The Forest King

by Paul B. Thompson

  “That’s it,” she whispered unnecessarily. Balif swam toward the brilliantly bedecked ship.

  There was no way to board. The crane that had lifted the rowing bark was retracted. No nets or ladders hung down. Just two cables held the ship at anchor, one off the port bow and the other at the starboard stern.

  “The lady’s pavilion was below deck, amidship,” Mathi said.

  Coming around the prow, Balif made for the bow line. It was a bronze chain with links as thick as Mathi’s ankle. The beast clung to it while Mathi climbed, slipping her soggy sandals into the links. She kept going until she reached the hawse pipe. It led through to the lighted deck, but it was too small for the beast to crawl through.

  She waved until Balif noticed her. Miming with her hands, she tried to convey to him her plan to go up on deck and find an opening large enough to admit him. Unsure if Balif understood, Mathi went ahead, crawling through the dark hawse pipe. It was a snug fit, but she made it. The deck by the hole was empty. She climbed out. Mathi had just stood up when she felt the prick of a spearpoint in the small of her back.

  “Stand where you are and do not move!”

  Damned alert sentinels. Mathi held up her hands.

  “I am here at the request of the August Person,” she said.

  The elf sniffed. “That’s why you crept aboard like a water rat, is it?” He jabbed Mathi. “You’ll not get near the August Person, whoever you are! Chief of the Deck Watch!” he called. “I have an intruder!”

  An officer in a plumed helmet appeared from the deckhouse, escorted by four soldiers. Seeing Mathi standing there dripping seawater, they hurried over.

  “What’s this?” the officer demanded.

  “My name is Mathani Arborelinex. I was here earlier today, summoned by Her Highness. She asked me to return if I had news of General Balif.”

  “So you swam out here in the dark and boarded by scaling the anchor chain? What kind of fool do you think I am?” The officer called for restraints. A soldier returned to the deckhouse and came back with a set of manacles. Mathi backed away, right into the leveled spear of the guard who first caught her.

  Wincing she said, “The princess will be very angry if you prevent me from seeing her!”

  Where was Balif, still bobbing in the water below? Mathi wanted to look down and check, but she was afraid of giving him away. She succumbed to temptation and looked.

  Balif was not there.

  “Don’t even think of jumping,” warned the officer. “You’ll have two spears in you before you reach the water.”

  They grabbed his hands, pulling them out to receive the shackles. Mathi resisted. Her original captor struck her across the back with the shaft of his spear. The blow drove her forward, almost breaking through the ring of elves around him. Thinking she was trying to escape, the officer drew his sword. In the next moment the night fell on them.

  It was Balif. With the watch distracted by Mathi, he was able to gain the rail unseen by climbing the hull planking with his claws. Spying Mathi in trouble, he leaped to her aid. The elves were so intent on Mathi they didn’t know what hit them. The beast bowled them over, sending them sprawling on the deck. Mathi took the opportunity to shove and trip the last soldier standing.

  Balif was the first one up. He lashed out first on one side, then the other, backhanding the soldiers with his paws. The officer got to his knees, sword in hand. He was about to strike the furry intruder when Balif seized him by the seat of his pants and hurled him overboard. He yelled all the way down, terminating with a great splash.

  Doors opened all along the deckhouses. Elves of various duties stepped out—sailors, soldiers, courtiers, servants. Because the ship was so well illuminated they saw the beast clearly. Shouts rang out and not a few doors slammed shut again.

  Like a whirlwind Balif flattened the soldiers around him. A sword skittered up against Mathi’s feet. She considered picking it up, then decided it would be her death warrant. She had come to the flagship in peace. If she was taken in arms, they would hang her from the nearest yardarm without question.

  Warriors boiled out of the cabins, juggling armor and helmets while gripping swords and spears. Balif put his head down and charged right through them, slamming those on his left against the deckhouse and tossing those on his right over the side. Courtiers who were too slow got the same treatment. Mathi walked behind the beast, offering apologies.

  “Please excuse us. We mean no harm. Oh, I am sorry! Don’t get up, he’ll knock you down again. Begging your pardon, my lords—”

  Dazed elves responded with confusion. What was that monstrous beast? Who was the polite acolyte with him?

  Some soldiers dashed up from behind and tried to lay hands on Mathi. Balif whirled, fangs bared, and they backed off. Sailors brought a fishing net from the ship’s stores and hauled it to the roof of a deckhouse, meaning to drop it over the invading creature. An ordinary beast might have been trapped, but Balif clearly saw the danger and circled around the deckhouse where the sailors crouched. They cast anyway, missed, and watched their weighted net go slithering over the rail into the bay.

  “There!” Mathi cried, pointing. “That’s the way down, there!”

  Up the steps came warriors of Amaranthe’s personal guard. No finer fighters existed among the Silvanesti, and they barred the way, resolute and ready. Balif crouched low on the deck, and Mathi thought he was going to try to force his way through. Faced with eight drawn swords, the beast chose an alternative not open to most two-legged attackers. He leaped first to the roof of the deckhouse, then immediately hurled himself at the open stairwell. The warriors fell back, swords and shields held high to ward off the marauder, but Balif was faster. He hit them like a catapult stone, knocking them down the steep stairs.

  Alone on deck with the awakened crew, Mathi felt distinctly outnumbered. She forced a smile and strolled to the hatch.

  “Thank you for your warm welcome,” she said for all to hear. “And now I must see to my friend. He gets rather impatient when I’m not around.”

  She bolted down the steps with scores of footfalls thundering after her. Balif had cleared the way, and she was able to run right into the audience chamber. Mathi skidded to a halt, arrested by the extraordinary scene before her.

  Amaranthe was there. That surprised Mathi, who thought she would have retreated behind as many locked doors and armed guards as could be mustered on board. But no, there she sat, clad in a white silk robe with delicate embroidery in red and blue around the cuffs and collar. In front of her stood a small phalanx of archers knelt with arrows nocked. Six feet in front of them Balif crouched, chin down and hindquarters high. His yellow teeth were bared in a grimace of—what? Defiance? Contrition? It was hard to read his beastly countenance.

  Almost imperceptibly a few archers adjusted their aim to cover Mathi. Fear climbed her back, and her knees almost failed. She had seen too well what elf archers could do. At that range she would be riddled with arrowsif she so much as blinked.

  “Highness!” she said hoarsely, holding out her hands as if to ward off the soon-to-be-loosed arrows. “It is Mathani Arborelinex, remember? I have done what you asked!”

  The princess’s crystalline gaze shifted from her to the beast. Amaranthe’s brow furrowed.

  “You?” she said. The truth dawned, and her austere features fell. “Merciful gods! Is this—?”

  “Yes, Highness!”

  She looked again in disbelief. The creature at bay curled a lip and gave a throaty snarl. Bowstrings creaked as the archers drew back further, ready to pin the monster to the planks if it moved.

  “Stay your hands!” Amaranthe said suddenly. The chief of the archers asked her to repeat her command.

  “Put down your weapons! I command it!”

  The cool professionals obeyed. Without sharp bronze points aimed at her, Mathi recovered her nerve. She went down on one knee and thanked Amaranthe for her compassion—and her insight.

  “How can this be?” the p
rincess of Silvanost said sadly. “Who has done this to him?”

  “A curse, Highness, cast by—” Mathi remembered the penalty for mentioning Vedvedsica’s name. “By the one who cannot be named.”

  “Does he know me? Does he know anyone?”

  Mathi let Balif answer that. The beast crawled forward on his belly like a dog. He could not penetrate the line of archers still on guard, but the gesture was plain.

  “My poor love,” the princess whispered.

  She called out to someone—a long elven name that sounded like “Talaramitas.” From the curtained area behind Amaranthe’s chair an elf emerged. He was fairly young, with unusually short hair for a Silvanesti. Dressed in baggy green leggings, kilt, and tunic, his wrists and ankles were thickly ringed with slender metal bands. A copper band circled his forehead. As he stepped up to the princess’s right hand, wisps of colored light sparked from his extremities and quickly vanished.

  “Stand aside,” she ordered the archers. They parted ranks, revealing the beast. When the soldiers were out of the way Balif leaped to his feet and uttered a hair-curling growl. Bows creaked, and one elf lost control long enough to send an arrow into the deck between Balif’s front and back feet. It thunked loudly into the planking, but the beast paid it no mind.

  “The next one who looses an arrow, dies by my order!” Amaranthe cried. Everyone froze.

  To the bearcat she said, “Do you mean me any harm?”

  He couldn’t answer, but the beast remained where he was. Mathi could tell Balif was staring not at the princess but at the green-clad magician next to her.

  “Talaramitas, what do you make of this?”

  The elf closed his eyes and held out one hand at a low angle. He quickly snatched his hand back.

  “An enchantment of great power, Highness. One of the most potent I have ever encountered,” he said. He had a deep, cultured voice that provoked fresh, if restrained, snarls from the beast.

  “Can you break it?” He vowed he could not. “The reward for success would be substantial,” she added.

  Talaramitas folded his hands, causing his many bracelets to jingle. “Gracious Highness, no one in Silvanesti can break this curse.”

  Balif threw back his head and howled. He went in two bounds toward Amaranthe. To her credit, she did not flinch. Her magician did. Talaramitas hastily backed away, muttering words of a quick spell. The air between him and Balif sparkled. The beast halted, panting. He was close enough to touch the princess.

  More soldiers and courtiers came pounding down the stairs. Raising her voice, Amaranthe commanded everyone to stay where they were and say nothing.

  “Highness, this creature is the victim of a transmutory invocation. I have read of these, but to my knowledge no one in living memory had succeeded in casting one. Without exact knowledge of the words used and the intruments employed, I cannot reverse it.”

  “What if the caster were found and killed?”

  It would make no difference, he said. “In this type of invocation the magician sacrifices a portion of his own living soul to obtain his end. There is no way to counter such a spell, as its energy is independent of the life of the caster.”

  The grief on Amaranthe’s face was profound. Turning away, the beast loped slowly back to Mathi. All eyes followed it. Then Talaramitas spoke up.

  “There is one thing I can do, Highness. It is not a cure, but if enough of the cursed one’s soul remains untainted, I can call it forth to speak—for a short time only.”

  Without looking at him Amaranthe pointed a finger at the magician and said, “Do so, now!”

  The room was cleared of soldiers over the protests of the captain of the guard. Talaramitas walked slow circles around the beast, one finger pointing at the deck. His eyes, half-lidded, fluttered as he walked. A stream of soft syllables escaped his lips.

  From her vantage point it seemed to Mathi that the room darkened a bit. Luminars changed colors when their output declined, but the clusters around Amaranthe’s throne did not alter hue. A pervasive shadow filled the room. Sound felt deadened too. Words and noises fell lifeless the moment they were born.

  This went on for some time with the magician describing right-hand circles and muttering the words of an extremely long conjuration. At last an indistinct shadow coalesced next to the beast. It was upright and unmoving, quite unlike any shade cast by the bearcat. It was inside the circle Talaramitas had made, and he was careful not to tresspass on it.

  Mathi had never seen magic performed openly before. In front of onlookers, in full light, the elf mage was summoning Balif’s soul from the deepening well of darkness. Before Mathi was fully aware of the change, the shadow by the beast became a clear image of the general. He was standing, hands at his sides with his palms turned out. He was naked. The image was not flesh colored, however, but faintly sepia. Mathi dared to shift position so that she could see the specter’s face. His eyes were closed.

  Talaramitas explained, a bit breathlessly, that he could not stop circling or the spell would end. Ask what you will, he gasped. If the spirit of Balif could answer, it would.

  “Why is he naked?” one of the courtiers asked in a loud whisper.

  “Do you think your soul wears clothes?” the mage replied.

  Amaranthe called for silence. Addressing the apparition she said, “General Balif, can you hear me?” He sighed in reply, which the princess took as yes. “Balif, how can I save you?”

  “You cannot.”

  It was his voice, incredibly soft and distant. The specter’s lips did not move but the sound of Balif’s voice was perfectly clear.

  “There must be something we can do—I can do!”

  “There is nothing. Already I dream without color, without words.”

  He meant he was already thinking like an animal. Mathi felt a tightness growing in her throat. Here was the fate that awaited her.

  Tears brightened Amaranthe’s eyes. The sight of the stalwart sister of the Speaker so moved astounded her attendants. Mathi heard one whisper to another that she had never seen the princess cry, not once in more than a century of service.

  “The world is an empty place without you,” she said. “Full of vain, little beings of no strength and no worth.”

  His shade uttered a few words, the only one of which Mathi understood was “love.” The apparition lost clarity and began to fade.

  “Magus!” she cried. “Hold him here!”

  Talaramitas, still circling, was dragging his feet, forcing himself to continue. Mathi was shocked to see his face as the magician swung round his way. His countenance was ashen. His eyes were rolled back in his head.

  “I live,” Balif managed to say. “Let my forest live too. Leave it to the wanderfolk for all time.”

  “They can have anything I possess, if you would only come back to me!”

  “Too late … too late …”

  Talaramitas staggered. Mathi stepped forward and caught him. When his perambulation ceased, the soul of Balif departed. The air in the below-deck hall stirred.

  The beast, quiescent during the raising of his soul, threw back his head and howled. Archers and sword-bearing soldiers stormed in, ready to defend the princess. It wasn’t necessary. The bearcat turned away, bounding up the wide wooden stairs. Mathi heard shouts and splashes, followed by a single louder splash.

  A sailor ran halfway down the steps. “The monster leaped overboard!”

  “Let him go,” said Amaranthe. “Let no hand be raised against him. That is my order.”

  Mathi lowered Talaramitas to the deck. A shadow fell across them. Amaranthe stood over them. She was fully composed again, a figure of living alabaster and marble.

  “Mage, you failed me. I would have talked to him longer,” she said.

  Mathi closed the elf’s eyes. “He can’t hear you, Highness. He’s dead.”

  She regarded her coldly. “I thank you for your efforts, girl. Because of your deeds I will not have you put in irons for violating the sanctit
y of my ship.” Amaranthe gave curt orders that Mathi was to be rowed to the nearest point on shore and turned loose.

  Soldiers took rough hold of her. Another pair picked up Talaramitas and bore him away, probably to an unmarked grave ashore. As Mathi disappeared up the stairs, she heard the Speaker’s sister order the anchors raised. They were sailing back to Silvanost as soon as the tide would permit.

  The main deck churned with activity. Signals were hoisted to alert the rest of the fleet. As the great ship was readied for sea, Mathi’s escort marched her to a gap in the rail. She looked down. There was no boat below. For a wild instant she imagined they would throw her over the side, but before she could protest a skiff came sculling around the flagship’s stern. A rope ladder was let down, and without further ado Mathi was required to climb down. Two sailors rowed her to the dark shore, helped her out, got back in the boat and pulled away without saying a word. Mathi stood in the night surrounded by mosquitoes and chirruping frogs, wondering if beast-Balif had made it ashore.

  He was lost to Amaranthe, forever. There was still time for Mathi to claim Balif for herself.

  CHAPTER 22

  Lives

  The cart bumped and squeaked along the narrow woodland track. It was not a well used trail. Grass grew so tall in the center that it brushed the worn wooden slats on the bottom of the cart. Ruts on either side of the grass were dimpled with small puddles, still wet from recent rains. A stolid bullock pulled the old cart along. He was a slow beast, but the bullock was all they could get to draw the cart. No horse would come near the occupants.

  The driver, draped in an ancient gray smock, held the reins loosely. Beside him on the seat his companion idly chewed a long grass stem. In the back, wedged between cloth-wrapped bundles and a few boxes sat the scribe, Treskan, and Mathani Arborelinex, cowled and draped in a shapeless cloak of dirty white linen.