When she finished she concentrated on her spellstone. It glowed eagerly in response. The sleep and tree-tap had restored most of her power. She focused through the stone and searched to the limit of her range for pursuers, but the forest was clear. They were probably still behind her and searching farther to the north.
As she guided the mare along the trail toward the Ayers forest, Leah began to mull over all that had happened.
It did seem likely that the Shaltus-stone had been planted in the pot with her skytree seedling. Apparently she’d unknowingly brought the crystal into Carlton. Still, she couldn’t believe that her grandfather had been involved.
Trask had always been kind to her, even encouraging her to visit him, when the other Sylvan in his tribe were against it. Moreover, he was one of the few Sylvan who kept working for peace between the forest people and their human neighbors.
Leah thought about the long-standing enmity between the Sylvan and the humans. Although each race believed the other to be alien and inferior, they were probably both of the same species.
Her father had taught her that the Sylvan were human despite their physical differences. As proof he pointed out that the two groups could interbreed and produce offspring, although it was rare. Of course, the half-Sylvan males, called shiffmen by the Sylvan, were sterile, but the half-Sylvan females, shiffem, were not.
Her father had told her that long ago, perhaps thousands and thousands of years, there had only been humans. Then the god N’Omb had descended to earth to punish man for his sins. There had been a tremendous civilization, but the people had tried to unlock the secrets of the universe with knowledge reserved for N’Omb. N’Omb destroyed most of them and their civilization, even changing the shape of the world. During the process many things, including plants and animals, were altered. Some men became Sylvan. Some plants evolved into skytrees.
The official view of the N’Omb Church was similar,except it held that the most evil men were changed into the Sylvan and condemned to live in skytrees. Thus the Sylvan were to be shunned and despised. They were something alien—no longer human.
The Sylvan did not believe in N’Omb. According toSylvan legends, their god Shuull lived deep within the earth. He had blessed the Sylvan and lifted them above common men. The skytrees were Shuull’s mightiest creations. They were also divine conduits to the god himself. When the Sylvan drew energy from the trees they were receiving power directly from Shuull. If Shuull had divinely blessed the Sylvan, then conversely he had also divinely cursed the humans.
With such legends it was no wonder that humans and Sylvan hated one another. But more than legend or racial prejudice was involved in the feud.
For one thing, skytree forests were widely scattered. Most were located within boundaries of the states making up the Eastern Kingdoms. There had been a history of border disputes and all sorts of squabbles about trade, hunting rights, and the like.
The huge skytrees themselves were a major cause of contention. Their sap could be processed into a healing drug called tomaad. Not only was tomaad almost a cure-all, but it could also greatly reduce the fatigue produced by sorcery, making it tremendously valuable. However, the tomaad sap and delaap nuts from the skytrees were the main staples of the Sylvan diet. In fact, the Sylvan were dependent on them and would die if deprived for more than a short period of time.
The Sylvan considered skytree products to be sacred food from Shuull. As a result the Sylvan would not sell or trade tomaad. They even refused to trade valuable skytree wood, which could produce huge pieces of beautiful, durable lumber.
Greed had been the stimulus for raids and border wars. But the Sylvan’s psychic abilities were generally powerful enough to prevent invasion. That was one reason why it was so hard to believe that any Sylvan would join forces with the Shaltuswraith—the Sylvan were powerful enough that they thought they didn’t need any allies to protect their forests from humans.
Leah wondered if Rusty’s precognition had disclosed how the Shaltus-stone had been planted in the castle. Just how comprehensive were his abilities?
Even if he’d been sure of her innocence, why had he gone out of his way to save her? Had he now put himself in jeopardy with her half-brother? Or had he decided by now that he’d made a mistake in helping a Sylvie, and could he, would he, use his precognitive ability to help Richard’s men find her?
She wondered what Michael Rowen was doing. Would he really trust his precog friend’s judgment of her innocence, or would he side with Richard?
She remembered the way Rowen had acted toward her. It had been as though he’d accepted her for what she was, seeing her as a person, not as a Sylvan half-breed. Fletcher and Rusty apparently had the same attitude. But everything had happened so fast—perhaps she had only imagined it.
Still, Lord Rowen had seemed genuinely concerned when she’d fainted, even to the point of using his energy reserves to give her strength.
She remembered the way he’d pressed his hands against hers. They were such large hands. She could visualize them as well as she could his face. Deeply tanned skin, long fingers with a wide reach, roughened palms from riding, his right hand calloused from fencing. Powerful hands, yet capable of gentleness.
Now that she had time to think about it, it occurred to her that Michael Rowen was really a rather handsome man.
She couldn’t blame Barbara for being interested in him. She wondered, with more than a little envy, how her half-sister was doing. By now both she and Rowen had probably recovered from the effects of the Shaltus-stone. Leah had a feeling that they would be getting along quite well.
She frowned. The image of Barbara with Rowen was surprisingly unpleasant.
Determinedly she pushed the thought out of her mind and concentrated on her surroundings.
While she’d been daydreaming, her horse had traveled a good distance. They had almost reached the Twelvepeople River.
At the river she turned north on a narrow trail that ran alongside it. Eventually small skytrees appeared. Soon the skytrees dominated the forest, pushing out stunted oaks and pines.
The skytrees became enormous. They towered to heights of sixty to ninety meters and more, their trunks ranging from ten to twenty meters wide. Their enormous branches and meter-wide leaves blotted out the sun, turning the summer’s day into deep twilight.
Little else but fungus and moss grew beneath their impenetrable cover. A thick brown carpet of leaves cushioned the sound of the mare’s hooves.
The forest’s unnatural stillness and darkness would have been frightening to most visitors, but Leah felt at peace, as though she were coming home. Although she had spent all her life at Castle Carlton, she had been out of place within its walls. She felt as though she belonged among the huge skytrees.
Yet at her birth the Sylvan had declared her an outcast. As a shiffem she was not welcome. Only her grandfather had welcomed her visits. Now that her half-brother had condemned her to death could she really expect to find sanctuary with the Sylvan?
Leah’s stomach twisted into a knot. What would she do if Trask refused her refuge? Where could she go? Her mouth felt dry, there was a lump in her throat, and for the first time in a long time she felt on the verge of tears. Long ago she’d learned to hide her feelings, to bury the pain of rejection deep inside, to face the world with a mask of indifference.
No. With stubborn determination she drew a ragged breath and fought back the tears. For the moment she was here, and she had to find out who had planted the Shaltus-stone. That was the important thing. She would worry about the future after she’d seen her grandfather. Until then she had to appear calm and confident; the Sylvan would respect nothing else.
Resolutely she smoothed her long, tangled hair and adjusted her torn robe. Her attire embarrassed her, but there had been no spare clothes in her saddlebag. Summoning all her courage, she prodded her horse into a trot.
Long before she reached the heart of the forest Leah felt the presence of the Sylvan. She was su
re that unseen lookouts watched. She had never entered the forest from this direction before, but it seemed as well guarded as her usual route.
She clamped a tight shield over her thoughts against telepathic probes. Although most Sylvan were not telepaths, there were enough who were that she would keep her mind barricaded as long as she stayed within the skytree forest.
Suddenly two Sylvan guards swung down on ropes suspended from branches high in the trees. As they dropped from their ropes to block her path, Leah halted and dismounted.
She knew one of the Sylvan; he was called Curlov. Both were thin, muscular men, well over two meters tall. As she towered over most humans, they towered above her.
They had shoulder-length silver-green hair pulled behind their heads and tied back. Fine body-hair gave their light skin a soft greenish tinge. Their large, mismatched colored eyes with enlarged pupils gave them better sight in the forest’s dim interior. The nails on their bare feet and their thin fingers were long and clawlike. Otherwise their physical appearance was no different from that of humans.
They wore loose, thigh-length tunics made of dolaan, a soft clothlike material made from specially treated skytree leaves. Curlov’s tunic had been dyed dark brown and was decorated with leaf designs. The other man’s garment had been left natural green, but its cuffs were trimmed with squirrel fur.
“Leandes, what are you doing here? We had no word that you were expected,” said Curlov. Although the Sylvan language was almost identical to the human, it was spoken with a distinctive, lilting accent.
Curlov looked curiously at her tattered clothes but made no comment.
Straightening her shoulders, Leah stared back defiantly.
“My visit is unexpected, but that is no business of yours. I am here to see Trask,” she paused and added “my grandfather.” Her voice had slipped naturally into Sylvan dialect.
“You cannot see him now. Our chief is ill.” From the way he stressed “our” it was clear that he meant to exclude Leah.
Forcing back a surge of panic, she calmly asked, “What happened to Trask? When I was here several weeks ago he was fine.”
Curlov nodded. There was a solemnity about his face that frightened her.
“No one knows. He fell ill suddenly, and even tomaad does not help.”
“I want to see him.” There were few conditions that tomaad could not cure. Her grandfather had to be seriously ill indeed.
“I will take you to Quinen. He is in charge now.”
Leah’s eyebrows arched upward in surprise. Although Quinen was Trask’s foster son, he’d often opposed Trask’s policies. She had not realized that he had enough backing in the tribal council to become second in command. But it would be good to see Quinen again. She hadn’t seen him in months. He’d always treated her well, at times with an almost brotherly affection.
Her lips curved into a slight smile as she pictured his handsome, boyish features.
Then Curlov gestured toward the other Sylvan. “Come now. Stukis will take care of your horse.”
Leah nodded, handed the other the reins, and followed Curlov to the ropes.
Unseen Sylvan, manning a pulley system fastened to one of the enormous branches high above, pulled her swiftly aloft. As the line whistled upward, meter-wide leaves brushed against her legs and arms, and small twigs jabbed at her. At the end was a platform shaped from a branch about thirty meters from the ground.
At this height the forest was a fantastic world of its own, alien to and isolated from the land below. Masses of dark green foliage ‘hid the earth and all that was connected to it. Giant trunks soared toward a sky that was still obscured by immense branches, intertwining boughs, and oversized leaves. Between the unseen blue of sky and brown of earth there was only the green of trees stretching as far as the eye could see.
Following Curlov toward the bole of the mammoth tree, Leah took a deep breath of sweet, skytree-blossom-scented air and sighed. It was good to be here. Whether it was some effect of her melding with the oak or merely a reaction of her Sylvan heritage, she felt a strong sense of belonging.
Curlov led the way through a knothole into the interior of the tree and up a six-meter ladder that had been psychically shaped rather than carved in the living wood. They exited through another hole on the opposite side of the trunk and climbed a rope ladder to a crossing branch. This bough had been shaped into a flattened walkway. After crossing to several other branches and ascending a second ladder, they reached the edge of the Sylvan village, some sixty meters above the ground.
The village consisted of dozens of airy treehouses built onto limbs and numerous homes built into the trunks and branches themselves. Some of the branches had been shaped to form large rounded rooms with symmetrical knotholes for doors and windows. Knots large enough for doors and small portholes dotted the trunks. Suspension bridges, ropes, and ladders connected the trees.
Shafts of sunlight streamed through the thinned foliage above the multilevel village to sparkle off metal decorations embedded in the walls and bridges. Pastel-shaded paint on the outside structures broke the forest’s green monotony.
Leah grabbed Curlov’s arm as the Sylvan escorted her across a bridge and into the guest room shaped inside one of the lower branches.
“When can I see Trask?”
“I do not believe that will be possible at this time, but I will inform Quinen that you are here,” Curlov replied. “Remain in this room until he sends for you.”
“Can you arrange to have some food sent up, and some fresh clothes?”
For the first time a trace of emotion crossed the Sylvan’s face as he looked amused. But he said nothing about her disheveled garb. “I can…”
“Thank you, Curlov, I’d appreciate that.”
The Sylvan nodded and left.
Leah glanced around the room. It was sparsely furnished with a fur-covered sleeping pallet, a couple of chairs, a set of shelves, and a large table shaped from the living skytree. Behind an arched door lay a bathroom complete with tub, sink, and toilet, all shaped from the tree. Its roots supplied warm water from hot springs as well as cold from underground rivers. The tree used the waste water as a source of nutrients.
Eventually a Sylvan woman brought the requested food and clothing, including a glass of tomaad. Leah drank the liquid immediately. In a few moments the pain from her wounds and her body’s soreness from the strenuous ride vanished. Then she ate the meal of skytree nut bread and a salad of mushrooms, vegetables, delaap nuts, and herbs.
The Sylvan did not eat much in the way of meat—a bit of squirrel and venison, but that was about all. Leah found herself wishing for some beef or fowl to go with the meal, and that made her wonder just how much of a home the Ayers forest would be—if she were allowed to stay. She was Sylvan enough to prefer living close to nature, but there were some things about the simple, almost primitive life-style that she might never get used to. The primarily vegetarian diet was only one aspect.
After eating, she bathed and dressed. She’d been given a light tunic of unadorned dolaan that reached to her knees. There were no undergarments, and it was just as well, for she vastly preferred the loose Sylvan mode of dress to the stiff corsets and layers of underclothes required by human custom. Yet the dolaan was coarse and uncomfortable compared to human-spun cotton.
As she bound her hair, Sylvan-style, in a single braid along the side of her face, she began to feel more anxious. What could have happened to her grandfather? Was it only coincidence that he had fallen ill just as the Shaltuswraith attacked Carlton, or was there some sinister connection?
With a worried frown Leah cupped her spellstone in her hands and probed for any trace of the wraith’s influence. She sensed nothing abnormal. There was no sign of any Shaltus-programmed stone or any indication that one had ever been in Ayers. But if a Sylvan had not planted the stone in her skytree pot, who had? Impatiently she paced the round room until the quiet of evening descended on the forest.
She wondered what
would happen if Quinen became chief. Although he had been kind to her, she knew that Quinen had a deep hatred of humans.
Trask had raised Quinen after his parents were killed in a human raid. Recently he’d become the leader of a group of young dissidents in the Ayers tribe that wanted war. As chief, could Quinen garner enough support to start a war with Carlton?
Tired of waiting for Quinen’s summons Leah stalked out of the room and headed for Trask’s chambers. She had to know her grandfather’s condition. When she reached the door to Trask’s rooms she found two burly Sylvan men guarding it.
“No one is allowed in there,” said one as he blocked her entrance.
“I’m Leandes Carlton. Trask is my grandfather.” “We have our orders.”
“And whose orders are they? I might be able to help Trask.”
“My orders,” said a voice behind her.
She whirled and found herself facing the Shuull priest, Geraed. He wore a floor-length robe of bleached-white dolaan over a calf-length tunic of the same material. A single line of scarlet paint across his forehead marked his position as head priest of the tribe.
“I believe you were told to wait in your room,” said Geraed.
“I think I waited long enough. I want to see Trask.” “Very well, you may see him. Then we’ll have a little talk, and you’ll explain just why you are here.” The priest gestured at the guard. As the man moved away from the door, Geraed seized Leah’s arm and marched her into Trask’s suite. He didn’t release her until they reached the bedroom, and Leah stood in front of Trask’s bed.
The bed was an oval platform rising out of the floor. Like most of the furniture in Sylvan skytrees, it was a shaped part of the tree. There were leaf designs around its base and on the edge of the headboard, which grew out of the wall. The elaborate pattern appeared to have been carved, but on closer inspection it was clear that it had been shaped by Sylvan powers.
In the center of the bed lay an old man who was obviously near death.
Leah stared at Trask in stunned silence. It was hard to believe that he was the same man she had visited only a few weeks before. He looked withered, shriveled. His skin had turned from pale white to the brown of a long dead leaf. Most of his silver-green hair had fallen out. There was only a fringe of it left to frame a face of hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. It was almost impossible to believe that any natural illness could have ravaged a robust man of sixty so quickly.
The Spellstone of Shaltus Page 5