by Barb Hendee
The wagon rounded a gradual bend where the darkness appeared to break beyond the trees.
A sea of light struck Wynn as Althahk turned a final sharp bend. Her eyes popped as the group rolled through a living arch of two trees grown together high above.
Wynn was still blinking at spots of glare when a’Ghràihlôn’na—Blessed of the Woods—filled her whole view.
Sau’ilahk materialized upon the road a stone’s throw from the massive forest’s edge. He had already backtracked to find the caravan along another route; Wynn was no longer with it. Alone in the full night, he knew that she had crossed into those ancient trees and was on her way to the Lhoin’na sages.
Sau’ilahk could not follow, but what of Chane?
The road was the only way the wagon could have passed. If Chane had been left behind, he would be waiting here. Or had he gone with her somehow?
Impossible—unless there was more to that strange little ring.
Sau’ilahk wavered, staring about the grassy plain. It was a bitter place he had heard of only in his living days. So much had begun and ended here. An age ago, a line had been drawn, marked by where autumn’s dead grass met the ever-living green of that forest. The war’s waves of victory had broken here. But that wasn’t what had ended the war.
It had been as if Beloved had simply given in.
The time of victory would come again, and next time, the Children would not lead. Sau’ilahk would regain youth and beauty, awe and glory. He alone would dominate Beloved’s forces. Their worship would feed him more than all of the life he had consumed in his altered existence.
But what of Wynn Hygeorht? What did she seek in this place? Where was an orb that would free him? Where was lost Bäalâle Seatt?
That he depended on this whelp of a sage, an immature infidel, ate at him. He was not foolish enough to pass the tree line and would have to follow her from afar once more. A servitor of Air or Earth would not serve his needs this time. He needed an emissary of consciousness connected to his own.
He needed eyes as well as ears, and perhaps more.
Again, Sau’ilahk blocked out the world, focusing inward, and then looked down. Within his thoughts, he stroked a glowing circle for Spirit upon the road’s packed dirt. Within that came the square for Earth. Smaller still came another circle for Spirit’s physical Aspect as Tree. Between the lines of these shapes, he stroked the glowing sigils with his thoughts.
Spirit to the Aspect of Tree, Tree to the essence of Spirit, and born of the Earth.
His energies bled into the pattern on the road that only he saw.
Sau’ilahk’s form thinned to transparent in weariness, and then a shaft of wood cracked the dirt at the pattern’s center.
It jutted upward as if an overly thickened branch suddenly sprouted there. That short, bark-covered limb bent over, far suppler than it appeared. Along its length, six tinier limbs sprouted to lift its body and rip itself from the road. Turning around, a small knot of ochre root tendrils twitched around its base.
Sau’ilahk bled even more energy into his creation.
Bark peeled back around the root knot. Those tendrils coiled tighter and tighter into a ball. And that sphere took on an inner limelight, growing severe, until it blinked at him.
Flexing lids of wooden root tendrils clicked over one glowing orb like an eye. The servitor spun and rushed toward grass at the roadside.
No! Sau’ilahk commanded.
He reached for his fragment of consciousness embedded within his conjured creation. It halted in its tracks. He held it there as it struggled in resistance, until it finally submitted.
Remain unseen. Follow the trio of human, dwarf, and wolf.
As he released it, the servitor skittered away and shot into the tall grass. Only a ripple among those blades marked its passing. When the trail reached the tree line, that legged branch with one eye in a root knot skittered up a massive tree trunk and vanished into the forest’s canopy.
Sau’ilahk watched foliage shiver briefly and heard the faint click of its legs upon bark. His consciousness rode the servitor into a land where the dead could not walk....
At least none but perhaps Chane Andraso.
Passing through the city’s archway, Wynn wasn’t given time for awe. Althahk pulled his horse sideways before the wagon, forcing its horses to stop. He pointed off to the right.
“In there,” he commanded.
A large barn, perhaps a stable, was built on the ground. With the exception of smooth, rounded corners, it looked much like any barn in Wynn’s homeland. She didn’t care to be ordered about, but turned the wagon aside. Before the horses had stopped at the wide, closed doors, Althahk gave a shrill, trilling whistle.
One wide stable door slid aside. A bleary-eyed elven male of advanced years stepped out. Only a brief nod of acknowledgment passed between him and the commander. Then he turned to nod a greeting to Wynn—and he froze.
Unlike the commander’s stern suspicion or the counselor’s cold parting words, the stable master just blinked twice, eyes clearing at some wondrous, rare sight.
“Can you stable our horses and store our wagon?” she asked in Elvish, and climbed down.
The stable master almost couldn’t turn his eyes from Shade at first. When he did, he looked Wynn up and down with a friendly smile.
“Most certainly, sage,” he answered.
Everyone else disembarked as Wynn headed around back to retrieve her staff and begin dragging their packs out. But she paused at reaching for the chest.
“Will the rest of our things be safe here?” she asked.
“Certainly, sage,” the elder elf said again.
“How much?” Chane asked, reaching for his money pouch.
Both Chane and Ore-Locks would have difficulty communicating here. Ore-Locks spoke only a smattering of Elvish, and Chane spoke none at all.
“No need,” Althahk interrupted in Numanese, and both his men dismounted. “The guild will be notified and handle payment. Now, if you will follow—”
“I’m not going to the guild just yet,” Wynn said, and even Chane froze at this.
“Where else would you go at this time of night?” the commander challenged.
“There’s something I need to see for myself,” Wynn answered. “Unless you have further doubts or reason for interference, I won’t keep you from your duties.”
Althahk raised an eyebrow.
Wynn started off before even Ore-Locks or Chane could ask where they were headed. Shade fell into step, and at the last instant pulled ahead, pacing a dead line straight at the commander.
Althahk hesitated, stepping aside at the last instant. Wynn never looked back, though she heard Chane and Ore-Locks’s footfalls as they hurried to catch up.
All four of them headed down the wide lane into the brighter night lights. The stable might have seemed recognizable, but any semblance of familiarity ended as they walked into the “city” of trees.
Cleared stretches of paths slightly narrower than a common street were paved with packed gravel and natural stone slabs. Gardens and alcoves of flora flowed around made structures and up the tree trunks in tendril vines of glistening green leaves and night-closed flower buds. More earthbound buildings surrounded them than in the outer settlements. Their abundance was matched by tiers of higher structures above, all the way beyond sight in the canopy. In the street, there was a break in the trees above, like a matching road in the sky, where stars shone brightly beyond the haze of a nearly full moon.
Wynn slowed to barely a shuffle as she looked about. She had a sense of where to go from references on this city she’d found in the guild library. Somewhere on its northern side was another arch like the one through which they’d entered, but this exit would lead deeper into the forest.
“Where are you taking us?” Chane asked. “I thought we . . . Wait!”
He grabbed her arm, pulling her aside beneath the shadow of a hanging building wrapped around one great tree. Its underfloor sprea
d out above, shadowing them. The few people about were all on foot, but Wynn spotted what had startled Chane.
More patrollers—the Shé’ith—approached along the narrow street in a line of tall horses. They carried lances, but these had long and narrow steel tips. Their attire was the same as that of Althahk’s trio, and each bore another slightly curved sword in a shouldered sheath. A few had bows and quivers. There were many more of them—more than a dozen at quick count. Unlike the commander, the one in the lead bore a pearl white leaf brooch upon his sash.
“They’re all cavalry,” Chane noted. “Do you not find that strange . . . for a tree-born race?”
“Yes,” Ore-Locks agreed quietly.
“Domin High-Tower once told me they value speed,” Wynn said, “being able to quickly traverse their forest or, rather, its surrounding lands.”
At mention of his brother, Ore-Locks’s expression darkened in silence.
Once the riders passed, Wynn took to the street again. She renewed her trek through this strange and beautiful forest-city, wondering how it would look by daylight. Some trees held multiple small structures up and around their trunks, like steps of giant, moss-roofed, shelf fungus with lantern light glowing through curtained windows.
What must it be like to live in a world that moved vertically as opposed to horizontally?
“Why do they live this way?” Chane asked, looking up.
Wynn shook her head. “Domin Tilswith couldn’t trace its history back far enough to learn how it began, let alone why. Just another ancient practice that became a way of life.”
But she still wondered. Even for elves, it seemed odd to her.
The an’Cróan’s founders had originally come from this land; thereby they shared the same forebears as the Lhoin’na. But those founders of the far-off Elven Territories had left amid the great war’s end. This way of life couldn’t have started until after that.
Shade crept out ahead, though she remained within Wynn’s reach. Again, although her home was a wild elven forest, these people were nothing like the more clan-based an’Cróan. And more than one passerby stumbled and froze, stunned as they watched a black majay-hì leading two humans and a dwarf. Wynn wondered if the majay-hì of this land remained barely more than living legend, even among the Lhoin’na.
A cluster of human merchants ambled out of a side path, all Numan, and one of them eyed Shade too long and almost tripped on the heels of his companions. Though he probably just wondered how a wolf—but too tall and lanky-legged—ended up as someone’s pet.
“Where are we going?” Chane asked.
“Out of the city,” Wynn answered, “and back into the forest.”
Again, he raised his eyebrow. “What could be out there that you have to see so urgently?”
“Aonnis Lhoin’n,” Wynn answered firmly. “First Glade.”
CHAPTER 10
Staff in one hand and a glowing cold lamp crystal held high in the other, Wynn tried to illuminate their way. Shade was out in front, leading them down a narrow path of flat stones set in the earth. But the walk to First Glade took longer than expected, as the forest grew more and more dense around her.
Endless masses of twisting ferns and vines meshed tightly between the trees on both sides. The intertwined canopy overhead blocked out the moon and stars.
“This is foolish,” Ore-Locks said from the rear. “We should have gone to the guild and taken rooms until morning.”
“You’re welcome to turn back and wait,” Wynn answered.
A sharp intake of breath came from behind. No answer followed it.
In part, Wynn knew he was right, but she’d been too eager, and Chane couldn’t come with her in daylight. Then she glanced back and realized that the sharp sucking of breath hadn’t come from Ore-Locks.
Chane’s face was so pale in the crystal’s light that it bordered on gray. A mere ghost of brown remained in his irises. His eyes shifted rapidly as he peered into the dense foliage.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
He jerked out the new sword in one swift movement and stiffened to a sudden halt.
“They’re moving,” he said. “Can you not see? The trees . . . are shifting when we are not looking!”
Wynn grew frightened, though not because of what he saw. She suspected this might happen the closer they came to First Glade—to Chârmun, the great tree called Sanctuary. Chane was succumbing partially to its influence flowing out through the Lhoin’na forest, even while wearing the brass ring.
Ore-Locks turned his head, following Chane’s fixed gaze. “What is wrong with you?”
“There is nothing wrong with me!” Chane rasped, and pointed back the way they’d come. “That vine over the path . . . it was not there before. I would have had to push it aside if it had been.”
Ore-Locks looked behind them, hefting his iron staff and perhaps expecting to see whatever had unsettled Chane. Wynn held the cold crystal with only her thumb and tugged on Chane’s sleeve with her fingers.
“I promise you, the trees are not moving,” she said. “Focus on me—only me—and you’ll be fine.”
Ore-Locks shook his head. “It looks the same as before.”
“Let’s move on,” Wynn insisted, still trying to pull Chane around before . . .
Shade circled back and began snarling, her full attention locked on Chane.
Ore-Locks started at the dog’s behavior, and then retreated two steps back from Chane and leveled his iron staff.
Chane ignored both of them and twisted about.
“I know what I saw!” he whispered to Wynn.
The light of her crystal showed his irises as colorless. His pale face was coated in a sheen, as if he perspired.
“What is happening to him?” Ore-Locks asked. “What is . . . he?”
This was all Wynn needed. Chane was succumbing to the elves’ forest, and Ore-Locks was openly demanding answers.
The undead, especially anything akin to a Noble Dead, were almost unknown on this continent but for veiled references in forgotten folktales. Ore-Locks had probably never heard the word “vampire,” let alone understood what it meant. But he certainly knew of the undead, as any stonewalker did; he’d helped destroy Sau’ilahk.
There was no knowing how a corrupt stonewalker might react to Chane’s true nature. A rational guess led to the worst of conclusions. Anyone who thought a mere explanation would settle this was a fool. Chane had done horrible things without remorse that Wynn didn’t like thinking about, but the situation wasn’t that simple.
“Answer me,” Ore-Locks said.
“When nothing else needs my attention,” she returned. “And, Shade . . . be quiet.”
Shade fell silent, though her jowls still quivered as she watched Chane.
Wynn didn’t know if this place heightened the dog’s natural instincts, or if Shade simply didn’t like the idea of Chane going to First Glade. Or perhaps it was just Chane’s obviously decaying state. Wynn could do no more than put off dealing with any of this.
“Lead . . . now,” she said.
Shade reluctantly turned and slunk ahead.
“We are not going any farther,” Ore-Locks stated, “until you answer me.”
“Then leave,” Wynn replied.
His threat was a bluff. Ore-Locks would never get what he wanted without her, and they both knew it. He’d never let her go on without him, nor would he challenge Shade and Chane just to stop her here.
He said nothing more, and Wynn took up Chane’s free hand, placing it on her shoulder.
“Hold on, and you won’t feel so lost,” she assured him. “Chap did the same for me in the forest of the an’Cróan.”
She’d been affected by that far elven land, for that place not only abhorred the undead, but anyone not of full elven blood. Even Leesil, with his mixed heritage, had fought to keep his wits there. Almost everywhere Wynn had gone in those wild lands, she’d kept her fingers clenched in Chap’s scruff.
Chane’s finge
rs gripped down, but Wynn didn’t wince. He slid his sword back into its sheath. A bit of soft brown stained his irises once more, but Wynn felt him shuddering.
“Do you want to go back and wait for me?” she asked quietly.
“No,” he answered between clenched teeth.
Wynn considered arguing, but turned and waved Shade onward. She was ambivalent at the sound of Ore-Locks’s heavy footfalls following along. Then the path split in three directions.
Shade sniffed the air and craned her head, looking up into the branches. Wynn waited in silence, for in this place, she put her trust in Shade’s senses. The dog finally trotted along the center path, but Chane made another harsh sucking sound.
“Close your eyes,” Wynn told him.
Her crystal cast eerie shadows in the wild underbrush, but something more stood out in the darkness overhead. She gazed upward, raising the crystal, and its light caught on tawny vines as thick as her arm. They wove their way through the high canopy, some of them paralleling the path ahead.
Wynn slowed, looking closer. The vines were smooth, perhaps glistening from moisture, and utterly unlike anything else in sight. She thought she saw grain in them, like polished wood.
—follow . . . tree—
At those broken memory-words, Wynn looked down at Shade. How could she follow a tree? Which tree? But Shade pressed on, and Wynn stepped after her.
The farther they went, the more Wynn noticed those strange, tawny vines—and they grew broader, thicker. Smaller ones appeared here and there, perhaps branching off from the larger ones. All were woven into the upper reaches of the trees, and now . . .
They didn’t glisten as much as they appeared to faintly glow, as if catching the radiance of the moon hidden from sight.
Wynn traced onward by their faint radiance as she followed Shade, until another light appeared ahead, beyond the forest’s tangle. Vines and branches, trunks and bearded moss were like black silhouettes between her and the nearing illumination.
Shade lunged ahead through a break at the path’s end.