“You’re using the wrong analogy,” Coleman explained. “It’s more like crossing a horse with a donkey, which does produce an offspring, the mule. Actually, matings between Sylvan and humans rarely produce children. When they do, most are sterile males, which the Sylvan call shiffmen. Elihen is such. Occasionally, though, a female child or shiffem is produced, and she is not sterile. The male children are kept by the Sylvan, but the females are cast out—given to their human parent, if possible, or abandoned at the gates of the nearest castle.
“Ro’s grandmother was a shiffem. She was taken in by her father, Lord S’Carlton, and raised with his legitimate children, though she was called a Carlton rather than a S’Carlton.
“The mixture of talents from S’Cascars, Rowens, S’Carltons, and the Sylvan may have helped cause Ro’s wide-band telepathic ability. To my knowledge, it’s unique. That’s one reason I brought you along, Ro. Your heritage and abilities should impress the Sylvan.”
“Will your half-brother be able to help us?” asked Hawk.
“According to Brian S’York, Elihen helped arrange this meeting for us in Alycia. He’ll be there and do what he can.
“Elihen and I haven’t been as close as most brothers or even most half-brothers. Considering the circumstances, that’s not surprising. We don’t even see each other more than every few months.
“But ever since the Empire’s invasion we’ve been working together to form a human-Sylvan alliance. He’s as convinced of its necessity as I am. He believes the Empire will attack the Sylvan when they finish with us. Being part human and part Sylvan, he’s in a unique position to bring the two groups together. Although the Sylvan usually look down on shiffmen, Elihen’s talents have made him well respected. He’s a member of the tribal council in Arthuria, and he’s a prominent shaper.”
“Shaper?”
“All the Sylvan possess some paranormal powers, but some are more skillful and powerful than others. Those individuals who are most adept at shaping living skytrees are trained from early childhood. The shapers can increase or decrease tree growth, hollow out trunks, shape chambers and rooms within the trunk or branches, even create furniture in the living wood,” Coleman explained.
“The Sylvan have a somewhat symbiotic relationship with the skytrees,” he continued, “though some say the relationship is more of a parasitic one, since the Sylvan seem to derive more good from the skytrees than vice versa. They can shape the trees to their needs and draw strength from them. Also, the skytrees provide almost all the nourishment for the Sylvan. Their dependence on the delaap nuts and tomaad sap is so great that the Sylvan die without them, though the legends say that this was not always the case. That’s why few Sylvan leave their forests, even to visit other forests. If they do, they have to carry their own supplies, and the perishable nuts don’t last very long.
“In return for this, the Sylvan direct the skytree roots toward water and minerals, keep the trees free of disease, prune, and generally protect the trees from harm.
“The old stories say that the Sylvan were once human, that N’Omb punished a group of men who were more interested in growing their crops than in worshiping N’Omb by banishing them to the skytrees, to care for and be dependent on the trees forever. Of course, the Sylvan legends have a different slant. They say that the Sylvan were blessed by their god and lifted above men to live among his mightiest creations, the skytrees. They don’t worship N’Omb as we do, preferring to believe in an earth god they call Shuull. They believe the skytrees are divine conduits to the god who dwells in the earth. When they drain energy from the trees, they believe they are receiving power from Shuull.
“But that’s enough talk about the Sylvan for now. It’s getting late.” Coleman glanced up at the dusk-gray sky. “We’ve about finished with the horses. We’d better start the fire.”
“We might be able to catch a few fish for supper,” suggested Hawk. They had camped next to a fast-flowing stream.
“That’s a good idea. Why don’t you and Ro take the gear while I gather some wood? There seems to be plenty of brush.”
“All right.”
While Hawk collected the line and hooks, Ro rummaged through her saddlebags for bait. Then Hawk took her arm and helped her down the steep-sided bank of the stream to a spot just above a pool formed by half-submerged rocks.
“Of course, with your ability to control animals I guess we really don’t need bait. You could lure the fish in and even make them take the hook.”
Ro frowned. “I could, but I wouldn’t, not unless I had to.” She looked sharply at Hawk. “Would you use your telepathy to bring a turkey, pheasant, or other game into the reach of your bow?”
“No, I wouldn’t. It doesn’t seem right somehow, although I guess I would if I were hungry enough.” Hawk baited his hook and tossed it into the pool. Ro copied him, casting her line a little farther into the stream where the current carried it out.
“I had to use my ability to control and destroy the enemy falcons at the ambush,” he continued. “I didn’t like doing it. It seemed perverse to force the birds to die, but I couldn’t take the chance that they’d provide Ramsey’s men with information on our troop placement.”
Ro squeezed his arm sympathetically. “You had to do it. I’m sure every sorcerer or telepath has had to use his or her powers in ways they didn’t like. I know I’ve had to. We have to compromise with ourselves to achieve what’s the best in the long run. It can hurt sometimes, but we do what we have to do.”
Ro’s eyes seemed to echo the sadness and loneliness that Hawk himself had felt. He realized that they had a lot in common. Although he would never be able to forget that she was a woman, he was beginning to accept her as a friend and comrade.
“From what Coleman has told me about the Sylvan,” she continued, “I gather that they believe their powers come from Shuull and that they rationalize that all their actions are due to Shuull’s will. I wish it were as easy for us to justify everything we do.”
Hawk nodded. “I’ve heard some sorcerers use similar logic, attributing their power to N’Omb rather than to their own abilities and spellstones. I don’t think N’Omb has anything to do with my telepathy. I suppose I don’t really believe in N’Omb; if I did, I’d be a pilgrim,” he touched the long gray robe he wore, “instead of masquerading as one.”
“I don’t believe in N’Omb or disbelieve,” said Ro.
“I don’t know. My precognition, telepathy, and immunity to magic seem to be natural abilities; they are my responsibility to use as wisely as I can. They are weapons I can use against Taral’s Empire, and I’ll use them any way I have to, because the most important things in my life right now are destroying the Empire and regaining my kingdom, if I can.”
“And I’ll use every ability I have against the Empire, no matter what the cost,” said Hawk. “Taral won’t conquer York as he did the rest of the Eastern Kingdoms.”
“No, he won’t.” The determination in her voice matched his, and their eyes were solemn, as if they’d each sworn an oath.
Suddenly the road ahead forked, and Hawk stopped mentally replaying the past week’s conversations. He concentrated on the present.
They turned to the right, following a little-used trail that led toward the heart of the gigantic forest.
When the skytrees became large enough to blot out the sky completely, Hawk began to feel a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and in the next moment Ro voiced his thoughts with a certainty born of her precognitive powers.
“There is someone watching us,” she said.
“Just keep going and don’t look around,” advised Coleman. “The Sylvan will show themselves when they are ready, probably by suddenly dropping out of the trees and surrounding us. When they do, just follow their orders. I’ll do the talking.”
The trees increased in breadth and height, while the path became harder to follow, until it almost disappeared, obliterated by the masses of fallen leaves.
The Sylva
n arrived with a suddenness that startled Hawk, despite Coleman’s warning. Tall figures swung through the greenery ahead of them on long ropes. Around them other Sylvan slid down ropes or stepped from concealed tree-doors.
Hawk had expected vaguely humanoid monsters, but although the Sylvan were strange, they seemed surprisingly human. Ranging about six to eight feet in height, the thin men had long silver-green hair tied back in ponytails. Fine body-hair gave their light skin a soft, greenish tinge. Their eyes were slightly larger than humans’ with huge pupils for, he supposed, better sight in the forest’s dim interior. The nails on their bare feet and their thin, tapered fingers were long and clawlike to facilitate tree climbing. Otherwise they seemed to be quite human.
About a dozen Sylvan had appeared. They wore loose, thigh-length tunics fashioned from dolaan, a soft, clothlike material made from specially treated skytree leaves. Most of the tunics were natural leaf-green, but a few had been dyed a darker green or brown. Many were decorated with leaf or bird designs; some were trimmed with osmur or squirrel fur. They wore no jewelry, but one man, evidently the leader, had an abstract design of blue and red paint on his right cheek.
The painted Sylvan stepped forward and addressed them in oddly accented but understandable speech. “What are N’Omb pilgrims doing in these woods?” Coleman answered quietly yet authoritatively: “We are not N’Omb pilgrims. We have merely assumed this garb to enter your forest unobtrusively. I am Coleman S’Wessex. My companions are Hawk and Ro.” He did not look back at them but instead maintained eye contact with the Sylvan. “We are here to see Feder, head of the Council of Chieftans. He is expecting us.”
Remaining expressionless, the Sylvan pointed at them with his bow. “Dismount,” he commanded.
As they did so, some of the Sylvan stepped forward and took their horses. They removed the saddles, bedrolls, and offering bags and tied them to ropes or pushed them into baskets that were lowered silently from the branches above. Then they hoisted all the belongings into the trees. Meanwhile, others led their horses into the base of an enormous tree nearby. Hawk could see other horses inside the trunk’s barn-sized interior.
The Sylvan leader approached Coleman and stared at him for a long moment. Then he walked to Ro and inspected her in a similar manner. When he reached Hawk and stared down into Hawk’s eyes, Hawk felt a sharp mental probe, different from any he had known. His shield seemed to be no defense against the Sylvan mindprobe; he felt as though he were trying to block the sun with his hand, for all he could do was shadow his mind, not conceal it. Although the probe only lasted for an instant, it seemed to search out and find not his surface thoughts and memories but rather the depths of his soul. When it disappeared, it left no mark or damage, as would a normal telepathic probe of such intensity.
At close range the Sylvan seemed older than Hawk had originally thought. Although his hair had no sign of gray, the fine wrinkles on his brow and by the corners of his eyes indicated that he was middle-aged, perhaps forty or fifty. Hawk also noticed another peculiarity: One of the Sylvan’s eyes was gray, the other hazel.
If the Sylvan had learned anything important, it did not show in his stoic expression. He motioned Hawk and the others toward the swaying ropes.
Although Coleman had described what to expect, Hawk looked apprehensively at the ropes. He was used to heights, but he didn’t like the idea of being carried aloft by the thin lines. However, he knew they would have to appear unruffled no matter what happened, if they were to have any chance of winning the Sylvan to their cause. So he gamely followed Coleman’s example by grabbing the rope, stepping on the knot at the end, and letting himself be pulled upward by unseen hands.
The swiftly moving line passed a series of huge branches. Looking up, Hawk could make out the shapes of several pulleys fastened to a bough above.
When he reached the top, he saw Coleman and several of the Sylvan standing on a fifteen-foot-wide branch about a foot away. Clutching the rope with one hand, he stepped onto the limb. The top part was unnaturally flat, apparently shaped by the Sylvan for easier walking.
Turning, he saw Ro arrive and step over without hesitation, seemingly as comfortable with heights as the Sylvan themselves.
They were led toward the sixty-foot-wide trunk, through a knothole, and up a twenty-foot ladder. Then they went out another hole on the opposite side of the trunk and climbed a rope ladder to a crossing branch. This branch was thinner and not flattened, but the Sylvan walked along it as nonchalantly as along the first. Coleman was equally at ease, having visited his half-brother innumerable times. However, Ro gave Hawk a doubtful look before she bravely followed Coleman, taking his earlier advice to look straight ahead, not down. Then they traveled up a ladder that had been carved outside the trunk. At the top was a platform with a number of ropes tied loosely to a post at the far end. The Sylvan leader took one and swung over to another trunk. The rest of the party followed.
They had now entered the very heart of the forest, where most of the trees were over sixty feet in diameter and some of the branches were half as thick.
They passed through another knothole into a spacious room, evidently a guardhouse or armory, since the walls were lined with weapons. A narrow stairway in the room’s center led onto a flat branch-walkway and to yet another rope ladder.
As Hawk plodded upward, he envied the Sylvan’s stamina. They showed no signs of exertion. He also wished that he were about a foot taller, since the Sylvan had spaced the steps in their ladders and stairs farther apart than normal to accommodate their size.
The platform at the top had a spectacular view of the Sylvan village. Hawk held one of the branches jutting up like guardrails from the edge of the platform’s living wood and simply stared.
It was impossible to determine how high they were, perhaps two hundred or more feet, for the ground was totally obscured by the thick branches and huge leaves.
Dozens of suspension bridges, strung out like necklaces of rope and timber, connected the circle of trees in the center of the forest. Many of the branches had rounded bulges with windows where rooms had been formed. Airy tree houses had been built onto other limbs.
Knotholes, some large enough for doors, others small portholes, dotted the great trunks themselves. The multilevel village began at about the same height as the branch they stood on and soared upward toward bright patches of sky that leaked sunlight onto the village. Structures and platforms perched in even the highest branches.
Bright pastel shades of pink, violet, blue, and yellow painted on the outside structures broke the forest’s green monotony. Most of the roofs were made of dolaan. Here and there the sun sparkled off decorations of metal embedded in the walls and bridges. Drying clothes hung from some of the smaller limbs like banners.
The village was alive with movement as Sylvan swung on ropes, ascended ladders, and crossed bridges.
Some of the Sylvan guards had disappeared, but the remainder escorted them across a narrow footbridge that shifted and swayed disconcertingly. At the end of the bridge was a flat branch that had lost its bark over centuries of use.
Passing villagers looked at them with curiosity as they entered a fourteen-foot-high archway into a trunk containing a room so large and open that it looked like a plaza and seemed to serve much the same purpose. Again the congregating Sylvan greeted them with stares.
Exiting through another arch, they entered a hall running through the center of one of the branches. They passed several doors and then ascended by rope ladder to the second branch above. The Sylvan led them down another narrow hallway to a room with polished walls and furniture shaped from growing wood. It was small but comfortably outfitted with chairs, fur-covered sleeping pallets, tables, and bookshelves.
As the Sylvan leader motioned them inside he said: “We will bring you some refreshments shortly.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.
Hawk’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. Their gear, even their weapons, lay in a neat array on the lar
ge table in the room’s center. Evidently someone had unpacked and examined each item.
“Wow!” Ro exclaimed, collapsing into a chair. “I never thought I had a fear of heights before, but I thought I was going to fall a half dozen times.”
Coleman patted her shoulder comfortingly. “You did very well, both of you did. You didn’t show your fear, and that was the important thing. If you had fallen, the forest is so thick with branches you wouldn’t have fallen too far before you’d have landed on another branch.”
“I suppose so,” Ro answered, “though I don’t know how much of a comfort that is. I didn’t remember that the Sylvan villages were so high. When I was about ten years old my father had to visit the Aseneth village in Cascar to sign a treaty. He wanted to impress the Sylvan with his sincerity, so he took my brothers and me along. After all, he’d bring his children only if he really trusted the Sylvan, right? I remember that one of the Sylvan carried me the whole way up, mostly by way of an interior tree ladder, so I never really realized the distance we climbed.”
“Hey, why couldn’t we have come straight through one of these trunks? At least one must have a stair or ladder all the way to the ground,” said Hawk.
Coleman examined the room as he explained. “I’m sure they could have chosen an easier way to get us here, but they took a roundabout path to test us. As I told you before, they dislike and distrust humans, believing us to be inferior creatures. We have to prove to them that we can be just as brave, just as psychically talented as they are. Obviously they could have pulled us almost straight up by rope, as they did our gear.”
“Who was the Sylvan with the painted cheek?” asked Hawk. “What did it mean?”
“As I mentioned before, the most psychically gifted Sylvan are trained as defenders, communicators, and shapers. They are prominent members of the society and wear appropriate face-paint designs to show their authority. The defenders are the smallest group; they wear designs on their left cheek. They fight any intruders or dangerous animals psychically. The communicators are basically telepathy with fantastic range who link the isolated skytree forests; they can also mindprobe. Their right cheeks are painted. The shapers, who control tree growth and are naturally the most important members of the community, have both cheeks painted.
Master of Hawks Page 11
