An Exercise in Diplomacy

“We’d been trying to negotiate with the trappers for weeks, but we’d gotten nowhere until you found that blasted chest of theirs.” Dumont shook his head, half-amused. “This should be good news to our envoy in Silverbrook. We sent Ducal there about a week ago and his last letter indicated he’d been making little progress.”

He gestured northwest.

“Go to Silverbrook and aid him in his diplomatic efforts. Take the roads heading northwest of here. You should find it after crossing a couple of bridges.”

The road wound through old-growth pines, crossing wooden bridges that creaked under my weight. Silverbrook emerged from the trees like something from a frontier tale: log cabins clustered around a central square, trappers going about their work with the easy rhythm of people who’d lived here for generations.

Envoy Ducal spotted me before I reached his post.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Vikstone! We’d heard about you up here.” His smile was genuine. “Welcome to Silverbrook. These trappers are a great bunch of lads and lasses. Hardy people. They know the lay of the land really well. You’ll find it’s a great thing that we finally won them over to our side.”

Hardy people. Great bunch.

I wondered how much Ducal knew about what was in that cedar chest.

Ducal was all smiles, and the trappers seemed friendly enough. But wolfsbane doesn’t grow near friendly places, and the roots Silverbrook needs are the subject of Wolfsbane Root.