A fox tod, (Patreon)

dressed too warmly for the weather in a heavy coat, muffler, and gloves, came bumbling out of the woods. He spotted Zandar, picked up a stick, and gingerly poked her with it. I could barely suppress a giggle.

However, when Zandar awoke and yelled "WHO DARES?" in badly accented Elvish, my amusement evaporated. Was she going to kill this hapless oaf just for mildly annoying her? I was not about to put such villainy past her, so I drew my bow and got ready to intervene if necessary.

The fox squatted down and spoke to Zandar. She replied, and didn't seem to be in a murderous rage, so I discreetly pooked to a nearby bush where I could hear their conversation.

"Last night I had a particularly vivid dream," the fox was saying, "In which Hastur appeared and told me to find you here."

"Do you mean HESTER?" Zandar asked.

"It is possible I mis-heard the name," the fox admitted.

Who in the Netherhells was Hastur or Hester? This was curious and mildly alarming. Whoever it was would necessarily have access to some potent magicks to be able to speak to someone in a dream and pinpoint Zandar's exact location! What would such a person be up to?

"Was she a tall slender rabbit with light tan fur and black ear tips?" Zandar inquired with slight urgency. If she was describing Hester, this sounded like someone I should confront at some point!

"Oh no," the fox replied. "This was more goatlike, and definitely male. He was dark as ebony, and massive with broad shoulders ... bulging, rippling muscles ... a long, thick ..." the fox trailed off and seemed to be in a daze for a few seconds. Then he abruptly cleared his throat. "Forgive me - I haven't introduced myself! I am Sir Conrad Dugal: Poet, author, folklorist, and historian."

"Charmed," Zandar acknowledged politely. I felt pretty sure she wasn't going to kill him now.

"Here," Sir Conrad said, unbuttoning his coat. "Take my ulster to cover your nakedness. We should not tarry here. These woods belong to the White Elf."

"Who?" Zandar asked innocently, as if she hadn't just spent almost a year in the presence of the august personage just mentioned.

"Legends tell of a radiant, white-furred elf lord," Sir Conrad explained. I grinned with pleasure to know that my plans for spreading my legend had worked so successfully.

"Beautiful, but dangerously mad," Sir Conrad continued, and my smile faded. "He lives alone, isolated from the rest of his kind. Some say he was banished here for some horrible crime. Supposedly his lair deep in the forest can be sought by the bold ... or the foolish. I thought these were mere tales, but after this morning I am prepared to believe anything. Stupid rabbits thought they could settle here, and their faith would protect them, but the old spirits are still strong in this place."

Well, I couldn't say that Sir Conrad's information was inaccurate, but I had hoped the story would have presented me in a slightly more favorable light. He and Zandar began to walk away, and I followed at a distance so I could continue listening without being seen.

"The White Elf's moods are unpredictable," Sir Conrad continued. "Twere best not to draw his attention. Misfortune is said to follow those he meets."

"I've met him!" Zandar declared.

"I had hoped that might be the case. Tell me, what was he like?"

"As you said," Zandar sighed. "He's beautiful but insane. He thinks of no-one but himself."

Bah! That was hardly fair coming from someone with HER history!

"First I was kidnapped by a pair of villains," Zandar continued. "A dog and a spider."

"In the tales, there are often mortals who do his bidding," Sir Conrad added.

"They took me through the woods to a circle of stones. In the center was a doorway into the earth."

"The gateway to his domain is an ancient fairy fort called Albric Tor," Sir Conrad explained. How did he know that?

"The White Elf emerged and introduced himself as Lord Randall," Zandar said.

"HE DID??" Sir Conrad exclaimed in surprise. "That can't be right. Lord Randall was poisoned by his mortal lover."

How did this nosy lowfolk person know THAT??

"I saw his tomb in Faerie," Zandar admitted. "When I asked His Lordship about it, he said that was a different Randall."

"There is no instance in the lore of two elves sharing the same name," Sir Conrad muttered. "Each name is unique, and is regarded almost as a part of the elf's soul. Knowing the name gives one a degree of power over him. They also have a strict magical code of honor which obliges them to avoid falsehood. Not even a criminal like him would dare utter a lie. So, considering all this, it seems strange for him to have told you his name was Randall."

I breathed a sigh of relief to hear some of the inaccuracies in that little speech. Sir Conrad had just explained, more succinctly than I had ever heard, the basis of the silly name game which lowfolk invented and which we continue to play with them when it amuses us.

"Now that I think of it," Zandar mused, "he strongly IMPLIED that his name was Randall, but he never actually said so."

"Classic elfish tricks!" Sir Conrad laughed. "Being unable to lie does not mean he must always tell the truth! His name is one of our great local mysteries. Most folk call him Lordship or Squire."

"The rabbits called him Squire Young," Zandar recalled.

"You mean he was HERE, and the rabbits KNEW him?" Sir Conrad demanded incredulously.

"That happened later."

"I'm sorry, please continue your story."

"He took me to his realm," Zandar continued. "He used me ... sexually."

UNFAIR! She was a fully consenting participant in that! She was just playing for Sir Conrad's sympathy!

"He tricked me into giving him the crown of his dead brother, King Estmere."

All the slander spewing from Zandar's mouth was making me see red! I didn't "trick" her into giving me the crown! I was completely straightforward about it!

"King Estmere is dead?" Sir Conrad yelped in surprise. "Did he actually say he was the King's brother?"

"He definitely said that," Zandar confirmed.

"Great Auk!" Sir Conrad cackled excitedly. "If that's the case, then I know the White Elf's name!"

I couldn't allow him to divulge that information! I pooked quickly up into a nearby tree, apported a lute, and began to sing some enchanting Elfsong to distract the lowfolk. It worked like a charm (because it IS a charm, obviously) and Sir Conrad was completely captivated. However, I failed to take into account Zandar's remarkable throwing arm.

Zandar picked up a rock, and with unerring aim (not to mention blatant disregard for the fine arts and quality craftsmanship) she threw it, smashing my lute! Were there no depths to which she would not sink?!

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