by Lynn Abbey
"I tried to run away with Tay-Fay and Dancer. I killed a man, Poppa, on my way to the stable. I shoved a pitchfork into his gut a score of times. When I went to the stable, I was too late; the Simbul was already there. She'd come for Dancer."
"The Simbul, son? You're sure it was the witch-queen?"
"You say you're my father; she said she was the Simbul. She killed the last wizard, then she tried to steal Dancer. I wouldn't let her. I burst into her stealing spell and we wound up here, in the Yuirwood." He was nearing the end of his story, the end of his strength. "I… I let her take Tay-Fay. I stayed behind, with Dancer. I'd had a dream-a vision-when he was born. Zandilar, she told me to come dance with her, here in the Yuirwood. I knew I would; I wanted to come home…"
Rizcarn took him by the arms. "You have come home. She's here, waiting for you."
"Momma?"
"Zandilar!"
Bro could almost see Zandilar dancing in the moon's reflection off his father's eyes. He could almost hear her voice. Almost forget what he'd seen these past two days.
"There's a place here in the Yuirwood for you, son. Let's go."
It would be so easy to let Rizcarn lead him where he'd wanted to go, to Zandilar, but Bro shrugged free a second time.
"You don't care. You don't care that Momma's dead or how she died. You don't care about anything but the forest."
"Her path led out of the Yuirwood, son."
Rizcarn reached again and was met by tense muscles, bared teeth. He staggered backwards, as if Bro had physically assaulted him. His mouth worked furiously, shaping unspoken words until he finally said:
"As dead as I was to her, son, outside the Yuirwood, Shali was dead to me. You still have your tears; mine have all been shed. I grieved for both of you, but you've come back and I cannot deny my joy at seeing you."
He opened his arms and it seemed, for a heartbeat, that there was radiant light within them. The moment passed, the light faded, but a sense of warmth remained. Bro was cold; he was alone. He knew the risks, and took them anyway: a semblance of a father was better than no father, no mother, no family, no one at all. His father's arms tightened around him. For another heartbeat, everything was wrong, then that moment, too, passed and he let his hands slide into the warmth between Rizcarn's hair and shirt. There was a difference, looking over Rizcarn's shoulder, but it was not as great as he'd imagined it would be, and he was still aware of his father's heartbeat.
"Come with me, son. Walk beside me as I do Relkath's work. If you're not happy, go back to the dirt-eaters'-to the human villages. No one will stop you."
Bro nodded. Where else was he going to go? Back to a burned-out village? To the Simbul's royal city? To MightyTree or GoldenMoss? He could starve before he found his living kin. Rizcarn wasn't starving; his flesh was solid beneath his fancy shirt.
"I missed you, Poppa. I missed you so much that I hated you, too."
"I was a fool, Ebroin. I taunted fate; you and your mother paid the price. I'm sorry; forgive me?"
Bro weighed his choices: Was Rizcarn's apology sufficient? Where else could he go?
"Is there food where we're going, Poppa? I haven't eaten in two days."
"Of course there's food? Are you still taking me for a ghost, son? I've got a cache not far from here. We'll be there by moonset if we start walking now."
"Let's go, then," Bro agreed. He grabbed a handful of Dancer's mane and vaulted onto his back.
Rizcarn's face became a stern mask. "Get down from there!"
"We'll manage. I'm done in, Poppa. There's no way I can walk till moonset. Dancer knows me, I've ridden him before."
"Not in the Yuirwood. Only Zandilar can set a man atop her horse. Only she can choose his rider. You presume too much. She has invited you to dance, but she hasn't chosen you. You shame the gods, Ebroin. Get down."
More than a bit daunted, Bro slid down from Dancer's back. The mere thought of walking till moonset left his feet feeling like rocks each time he lifted them, but lift them he did, following Rizcarn through the shadows.
"Who is Zandilar?" he asked when numbness had set in and his thoughts were free to wander.
"You said you had a dream, a vision. Wasn't that enough? Her name is written on the Sunglade stones."
"Are we going to the Sunglade? Is that where I'll see her and dance with her?"
Rizcarn took several steps before answering: "In time, son, if she chooses you. But first we must visit another place and then we must summon the Cha'Tel'Quessir. When that's done, we'll go to the Sunglade. The Yuirwood will be ours again. No outsiders, just the Cha'Tel'Quessir. The dirt-eaters, their cities, and their queen will fade away."
Without warning, the apprehension Bro had felt when he first heard his father's voice in the trees returned. "I'd better not go with you, Poppa. She's going to be looking for me."
"She'll be in the Sunglade."
"Not Zandilar. The Simbul." He knew he'd said the precise wrong thing as soon as the words flowed out of his mouth, but there was no stopping them. "She gave me this." He held up his arm where the silver hair circled his wrist. "I left Sulalk with nothing. She said she'd bring me what I needed."
"But she didn't, did she? The witch-queen's promises are hollow. She isn't part of the Yuirwood," Rizcarn said in the same tone he'd used to order Bro down from Dancer's back. He snapped a forked twig from a nearby bush and carefully notched the tines. "When Relkath's work is finished, the Yuirwood won't need her sort of magic. Let me see that."
Bro reminded himself that the first blame fell on the Simbul, who came to Sulalk and brought the wizards in behind her. Choosing between her and his father was no good choice at all, except the Simbul would take Dancer with her to Velprintalar. He held out his arm.
Rizcarn fitted the strand into the notches before he cut it. There was just enough slack for Bro to slip his hand free without disturbing the notch-bound hair.
"We'll toss this into the next stream we cross."
Bro followed quietly. He'd aged a lifetime when Shali died. Now he'd shed those years, becoming a child again, doing what his father told him to do, just as he'd done when he was a little boy. He'd taken the wrong turn someplace, but he hadn't seen a better path. When he looked over his shoulder, he didn't see any path at all.
13
The city of Velprintalar, in Aglarond Nearing midnight, the fifteenth day of Eleasias, The Year of the Banner (1368DR)
Order had been restored to the Simbul's privy chambers at a cost measured in pride rather than possessions, although the thorn branch was gone, crushed to dust along with its crystal case.
That had hurt.
Alassra stood with her back against the doorjamb between her workroom and its antechamber while Alustriel's skilled fingers directed the last of the dust out the open window.
"You are astonishing," Alassra said in a determinedly neutral tone.
"It must run in the family." The elder sister shrugged. "Well, at least you'll be able to find what you're looking for now-for a few months."
"Nonsense. It will take me at least a year before I know where anything is." She entered the antechamber. "Tea?"
Alustriel followed Alassra. A plain clay pot simmered on the brazier. Fruit and a plate of cold, sliced meat sat on a table beside it. The sisters ate in silence, until Alustriel broke it.
"So, tell me, what was a little girl doing here, and why, by Mystra's mercy, did you leave her alone?"
Alassra set down her cup. "Because it seemed like a good idea at the time? I told you: There was a problem in a village. There were loose ends and I had to get them tied up quickly. I intended to be back before now. Cold tea and crumpets, Alustriel! The child was exhausted. I thought I was right, letting it sleep-"
"Her, 'Las. Letting her sleep."
"Don't goad me," the storm queen warned. "The child has seen terrible things. You're the one who says children heal while they're sleeping. She was already asleep. I sang her a lullaby cantrip. I thought it would keep her asleep u
ntil I got back."
Alustriel sighed. "Babies. I'm sure I said babies. Babies sleep most of the time, but even they wake up every few hours. That little girl is seven years old; she's not a baby. A lullaby cantrip won't work on a seven year old, not for long anyway. And you left her here, in these rooms! There must be a thousand ways for a child to hurt herself here."
"How was I to know she hadn't been properly raised? If she had, she wouldn't have touched anything."
"Tell that to the Witches of Rashemen!"
Alassra opened her mouth and closed it again.
"We can be grateful," Alustriel continued, "that all Tay-Fay did was open a window. That started the between whirling. I'm surprised you didn't hear."
"I was busy. I made a mistake; I can see that, but the child was here because every adult in her village had died at Red Wizard hands. I was trying to get her, a brother, and a horse set to rights."
"A horse? You haven't said anything about a horse. El's infamous birthday gift?"
Alassra simmered, then cooled. "Yes, that horse, in that village. The wizards found out… Oh, never mind: It's too complicated." Alassra poured more tea. Her sisters didn't know about Lailomun; the family needed a few kept secrets.
"Boesild said there were fresh problems with Thay."
"He told you about Nethra?" Alassra asked.
Alustriel nodded. "Something is different in Aglarond, 'Las. You didn't sense a breach in your own bolt-hole?"
"I said I was busy. If Boesild told you about Nethra, you can understand those corpses took all my concentration."
"Of course. But I noticed a difference as soon as I got here."
Alassra swallowed pride with her tea. "Thayan?" she asked, all but conceding that she'd grown so accustomed to Red Wizard incursions that she no longer trusted her ability to detect a new one.
"I'm not sure. What I felt was wild, like the wind before a summer storm."
They both looked out the window where distant lightning silently streaked the sky above the Inner Sea. At this time of year it was sometimes hard for any wizard to sense the difference between man-made magic and the natural interaction between sunlight and salt water. Then Alustriel said:
"If it bears the mark of anything, it bears the mark of the wilderness. I've felt something similar in the High Forest south of Silverymoon."
"The Yuirwood," Alassra sighed. "Something's rising in the Yuirwood." She'd known that-or she should have-when she first heard the colt's name, certainly when she'd found herself deep in both the forest and the past. Suddenly, talking about children seemed preferable again. "What did you do with the child?"
"Why, you don't even know her name, do you? It's Taefaeli."
"She was asleep! I saw no need to wake her up with foolish questions."
Alustriel had the decency to be shocked and the grace to keep her opinions to herself. "I found a very nice woman in the palace below. She's human, but her mother was half-elf and she's got a brother in the forest. She knows what Tay-Fay needs. She'll help her understand that her brother won't be coming back."
"I know that, but how, by the coruscating frosts of Talimesh, do you know that?"
"Children listen and children talk. Tay-Fay told me about Sulalk before I summoned you. She told me what happened to her parents, in the stable when you saved her brother's life and when she told him that you were stealing his colt, the spell-ride to the Yuirwood, and the look in Bro's eyes when the two of you were bargaining."
"All this time, you've known all that and you've been asking me questions as if you didn't." Alassra smiled. Her teeth showed; she didn't care. "Which one of us do you believe, sister?"
"You, of course," Alustriel said quickly. "But, what drew your attention to this Zandilar's Dancer in the first place? A vision? Who is Zandilar?"
"The Old Mage thinks she's one of the goddesses the old Yuir elves worshiped in addition to the Seldarine pantheon-or, maybe, before them. He's been helping me with the research. I've been trying to get him here, as I'm sure you know. Once I had the colt in my stable, I thought… Well, the infamous birthday gift, as you said."
"You know, 'Las, you truly should think this through. A child, if Tay-Fay's any indication…"
Alassra set her cup down. The bowl cracked; the handle broke. "I have thought this through. I'm not planning to have twelve-" She stopped in mid-tirade. She'd just felt a sharp pain on her scalp, as if she'd plucked out an exceptionally well-rooted hair. She glanced out the window where the coming storm hid the moon and stars. "Cold tea and scones! Sundown. I told him I'd be there at sundown." She glared at her sister.
Alustriel scrutinized the specks floating in her tea. "I thought about it when the sun set. He doesn't want to come to Velprintalar… I assumed you knew. I assumed you were letting him keep his horse."
"Well, you assumed correctly-for now, anyway. He had nothing from Sulalk, not even shoes. I left him a knife and my boots. I was going to take him better kit."
Alustriel was on her feet. "We'll take it now. He'll understand."
Alassra started to object that Ebroin wouldn't understand anything, then abandoned the notion. Alustriel charmed elves; poor Ebroin wouldn't stand a chance. He'd probably agree to follow her to Silverymoon.
"He's in trouble. I gave him a token-a strand of hair. It just broke."
"What are we waiting for?"
The sisters clasped hands. The cozy chamber vanished and was replaced by Yuirwood shadows. They were alone on the bank of a stream-fed pool. Bro wasn't there. There were no signs of a fight or ambush cut into the moss. No indication that any Cha'Tel'Quessir had visited the pool recently.
"You're sure this is the right place?"
Alassra had been transporting herself around Abeir-toril for nearly six hundred years. She wasn't perfect, but her mistakes were few and far between-until now. In two days, two spells had dumped her in out-of-the-way parts of the Yuirwood; the same part of the Yuirwood, unless she missed her guess. The forest had always been chancy for wizards, but only a blind fool would fail to detect the beginnings of a new and ominous pattern.
She opened her mind, searching for a piece of herself. If her senses could be trusted, a strand of her hair was nearby.
"It's the place that drew me. Whether it's the right place-look for yourself."
Alassra hadn't meant for her sister to take her words literally, but Alustriel stripped off her gown and sandals. She dived head first into the dark-water pool, causing Alassra's heart to skip beats until a silvery wreath broke the water's surface.
"He didn't drown."
"There were other-safer-ways to learn that."
"And waste more time, if he was under water."
Alustriel paddled to the side of the pool. Alassra knelt on the bank, offering her hand. The sense that her hair was nearby had grown stronger. Squinting, she caught a glint of silver in an eddy on the pool's far side. Alustriel swam and brought back a forked twig to which Alassra's hair had been carefully attached. She took her sister's hand and climbed onto the bank where she shed a graceful waterfall and was completely-perfectly-dry.
One of the twig's tines was empty, the other wasn't.
"He had help," Alassra decided.
"You gave him a knife. I assume the steel was good enough to cut hair."
"Umm… But what I felt was this end coming loose. This was notched and the strand attached before it was cut and I'd tied it around the arm he favored. He'd need help to perform that trick with his off-weapon hand."
"An extra pair of hands, perhaps, but help?"
"We weren't bargaining," Alassra admitted, harkening back to Alustriel's recounting of her conversation with the little girl. "He blamed me for what happened. He didn't want my help. If he found it…"
"He'd have left your hair, your boots and your knife where you could easily find them. This," Alustriel twirled the twig between her fingers, "floated here. Someone made certain that Bro would be far away when you found it."
"Alustriel, you have a
devious and suspicious mind. I like that in a sister."
"I try to keep in practice. Shall we wander our way upstream?"
"You're sure the little girl won't get into mischief while we're gone?"
"Absolutely."
The sisters hiked opposite banks of the stream, their mage-trained senses sharp for signs of a struggle-broken branches, dislodged stones, skid marks in the damp moss. They were alert for immaterial clues as well, the faint traces that spellcasting, though the latent magic of the Yuirwood consumed such traces quickly.
Two sets of footprints and-more tellingly-a set of hoofprints marked the place where Bro and his now-confirmed companion dropped the twig into the stream. There were no indications that Bro was other than a willing participant in deception. The horse and the two Cha'Tel'Quessir-both sisters assumed Bro was with another Yuirwood half-elf-had continued upstream, not troubling to conceal their trail.
"Follow them?" Alustriel asked.
Alassra shook her head. "Only if we need to. Open your mind. I'm noticing something very strange."
As a wizard, Alassra was more skilled than any of her sisters. On a good day and with the wind at her back, she could sense things even the Old Mage missed. At that moment she sensed another corpse, not far from the stream and reeking of magic.
"Yes," Alustriel agreed after a moment. "A death gone wrong."
"My thoughts exactly."
Alassra led the way, readying spells as she walked. Behind her, she sensed Alustriel doing the same. If malice was loose in the Yuirwood this night, it was in for a thorough trouncing. They followed the trail of footprints and hoofprints some hundred paces before it and the sense of unrightness diverged. The Simbul drew no conclusions, but turned away from the marked trail.