarven merchant seals. The wagon smelled of cedar, pipe tobacco, and the earthy scent of dwarves – not unpleasant, but distinctly foreign to her senses after weeks among the perpetually perfumed High Elves. She traced her fingers over the rough wood of a nearby crate, wondering what treasures it contained. Dwarven trade goods were rare in Vyhelm, limited to what passed through the port city of Watercross, and even then, subject to intense scrutiny.

"Comfortable, Professor?" A dwarf with a salt-and-pepper beard grinned at her from his perch at the front of the wagon. He wore an iron-studded leather cap that had seen better decades, pushed back to reveal a receding hairline. "Not quite the accommodations you'd find in the Sylvanae Archive, I'd wager."

"It's perfectly adequate, thank you," Patrina responded, tucking her satchel more securely beside her. She didn't add that after growing up with a rambunctious younger brother in a modest home, luxury had never been her expectation. Marcus would laugh to see her now, crammed among trade goods with strangers who smelled of stone and metal.

The wagon lurched forward as the caravan began its journey in earnest. The road leading east from D'Gnilth was well-maintained, at least for the first several miles – smooth white stone that gleamed in the afternoon sun. Patrina watched the High Elven city recede, its elegant spires catching the light like crystallized magic. For all their formality and occasional condescension, the High Elves had welcomed her research with more openness than she'd anticipated.

Aldergon’s warning echoed in her mind. Dark Elves take humans. She shook her head slightly, dismissing the concern. Their route would take them nowhere near Dark Elf territories, and the Wood Elves, while reclusive, had no history of human captivity.

"First time traveling with dwarves?" Asked another merchant, this one with elaborate braids woven through his beard, small metal trinkets clinking softly with each movement of his head.

"First time traveling with anyone beyond human lands," Patrina admitted. "Except for the sea voyage to Solasa, of course."

This revelation prompted a round of hearty laughter from the three dwarves sharing her wagon. "Well, you're in for an education then, Professor," said the first dwarf. "Though perhaps not the kind your university had in mind."

"Every experience is valuable data," she replied with a small smile, pulling out her notebook. "I'd be interested in learning about dwarven trade routes, if you're willing to share. The economic interconnection between races is a fascinating aspect of post-Flight cultural development."

The dwarves exchanged glances, somewhere between amusement and bewilderment. "She talks like an elf," one muttered, not unkindly.

"Too many books," agreed another, tapping his temple.

The wagon ahead of theirs contained several more dwarves, including Felag. Patrina watched as he lit an ornately carved pipe, the smoke curling around his head like a living thing before being swept away by the motion of the caravan. He didn't look back at her, focused on the road ahead and occasionally consulting a map that fluttered in the breeze.

As the afternoon wore on, the dwarves began sharing jokes – ribald tales involving mistaken identities in dark mine shafts, improbable encounters with mountain trolls, and the perpetual rivalry between dwarven clans. Patrina listened, making occasional notes, fascinated by the cultural markers embedded in their humor. The jokes themselves weren't particularly funny to her, but the way they reinforced group identity and shared values was academically significant.

"And then the elf says, 'That's not my tree, that's my wife!'" One dwarf concluded a particularly convoluted tale, prompting roars of laughter from his companions.

Patrina smiled politely, not understanding the punchline but appreciating the camaraderie it created. The wagon creaked rhythmically beneath them as they left the pristine High Elven roads for a more modest trade route. The landscape shifted gradually – the manicured gardens and ordered forests of Solasa giving way to wilder growth. Tall pines began to appear among the elegant silver-leafed trees favored by High Elves, and the undergrowth grew denser.

"We'll make camp at the Three Stone Pass," called Felag from the wagon ahead. "Another two hours' ride."

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the road. Patrina felt a mixture of melancholy and excitement as D'Gnilth disappeared completely from view. The city had been merely her first step, a familiar introduction to elven culture before the true exploration began. Still, she'd miss the Sylvanae Archive, with its endless shelves of knowledge and its tall, silver-haired Head Librarian.

She wondered if Aldergon would think of her occasionally, the curious human scholar who pestered him with endless questions. Perhaps he'd mention her to other elves – "There was this human woman once, quite intelligent for her kind." The thought made her smile despite herself.

The road narrowed as they entered more densely forested terrain. The lead dwarf began a traveling song in their native tongue, a deep, rhythmic chant that resonated through the wagon. The others joined in, their voices creating harmonies that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Patrina closed her eyes, letting the unfamiliar music wash over her. Another note for her research – dwarven traveling songs appeared to serve both entertainment and practical purposes, keeping the group's pace steady and maintaining alertness.

Her thoughts drifted to the Wood Elves waiting ahead. What would they be like, these elves who rejected the structured society of their High Elf cousins? Would they welcome her scholarly inquiries or view her with suspicion? The accounts she'd read in the Sylvanae Archive described them as wild but wise, more connected to natural magic than their city-dwelling relatives. Aldergon had mentioned that they painted their arms with earth-toned dyes and lived in harmony with the forest – a stark contrast to the High Elves' carefully controlled environment.

The gentle rocking of the wagon lulled her into drowsiness. Her notebook slipped from her fingers as her head nodded forward. The excitement of securing passage, saying goodbye to Aldergon, and beginning the journey had left her unexpectedly exhausted. She fought to keep her eyes open, wanting to observe every detail of the transition from High Elven to Wood Elven territories, but the rhythmic creaking of the wheels and the dwarves' deep singing worked against her determination.

"Rest while you can, Professor," said the salt-and-pepper bearded dwarf, his voice oddly gentle. "The road gets rougher from here."

Patrina nodded gratefully, allowing her eyes to close. Just for a moment, she told herself. Just to gather strength for the observations ahead. Her last conscious thought was of the Wood Elves and the wealth of knowledge waiting in their forest realm. What insights might she bring back to the Collegiate Alliance? What discoveries might secure her full professorship?

As Patrina drifted into sleep, her head coming to rest against a crate of Solasan textiles, Felag glanced back from the wagon ahead. He caught the eye of the dwarf sitting across from the slumbering human and gave a slight nod. The dwarf returned the gesture, his hand moving casually to rest near the small pouch at his belt – a pouch containing powder that, when mixed with water, ensures deep, dreamless sleep.

"Rest well, Professor," Felag murmured around his pipe stem, too quietly for anyone to hear. "The Wood Elves aren't the only ones who'll find you interesting." He turned back to the road ahead, smoke curling around his face, obscuring the calculation in his eyes as the caravan continued eastward, away from the safety of High Elven lands and toward territories where different rules apply.