"If the Ents must fall, you fall with us, Tree Slayer!"

  "Yeah, sure, buddy. That's what they all say. Just come a little closer so I can chop you into kindling."

  I sense his attack before he even plants his feet, er, roots. Reka's been using mind acceleration on me since the first fight. I'm not mad she forgot the first time, honest! These Ents feel like they're moving in slow motion, utterly predictable. What's more, I'm learning, learning so rapidly I probably don't need the mind acceleration anyway. Does this count as leveling up?

  Fwoosh! Ducking under his fist is easy as hell. With a careless gesture, I hold up my axe, not even really swinging it, and let his momentum dig a nice, deep furrow into the Ent's forearm. Sticky red sap rains down on me, cloying and sickly sweet. Pretty much only Reka can get it off after it rapidly dries. I spot Alexia nearly retch out of the corner of my eye. Elf noses are sensitive. If it's bad for her over there, then how do you think I feel? I'm coated in it!

  "It's nothing personal, Treebeard," I say absentmindedly, hefting my axe to finish him off.

  "Not personal? NOT PERSONAL!" the Ent roars. He really does kind of look like Treebeard from the movie, with a thick layer of moss hanging off his face, creepy and monkey-like. "You suborned the Orclings and set them against their own home! You've slain my folk to the last! Only I remain to avenge them. What hatred you must have, what vile loathing for everything that is good and grows!"

  I roll my eyes. They really like self-righteous declamations, these Ents. The world is well rid of them, I say. Reka has plans for these woods.

  "Whatever, bro. I need that promotion to B-rank, and you're just in the way."

  With a snarl of agony, the Ent lashes out with his wounded arm. I chopped off the other one at the start of the fight. Homeboy has no choice but to use what he has. Imagine a log as thick as a strong man's chest, quick as lightning, and stronger than steel. I fend off the last desperate attack with contemptuous ease, turning it at the last moment with a parry of my axe head. Red sap coats me again. Just great.

  This time, Alexia actually doubles over and vomits. Shouldn't have eaten all that rich food.

  Oh, I know what my wife is doing. She's getting the Elf duchess hooked on the food we grow in Malmark. We're going to stack paper, or coin, I guess, when the trade deal goes through. Rough logging roads are already being built by our Orc thralls, and skilled people from our castle will be down here soon to construct permanent ones. This whole forest is going to be a nice little piggy bank for us.

  My Ent target, now properly defanged, has given up on resistance and desperately tries to drag himself away from the inevitable, bloody stumps trailing sap behind him, creating awful puddles of slimy mud. I do my best to step over them without soiling my poor boots more than they already are. His pathetic begging might affect me if I hadn't already done this forty-nine times. Strangely precise count. Why were there exactly fifty ents in the forest and not forty-nine or fifty-one? I guess we'll never know.

  "Playtime is done, Treeblind. Game over."

  "Game? Is the annihilation of my kind a game to you?" he rasps. Those eyes are tired, old, and full of fear, only now realizing how fucked he truly is. They start off so arrogantly, but once the Ent finds out your axe is sharp enough to cut him, the vibe shifts.

  "I'm sure it seems like bad luck, Treeboard. Truth is, the game was rigged from the start."

  THWACK!

  Ents don't have a brain, exactly, but there's a nerve center above their face, bury your axe in it, and they go limp and die, just like a headshot on a human.

  "Thus passes the last of the Ents," Semeul says with grim gravity.

  No applause this time. I guess even Reka got bored around Ent thirty. She's rubbing Alexia's back and holding her hair. They've definitely gotten closer with my wife's "supportive girlfriend" act. Of course, this world doesn't know what sales tactics are. We're gonna rob the Elves blind on these roadbuilding contracts.

  I approach them with Semuel trailing behind in my shadow. The little dude treats me with semi-religious awe now, said I'm an avenging berserker of "One Other". I'm just a guy, man.

  "Satisfied with our performance, Your Grace?" I ask the Elf. She's a few shades paler than usual.

  "More than satisfied, Sir Brad. Your party's promotion to B-rank is assured. For millennia, the Ents have troubled us. When the first Elf raised the first tower, they objected to our marring the land's 'natural beauty' as it were. In our reckoning, natural beauty is better controlled. The best place for a plant is under glass."

  Tolkien Elves, these are not. They've got whole cities, all made with that weird crystal glass material, very artificial. Trees and flowers are just decorations.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Right. Well, Reka and I are going to find the nearest stream to clean up. I don't know if you've still got an appetite, but it would be good to eat again before we start the journey back."

  "Actually," Reka smoothly interjects, "it might serve us better to make for Tar Guldrim. From there, I can send instructions to the workers in our employ. 'Tis only a week's ride to Lake Ethilion from there. My lady's journey will be shorter and safer."

  "So greedy," Alexia complains without heat. She uses her mage's staff as a crutch to stand up straight again. Two months away from civilization has taken a toll. Her perfect pixie cut has grown out a bit, and no amount of magical cleansing can restore the stripper dress she insists on wearing to pristine condition. "I already agreed to all your requests. The wood of the dead Ents is yours to do with as you see fit. Subjugated Orcs will remain in your employ, and your merchant house will receive favorable terms for the roadbuilding contract. It saves me much trouble, in any case. Elven roadmakers are tardy and fastidious. Work could not begin until next year at the earliest. My royal sister demands lumber for her fleet now."

  "Your Grace is wise," Reka simpers. Laying it on a little thick, aren't you, honey?

  "Nay, merely fortunate. My lands are not rich, as you can well see. I am but an absentee landlord, ruling without controlling my demense. Most is wild and unpeopled. With the forest clear of Orcs and Ents, my fortunes will rise. Your fortunes shall rise alongside mine if you continue to serve me well."

  Reka inclines her head submissively. "We intend to, Your Grace." Her ranger outfit is bright, spotless, and not faded at all. Maybe she's born with it. Maybe it's May-

  ***

  How changed Tar Guldrim is!

  Reka's tendrils have already reached the village, no, a proper town now, and sunk deep. The docks, newly built and greatly expanded, rumble with the rhythm of work. Muddy streets are freshly paved. Orc stevedores unload crates and barrels of diverse merchandise from ships in a dozen different styles. Taverns are full to bursting, belching smoke from chimneys that never stop. Delicious scents of roasting meat and baking bread are the first things we smell on our approach. It's anecdotal, but the people look better fed now. That sunken, sallow look we observed our first time passing through is hardly to be seen.

  Above all, broad lumber yards with stacks of wood drying and seasoning in the sun dominate the landscape.

  "Your people work fast," Alexia observes while we walk along the quay, taking in the sights. Sailors and stevadores practically dive out of our path to make way for an Elf.

  "I anticipated our deal before we set out on the mission, Your Grace," Reka says with easy confidence.

  Alexia's eyes narrow suspiciously. "To this extent? Tar Guldrim was a mudhole, hardly mentioned the last time I deigned to take notice of it."

  "Men move with a sense of urgency, Your Grace. Our time in the world, fleeting as it is, is not to be wasted."

  The Elf grunts noncommitcally, but I can tell she's disturbed. Prosperous humans might get uppity. There's a calculated expression on her face. Managing all this might be more trouble than it's worth, but she's stuck now.

  "In any case, Your Grace, you may expect lumber shipments by sea to Southport with no delay, and workers in my employ will begin work on a road network to facilitate trade by land. That yellow corn you favor, and other rare delicacies besides, will find its way to your noble table as soon as may be."

  Alexia's expression softens, greed overmatching her wariness. Reka's played her perfectly, I realize. "Very well. I suppose you'll be wanting to go to the Adventurer's Guild next?"

  My wife nods happily. "Just so, Your Grace!"

  ***

  "I can see why you married her, now," Alexia says to me with grudging respect. "That one is too clever by half. With this, you'll be richer than some Elven lords I'm familiar with." She hands me a contract.

  Taking it in hand, I scan the parchment. House Starglade and House Regis...blah blah blah, mercantile arrangement, legal immunities...eh, I'm sure Reka made sure the wording was favorable to us. Better than the contract is my guild medal. With our successful mission, I'm now a proud B-rank adventurer, ID number B-7! Reka is B-6. I think you know where I'm going with this. Oh, and Semul is B-8.

  "There's only eight B-rank adventurers total?" I ask in interest. "Seems low."

  "Fighters of your skill are rare, Sir Brad. You three are the only B-ranks in Elberetheia, I'll have you know. My royal sister will be wanting to meet you at some point," Alexia says with some disdain. She's gotten too comfortable speaking plainly with us, I think. Her fake arrogant Elf vibes are much diminished. I guess you can't keep putting up a front after spending months together in the woods.

  Poor Alice didn't get to come with us and get promoted, though, I realize sadly. I wonder what she's up to.

  By mutual agreement, we part with Alexia at the guild, whose manager doubles as a notary for our contract. Summer is waning, and autumn will be here soon. It's been a heck of an adventure. We'll winter in Malmark Castle and return in the spring.

  "What now?" I ask Reka, who is wearing a dress again, as she leads us to the docks.

  "Back home, my love. There is much to manage. Ah, and Master Dwarf?"

  "Aye?"

  "The Entwood shall be brought forth here, under your management. You will construct for me a ship according to a design I'll provide you. Any labor or facilities you require will be yours."

  Semuel grunts in acknowledgement. What would a ship constructed from the dead bodies of the Ents be like? Pretty macabre. Do Ents have magic properties? They must.

  Reka turns a considering eye towards the ships along the quay. Which one will bring us home? I notice a pregnant woman wearing a fine blue dress trimmed with lace. People here look better off now, but she's on another level. Could it be?

  "Alice!" I cry.

  "My lord and lady," she greets politely, curtsying to us both. God, she's practically glowing! And really pregnant, too! We weren't gone that long. She must not have wasted any time.

  "Ah, dear Alice. I take it you've won the husband of your desires?" Reka asks kindly.

  Alice nods firmly. "Yes! We're so terribly happy!" she gushes. Seeing her now, I'd never believe she used to be an emotionless spider girl. "Taras was timid at first, you know, but now? Now every day's a wonder! All your instructions were quite clear, my lady. Tar Guldrim prospers and grows by your will."

  Reka, my wife, looks completely unsurprised. Multiple irons in the fire. It's always been like this. She thinks dozens of moves ahead. "Most excellent. You may expect more goods and laborers from Malmark once the harvest is brought in. It will be a busy winter for us all."

  As we walk away, I hear Reka mutter, "I hope the poor Baron is not too shocked when his young wife bears him dozens of Arachlings."

  Pregnant Alice