[center][u]The Old Mountain, Deep in the Old Forest[/u][/center]

Deep within the labyrinthine tunnels that lay under the Old Mountain, in a place without any light save for that which emanated from the odd luminescent mushroom, a group of Weavers met.  The chamber they gathered in was an ancient one, a nest used by their people in ages long past.  Gerum, the defacto leader of her people, and perhaps the largest and most formidable Weaver born in centuries, gazed out into the darkness of the old room and shuddered to think of the number and scale of the creatures which had once lived there.  It was why she had gathered them here for this, for them to guess at the significance of this place and come to a conclusion; this vast space was a hint of what they had been, what they could be.

As was custom it was not Gerum that spoke first, but a young male less than half her size, “Gerum, the preparations are complete.  Vulwyn Traro has agreed to meet me to negotiate.”

The eerily resonant voice of the smaller spider was magnified by the expanse of the room, no, the great hall.  Gerum tapped the rock below her in acknowledgement.  That was good, for all they were less than their distant ancestors they had acquired tools the likes of which had always eluded their species in ancient days: manners, connections, friends.  Gerum spoke softly, she had no need to grandstand, “This is good.  You will have the resources of our people to bargain with, but no more.  You understand child?”

Reading a Weaver was hard, even among their own kind, but Gerum was old now.  She could feel the boys trepidation as he replied, “I do Gerum, but...  May I ask why we have not asked the others Gerum?  The Harpies are not without resources, nor are the Ursine.  Even the Dryads keep treasures of the past.”

It would be the height of impertinence for a mere merchant to question the leader of their people, at least if that people were not Weavers.  Weavers didn’t bother with pointless displays of deference, Gerum could devour every Weaver in this chamber even if they all turned on her, what did she have to prove? The question was valid, if naive, anyhow.  The others in attendance would have asked it of her sooner or later.

Gerum laughed in the hissing manner of her people, “Boy...  Agur.  As you are not a Great Being I cannot expect you to know this, but the consensus of the Great Beings is not an apolitical affair.  The Harpies folly all those years ago has had their voice in the consensus all but stripped while our connections, the connections you and your peers have made, has made ours larger than it has ever been.  When we speak now, even the Dryads listen.  Tell me, what would happen if we asked the Harpies for aid?”

Agur looked vaguely shocked.  He was accustom to the politics of outsiders, but to see that here?  Had it always been so?  He answered as he would have if he were speaking of Elven affairs, “They would regain their voice if the deal worked, and we would be held responsible if they led us to disaster again.”

Gerum tapped the floor and a number of the other weavers did the same. She spoke to the group as a whole, “You understand.  As for the Ursine, they have no interest in such things.  Why share the credit if the ally we might make is content to never speak out?  The Dryads...  They need no more power, nor do the Shadows.  For untold eons they have dominated the consensus, but old and wise as they may be, their perspectives are the ones of those who need not worry about their next meal, their next year.  The Dryads and Shadows have seen the forest reduced to a fraction of itself, have seen its inhabitants shrink with it, and they worry not.  Why should they?  To them this new civilization is interesting, frightening even, but it will pass as all others have.  They can wait.”

Gerum paused, the other Weavers were looked at her with awe, she supposed it had been a long time since another had spoken the truth.  She concluded, “No.  I will not give them more say in how we will defend the Forest, how we will safeguard ourselves.  Agur, you will go and bargain with what we have and you will return with what we need.  The others have failed one way or another, we will not.  Go knowing that Agur.”

Dismissed, Agur wasted no time in skittering out of the great hall and into a dark tunnel.  Gerum watched him leave and reflected on her words, did she really think they could do it better than the Dryads?  The [i]Shadows?[/i]  Well, she supposed they had to try.

[center][u]Heartwood, Capital of the Old Forest[/u][/center]

Mara sat quietly across from the Dryad that had requested her presence, the wooden woman regarding her inquiringly before finally asked, “They sent... You?”

It should have been an insult, but all Mara felt was relief.  She was right, then.  The nervous weight lifted off her shoulders, or at least some of it, for the first time since she’d stepped into the Dryads little office off the main street of the city.  Well, office was a generous term.   The room the young Harpy found herself in was circular and filled to the brim with all manner of foreign and exotic plants and flowers.  Such was the density of the flora that the little moss platform and the Dryad resting on it had escaped her notice for nearly a minute after she’d entered.  Any polite person would have spoken up, but not a Dryad.  The wooden women loved their little jokes.

Mara answered the perplexed Dryad honestly, “They did.  I think they’re just glad to be rid of me, or maybe they thought I was the only one who wouldn’t take a swipe at the Prin- err Emperor?”

The Dryad actually sighed, Mara wondered where the air was coming from, before the wooden woman stood from her relaxed posture splayed out on the moss mat and shook her head, “This is why I told Shaetarae sending a Harpy was a bad idea, not that there’s anything wrong with you of course, but I don’t doubt my elder sister was expecting one of your Greater Beings.”

Mara felt vaguely embarrassed, but the Dryad wasn’t wrong.  Before the woman's rant could resume Mara spoke up, “I know I’m not what you expected, but I don’t think they’ll send another.  If you could just...  Tell me what I’m supposed to do?  Beyond fly to the court of the new Emperor?”

The Dryad stopped and rubbed her wooden forehead, “Fine.  If anything goes wrong I suppose there’s always another Emperor.  Oh, that’s right there are two now if you hadn’t heard, you’ll be going to one in the south.  I imagine that’s why Shaetarae asked for a Harpy, there are a number of your people on the other side of the Elves wall yes?”

Mara nodded, she’d been told about them before.  Well, usually in insults.  Apparently the Harpies on the other side of the wall didn’t care for the old ways either.  Mara brightened at the idea of actually meeting them, what would they be like after having lived under the Elves for so much longer than her own people?  

The Dryad went on, “Well then, maybe speak to them before flying to Altairis to meet the Emperor.  Amaena is up north so we have nobody to lecture you on how you’re supposed to act when you’re there, a local might have the inclination to help.  Or not.  I can tell you you’ll need fancier clothing, they were rather strict about clothing when I was in the Elves army.”

Mara smiled at the idea, she always thought the Yllendyr merchants that traveled to her city looked pretty, “You’ll give me money for them?  The clothes?”

The Dryad looked a bit surprised, “Oh, yes they don’t give civilians clothes do they?  I’ll give you a fair sum, same as anyone else going out of the forest on a task from the consensus, to be used for clothing and necessities only!  As for what you’ll be doing beyond flying to his court I’m told you’ll be mirroring what Amaena did for the last Emperor, that is, being the formal point of contact between the Forest and the Elves, negotiating with them when instructed to and staying in contact with the consensus and Greater Beings.  You’ll be the forests representative and our voice.”

Just then the Dryad paused, considered what she’d said, and appraised Mara again, “Are you sure you want to do this?  If the Harpies won’t produce a more...  Experienced candidate I’m sure Shaetarae will agree to send a Dryad.”

Mara had visibly paled when the Dryad had explained what an [i]ambassador[/i] did in detail.  She hadn’t been told-  How could they have sent her to do that!  Still, it was a chance to show the Elves not all Harpies were irascible sets of wings and teeth.  It was also a chance to get out of the forest.  Out of the forest.  That was what she really wanted wasn’t it?

She hesitated, and the Dryad noticed, but Mara spoke with as much confidence as she could muster, “I can do it.  If my people won’t send one of the Greater Beings among us I’ll have to do.”

The Dryad almost looked ready to protest, now that the air headed wooden woman took the time to think about it, but eventually just nodded and reached behind a plant.  Her hand reappeared with a small bag of money which she handed Mara, “Good luck, then.  I know Amaena grew into her position, maybe you will too.  You’re to arrive, introduce yourself, and await the arrival of the Weavers who’ve been assigned to aid you.  They’re bringing a radio and a clay tree seed to set up the building you’ll work and live in.  If all goes well you’ll be able to report on how things went with this Emperor Olarth sooner rather than later, Ambassador...  Sorry, what was your name again?”

Mara grinned meekly, “Its Mara.”