The hiss of vanishing steam lingered in the air.
The glowing Water Stone slipped from Bryl’s fingers as he collapsed to the sodden ground. He tried to hold onto the power, but the dissembling spirits fled like the smoke in Ledaygen.
The dayid left him, and died.
8. War Games
“We can defeat the Game if we can succeed in not fighting. The Outsiders must see that we will not Play along. Their amusements do not amuse us.”
—Jorig Falselimb of the khelebar
Fiolin Tribeleader clenched his hand, and the charred wood crumbled to ash. He stared at his fingers in numb helplessness—the black dust had once been a living, vibrant tree. He gazed with reddened eyes at the desolation of Ledaygen, at the black hulks that were the corpses of trees. Steam rose from the ruins of the fire. “It’s . . . all . . . gone.”
Vailret dipped his shirt in a puddle of cool water. He bent over Bryl and mopped the unconscious man’s face. The half-Sorcerer looked as drained as Sardun had after creating the Barrier River.
Delrael bent his kennok limb and sat down beside Vailret. He watched Fiolin and the other khelebar until he finally spoke out loud.
“We’re still alive, Fiolin. You can help the trees grow again. Birds will come. You can plant flowers. In time, Ledaygen will be what it was before.”
“Ledaygen can never be what it was!” Tayron Next Leader said. The rest of the khelebar took no interest in the subject but stood around like character figurines.
Fiolin heaved a sigh and forced himself to look at Delrael and Vailret. “Ledaygen is dead. The dayid is dead. Could you not feel it? Why should the rest of us live? Perhaps I made the wrong decision. Perhaps we should not have fought at all.” He stared up at the skies and shouted to the Outsiders. “What value is life now? Why don’t you change the Rules?”
Tayron Next-Leader glowered at his father, surprising Vailret. “I will not forsake my hope until I have seen that not one tree still stands in Ledaygen. If my heart can bear it, I will scout every inch of this forest.”
Ydaim Trailwalker squared his shoulders. “I will be proud to help you look for life in our ashes, Next-Leader. If a single acorn or pine cone remains unharmed, we will find it.”
Some of the khelebar cheered, but most just stared as the two galloped off into the ashen wasteland.
When Bryl dragged himself back to consciousness, he blinked up at Vailret in astonishment, then stared into the sky. “We’re still alive.” He glanced at his hands, then at the Water Stone. “I remember touching the Stone, and I remember feeling . . . it was the dayid. Ah.” His body shook from jolted nerves, but he said nothing more, though Vailret was anxious to hear.
Much later, Tayron and Ydaim returned, coated with a thin dusting of ash stirred up by their paws. Fiolin’s son blew hard to catch his breath, but he kept his green eyes lowered. The rest of the khelebar stood, fragile and waiting to hear something that would restore their faith. Fiolin padded forward. “What have you found?”
“Five trees still live.” The optimistic tone in Ydaim’s voice sounded artificial.
“But they will soon die. They have given up their lives,” Tayron said. “But . . . but at the edge of the forest, where the fire seems to have started, we found something else—”
Fiolin Tribeleader turned away as if he did not want to hear. Ydaim reached forward to grip Fiolin’s bare shoulders, forcing him to face his son.
“We found the cause of the fire. We found footprints, we found sign. There is no doubt—the Cyclops has done this to our Ledaygen!” Tayron’s green eyes blazed as he glared at the khelebar, then at the burned forest.
The khelebar muttered among themselves. “Didn’t I tell you?” Vailret said, but he did not want to make an issue of it.
“Father, the Cyclops has burned our forest, murdered the dayid!”
The Tribeleader’s expression maintained its mask of duty. He looked at his surviving people, saw the restless anger simmering within them.
Vailret watched his transformation, not sure if it was genuine or simply a role the Tribeleader decided to play. “Tayron, gather up every khelebar whose task has been taken away by the burning of Ledaygen—gather them into a war party. Noldir Woodcarver! Arm every one of them with a bow and with arrows forged from the fallen trees. The dead branches will want their own revenge.”
Fiolin watched their faces, looking uncertain. Tayron raised his fist in the air. “Tomorrow we will march against the Cyclops—Lifetaker, Flesheater, Treeburner!”
Vailret joined in the ragged cheer. Thilane Healer, though, came forward. “Fiolin Tribeleader, we swore to resist the Outsiders by refusing to play their Game. The khelebar have not fought for generations. Have you forgotten the examples Jorig Falselimb taught us? We were at peace with the dayid for as long as any of us can remember.”
Tayron also spoke up. “The Healer is right. We have lost all our arts of war, and if we march blindly against the Cyclops, we will surely fail.”
Thilane turned on him, as if he had twisted her meaning entirely. Fiolin’s expression changed. He shook his head. “We have no other choice.”
“Ah, but we do.” Ydaim’s green eyes glinted with excitement reborn. “Three among us are fresher to the game of war.”
Vailret felt the eyes of Tayron Next-Leader on him. Bryl sat on the ground, leaning against Delrael and still wearing a stunned expression on his face. Delrael moved well on his kennok limb, but he could not go into battle so soon. Vailret shrank back as he watched the others turn to him and come to the same conclusion.
“I can’t lead anyone,” he said, looking at Delrael. “I’m not a fighter. I can’t use magic—I can’t even see very well!”
Delrael shrugged. “But you’ve read about all the old Sorcerer battles. You know their strategy. You’re smart, and you can make decisions quickly. Go along and tell them what to do.”
“Just like that?”
“Pretend it’s a Game.”
Tayron Next-Leader held one of the dark wooden arrows out for the others to see. The gathered khelebar watched as he ground its sharp point into the charred surface of a fallen log. “This,” Tayron showed them its tip blackened with soot, “this is all the poison we need to strike down the Treeburner.”
Each khelebar held a handful of new-made arrows. Noldir Woodcarver had worked his hands raw fashioning the shafts from twisted and burned branches, pulling the wood between his fingers to straighten it.
Following his son’s example, Fiolin Tribeleader blackened the tips of his own arrows. “Ledaygen has provided us with this poison as her last service to us. We shall use it to destroy our enemy.”
The khelebar pressed forward to dip their own arrows in the ashes. Vailret watched in silence, doubting that the ritual would have any real effect. But it served to stir up more anger and frenzy in the long-peaceful khelebar.
“Are you ready to go get him?” Vailret raised his voice. They all yelled their answer.
“I have selected five scouts to spread out ahead of the main party. First, we will find the Cyclops, then we will converge on him, and when he’s trapped, you’ll have your revenge. Give him one arrow for every tree he has destroyed.”
He and Bryl made ready to lead the khelebar warriors. Though still weak, the half-Sorcerer had regained his complement of spells. He stared at the Water Stone as if waiting for an opportunity to touch the power again. He seemed to be stronger inside, tempered by his ordeal.
Vailret looked at the khelebar and tried to remain optimistic. They had been practicing with their bows and arrows. Delrael helped one after another until he, too, was exhausted. But a few hours of training would never make expert archers out of them. Vailret himself couldn’t see well enough to make any long shots.
The Outsiders would probably enjoy this battle immensely.
“Bryl and I will have to ride on your backs just to keep up. We can switch off if the burden gets too great.” Vailret tried to appear confident. “Tayron Nex
t-Leader, I would like you to carry me first, so we can discuss strategy. Ydaim, can you take Bryl?”
“I would be honored, Vailret Traveler.” The other khelebar watched Bryl with a cautious awe: the one who had linked himself with the dayid and saved them all. Bryl seemed to enjoy his position of prestige but acted as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
Vailret and Bryl mounted easily and turned to face Delrael, who stood angry and dejected. Once again, Thilane Healer had refused to let him go, even with his healing leg. He waved halfheartedly. “Luck.”
Thilane seemed upset at their mission and said nothing.
“This is for you, Delrael,” Vailret said. “The khelebar have their own reasons for revenge, and I have mine.”
The khelebar turned and Vailret motioned them forward. They moved into the desolate stand of blackened tree skeletons. Vailret made them pass slowly through the ruins of Ledaygen, trying to forge their despair into hot fury. The twisted and still-smoldering hulks of the once-majestic trees cried out to the hearts of the khelebar.
A brooding sense of relief came over him when they left the burned hexagon of Ledaygen and descended into the narrow gorge where the Cyclops had attacked Delrael. Early afternoon made the canyon bright and green. Vailret’s five chosen scouts broke away from the main party and scattered to the upper walls of the gorge. “Remember, you must only find the Cyclops. Wait for all the khelebar. We will fight together.”
Tayron Next-Leader and Ydaim Trailwalker bore the two humans side by side. Fiolin Tribeleader accompanied them. Ydaim pointed up. “The Cyclops often lurks in the rocks above, but he lives farther down the valley in a cave.”
Water from the narrow stream splattered and dashed itself on the exposed rocks. On the east side of the stream the ground glistened from where the water had surged across the gorge floor, dragged toward the hills of Ledaygen. Vailret looked in awe at the strength of Bryl’s summons through the Water Stone.
The khelebar marched along, moving with the silent care they saved for the forest. Vailret felt like part of a funeral procession rather than a vengeful foray.
The keener ears of the khelebar detected a commotion on the jagged bluffs above. Ydaim reached across to touch Vailret’s shoulder and pointed at the rim of the canyon. The rest of the khelebar stumbled to a halt. Shading their emerald eyes, they peered up at the gorge walls.
One of the scouts, Stynod Treescavenger, burst into view. She flailed her arms at something hidden in the jumbled terrain. Her mottled pelt blended well with the rocks, but her dark hair whipped from side to side as she moved. Stynod snatched her new bow and nocked an arrow. Her shouted challenge drifted on the wind, made faint by distance. Vailret squinted, trying to see what was happening.
The Cyclops emerged from the shadows of an outcropping, crouched like a brick-red behemoth. He tossed his head, brandishing his horn. He glared at the khelebar with his watery yellow eye.
“Treeburner! Lifetaker!” Stynod shouted, letting her arrow fly. The shaft struck the Cyclops in the shoulder. “Let the poison of burned Ledaygen destroy you!”
Vailret made a fist, grinding his teeth together in exasperation. “Idiot! You can’t do any harm by yourself!”
In annoyance, the Cyclops knocked the arrow from his warty skin. He reached forward with flint claws and snatched at Stynod, missing cleanly, though the Tree-scavenger stood her ground. She tried to fit another arrow to her bow. The Cyclops grabbed again, this time raking his claws across her panther ribs. As she fell, the Cyclops snagged her body and picked her up. The monster roared at the khelebar below and hurled Stynod from the bluff face. She did not scream. Her body struck the ground in front of the advancing party.
“I said we all have to attack together! We can’t do anything from here,” Vailret said as he stared at the Treescavenger’s broken body. “Stynod has ruined it for us! Come on!”
He urged Tayron ahead; Bryl and Ydaim followed, but the other khelebar stood motionless, appalled at their dead companion.
The Cyclops picked up a huge rock and raised it over his head. “Move!” Ydaim added his shout to Vailret’s warning.
The first boulder came crashing down, narrowly missing the khelebar. They scattered, looking for shelter. “Stay in single file!” Vailret shouted, realizing the limitations of the Cyclops. “He’s only got one eye—he can’t judge distance! Don’t give him a big target.”
A second boulder came down like thunder, harming no one.
Only Fiolin Tribeleader stood alone, staring and weeping over the body of Stynod. He drew himself up and glared at the monster; for a moment, Vailret thought they made eye contact.
“Lifetaker, Treeburner—I curse you with all the power of the dayid.” Fiolin shouted into the wind. He held a charred arrow in each hand, wielding them like a talisman.
Tayron seemed to know what Fiolin was doing and wheeled around, running toward him. Vailret held on to the Next-Leader’s waist.
The Cyclops also saw the Tribeleader standing alone and unprotected. He found another boulder and cast it down.
Fiolin saw the rock coming at him, but he made no move to avoid it. Vailret watched the older khelebar stand still, waiting.
The giant stone struck Fiolin Tribeleader, crushing him to the earth. Mud and blood sprayed into the air, spattering Tayron Next-Leader as he ran toward his father.
The Cyclops lifted another of his giant stones, but a thin bolt of lightning struck the monster’s head and skittered along his shoulders and chest, leaving a jagged black mark smoking on his skin. He howled in pain and surprise and dropped the boulder on his foot. Smaller rocks bounced off the canyon wall as the boulder rolled to the rim, then fell into the ravine.
Bryl scrambled to pick up the Water Stone. The half Sorcerer’s face seemed as tight as a drum skin over the front of his skull, but flushed with excitement.
Ydaim shouted at the khelebar to regroup. They fired arrows at the Cyclops. Most of the shafts fell short, bouncing off the rock face, but several struck the monster’s legs and side. He ran away, crashing among the rocks until he disappeared behind the edge of the cliffs.
Vailret stumbled off Tayron’s back. The Next-Leader seemed to have forgotten about him. Tayron thrust the boulder away from his father, leaving the older khelebar exposed and mangled on the turf. Fiolin’s emerald eyes filled with tears that oozed down his cheeks. His teeth chattered.
“Father!” Tayron’s words whistled out of his throat. He shouted for two of the other khelebar to come to him. “He still lives—take him to Thilane Healer! She can save him. She has the power—I know it.”
The burning anger in Tayron’s eyes stopped Vailret from voicing his doubts. A male and a female khelebar picked up their Tribeleader between them. Fiolin’s blood slicked their hands.
Tayron grabbed a fistful of arrows. “We shall destroy the Lifetaker!” His voice cracked with emotion. The khelebar rallied around their fallen leader and the body of Stynod Treescavenger.
Fiolin stirred and wheezed through punctured lungs. “No. Enough killing.” But Tayron did not hear, and Vailret chose not to repeat the words for him. The two khelebar tending their dying Tribeleader looked at each other for a moment, then bore him away.
Tayron removed one arrow from his quiver. His jaws ground together so tightly the muscles looked like straining ropes. He ran his fingers along the burned wood of the shaft, then dipped the sharp tip in a pool of his father’s blood on the ground. Before the blood had dried, he thrust the doubly poisoned arrow into his braid of blond hair.
By unspoken agreement, Tayron Next-Leader took command of the war party. Vailret signaled to another of the panther-men and scrambled on his wide back. Tayron charged off down the gorge with the rest of the vengeful khelebar in his wake.
Noldir Woodcarver stared at the toppled hulk of the Father Pine. He paced around the dead tree, pausing, frowning. He inspected the char marks, the rough patches where the intense heat had eaten through to the heartwood.
Delr
ael watched to distract himself from thinking of the battles the others were now fighting. The pungent odor of wet ashes still hung in the air—”the smell of tree blood,” Thilane called it. The thought made Delrael uncomfortable.
Before the war party departed, Fiolin Tribeleader had summoned Noldir to the council clearing. “You shall make a monument out of Thessar’s remains—the Father Pine will be a memorial for our dead Ledaygen.”
Noldir stared at the fallen tree, seeing into it. His eyes glimmered with determined pride.
“You’ve been just looking at it for hours,” Delrael finally said.
The Woodcarver glanced up at him. “I cannot carve contrary to the desires of Thessar. I must find out what it wishes to be, but it eludes me—ah!”
He clapped his hands. “No wonder I could not see it before. Thessar is practically shouting to me that it is upside down! Delrael Kennoklimb, help me.”
Thilane Healer watched for a moment, then came over to help. The three of them effortlessly rolled the hulk of the ancient Father Pine. Delrael blinked his eyes in wonder—he had felt the new power sparkling through him for an instant. The blackened log seemed eager to move and floated like a dandelion seed until it came back to rest on the scorched grass.
“Look!” Thilane paused, then replaced her excitement with a show of dignity. She nodded at the depression where Thessar had fallen—a small seedling, rumpled and nearly crushed, straightened in the sunlight.
“Thessar knew!” she whispered. “When the Father Pine fell, he sheltered this seedling with a hollow in his trunk!”
Noldir called to the khelebar who had remained be hind. “A tree still lives! A seedling! Ledaygen is not completely lost!”
Thilane turned away though. “The dayid does not live within it.”
Delrael tried to offer comfort. “Maybe when you get enough trees to grow again—”
“Yes,” she said. “And maybe the Outsiders will feel sorry for us and magically make the forest reappear all by itself. I prefer not to count on miracles. If a miracle was going to happen, it should have stopped Ledaygen from burning in the first place.”
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