led ever deeper into the thickly forested hills and
was arrow-flight straight. To either side of them
lay the landscape of dreams ... or maybe nightmare.
The grass was the wrong color for fall. It should
have been frost-seared and browning; instead it
was a lush and juicy green. The air was warm; this
was fall, it should have been cool, but it felt like
summer, it smelled like summer. There were even
flowers. Tarma disliked and distrusted this false,
magic-born summer. It just wasn't right.
The other plants besides the grass—well, some
were normal (or at least they seemed normal), but
others were not. Tarma had seen plants whose leaves
had snapped shut on unwary insects, flowers whose
blooms glowed when the moon rose, and thorny
vines whose thorns dripped some unnamable liq-
uid. She didn't know if they were hazardous, but
she wasn't about to take a chance; not after she saw
the bones and skulls of small animals littering the
ground beneath a dead tree laden with such vines.
The trees didn't bear thinking about, much. The
least odd of them were as twisted and deformed as
if they'd grown in a place of constant heavy winds.
The others .. .
Well, there was the grove they'd passed of lacy
things that sang softly to themselves in childlike
voices. And the ones that pulled away from them as
they passed, or worse, actually reached out to touch
them, feeling them like blind and curious old women.
And the sapling that had torn up its roots and
shuffled away last night when Tarma thought about
how nice a fire would feel ...
And by no means least, the ones like they'd spent
the night in (though only after Kethry repeatedly
assured her nervous partner that it was perfectly
harmless). It had been hut-sized and hut-shaped,
with only a thatch of green on the "roof—and
hollow. And inside had been odd protrusions that
resembled stools, a table, and bed-platforms to a
degree that was positively frightening. A lovely lit-
tle trap it would have made—Tarma slept rest-
lessly that night, dreaming about the "door" growing
closed and trapping them inside, like those poor
bugs the flowers had trapped.
"I'm at the stage where I could use a familiar,"
Kethry replied, "I've explained all this before. Be-
sides, a familiar will be able to take some of the
burden of night-watch off both of us, particularly if
I can manage to call a kyree."
Tarma sighed.
"It's only fair. I came with you to the Plains. I
took a battlesteed at your insistence."
"Agreed. But I don't have to like this place. Are
you sure there's anything here you can call? We
haven't seen so much as a mouse or a sparrow since
things started looking weird."
"That's because they don't want you to see them.
Relax, we're going to stop soon; we're almost where
I wanted to go."
"How can you tell, if you've never been here?"
"You'll see."
Sure enough, Tarma did see. The paved road came
to a dead end; at the end it widened out into a flat,
featureless circle some fifty paces in diameter.
The paved area was surrounded by yet another
kind of tree, some sort of evergreen with thin, tan-
gled branches that started a bit less than knee-high
and continued straight up so that the trees were
like green columns reaching to the sky. They had
grown so closely together that it would have been
nearly impossible for anything to force its way be-
tween them. That meant there was only one way
for anything to get into the circle—via the road.
"Now what?"
"Find someplace comfortable and make yourself
a camp wherever you feel safest—although I can
guarantee that as long as you stay inside the trees
you'll be perfectly safe."
"Myself? What about you?"
"Oh, I'll be here, but I'll be busy. The process of
calling a familiar is rather involved and takes a
long time." Kethry dismounted in the exact center
of the pavement and began unloading her saddle-
bags from Ironheart's back.
"How long is 'a long time'?" The paved area
really took up only about half of the circular clear-
ing. The rest was grass and scattered boulders, a
green and lumpy rim surrounding the smooth gray
pavement. There was plenty of windfall lying around
the grassy area, most of it probably good and dry,
dry enough to make a fire. And there was a nice
little nook at the back of the circle, a cluster of
boulders that would make a good firepit. Somehow
Tarma didn't want even the slightest chance of fire
escaping from her. Not here. Not after that walking
sapling; no telling what its mother might think
about fire, or the makers of fire.
"Until sunset tomorrow night."
"What?"
"I told you, it's very complicated. Surely you can
find something to do with yourself ..."
"Well, I'm going to have to, aren't I? I'm cer-
tainly not going to leave you alone out here."
Kethry didn't bother to reply with anything more
than an amused smile, and began setting up her
spell-casting equipment. Tarma, grumbling, took both
mares over to the side of the paved area and gave
them the command to stay on the grass, unsaddled
and unharnessed them, and began grooming them
to within an inch of their lives.
When she slipped a look over at her partner,
Kethry was already seated within a sketched-in
circle, a tiny brazier emitting a spicy-scented smoke
beside her. Her eyes were closed and from the way
her lips were moving she was chanting. Tarma
sighed with resignation, and hauled the tack over
to the area where she intended to camp.
It had lacked about a candlemark to sunset when
they'd reached this place; by the time Tarma fin-
ished setting up camp to her liking, the sun was
down and she was heartily glad of the fire she'd lit.
It wasn't that it was cold ...
No, it was the things outside that circle of trees
that made her glad of the warm glow of the flames.
The warm earthly glow of the flames. There were
noises out there, sounds like she'd never heard be-
fore. The mares moved over to the fireside of their
own volition, and were not really interested in the
handfuls of grain Tarma offered them. They stood,
one on either side of her, in defensive posture, ears
twitching nervously.
It sounded like things were gathering just on the
other side of the trees. There was a murmuring
that was very like something speaking, except that
no human throat ever made burbling and trilling
sounds quite like those Tarma heard. There were
soft little whoops, and watery chuckles. Every now
and then, a chorus of whistlers exchan
ged responses.
And as if that weren't enough—
Through the branches Tarma could see amor-
phous patches of glow, patches that moved about.
As the moon rose above the trees, she unsheathed
her sword and dagger, and held them across her
lap.
"Child—"
Tarma screeched and jumped nearly out of her
skin.
She was on her feet without even thinking about
rising, and whipped around to face—
Her instructor, who had come with the first
moonlight.
"You—you—sadist!" she gasped, trying to get her
heart down out of her throat. "You nearly fright-
ened me to death!"
"There is nothing for you to fear. What is outside
the trees is curious, no more."
"And I'm the Queen of Valdemar."
"I tell you truly. This is a place where no evil
can bear to tread; look about you—and look to your
she'enedra."
Tarma looked again, and saw that the mares had
settled, their heads down, nosing out the last of the
grain she'd given them. She saw that the area of the
pavement was glowing—that what she'd mistaken
for a soft silver reflection of the moonlight was in
fact coming from within the paving material. Nor
was that all—the radiance was brighter where
Kethry sat oblivious within her circle, and blended
from the silver of the pavement into a pale blue
that surrounded her like an aura. And the trees
themselves were glowing—something she hadn't no-
ticed, being intent on the lights on the other side—a
healthy, verdant green. All three colors she knew
from Kethry's chance-made comments were associ-
ated with life-magic, positive magic.
And now the strange sounds from outside their
enclosure no longer seemed so sinister, but rather
like the giggling and murmuring of a crowd of curi-
ous small children.
Tarma relaxed, and shrugged. "Well, I still don't
exactly like this place ..."
"But you can see it is not holding a threat, half"
"Hai." she placed the point of her blade on the
pavement and cocked her head at him. "Well, I
haven't much to do, and since you're here . . ."
"You are sadly in need of practice," he mocked.
"Shesti!" she scoffed back, bringing her sword up
into guard position, "I'm not that badly off!"
By day the circle of trees no longer seemed quite
so sinister, especially after Tarma's instructor had
worked her into sweat-dripping exhaustion. When
dawn came—and he left—she was ready to drop
where she stood and sleep on the hard pavement
itself.
But the mares needed more than browse and
grain, they needed water. There was no water here
save what they'd brought with them. And Tarma
dared not truly sleep while Kethry remained en-
wrapped in spell-casting.
So when the first hint of the sun reddened the
sky, she took Hellsbane with her and cautiously
poked her nose out of the sheltered area, looking for
a hint of water.
There was nothing stirring outside the circle of
trees; the eerie landscape remained quiet. But when
Tarma looked at the dirt at the foot of the trees she
saw tracks, many tracks, and few of them were
even remotely identifiable.
"Kulath etaven," she said softly to her mare, "Find
water."
Hellsbane raised her head and sniffed; then took
two or three paces to the right. Tarma placed one
hand on the mare's shoulder; Hellsbane snorted,
rubbed her nose briefly against Tarma's arm, then
proceeded forward with more confidence.
She headed for a tangle of vines—none of which
moved, or had bones beneath them—and high, rank
bushes, all of which showed the familiar summery
verdancy. As the pair forced their way in past the
tangle, breaking twigs and bruising leaves, Tarma
found herself breathing in an astringent, mossy scent
with a great deal of pleasure. The mare seemed to
enjoy the odor too, though she made no move to
nibble the leaves.
There was a tiny spring at the heart of the tan-
gle, and Tarma doubted she'd have been able to
locate it without the mare's help. It was hardly
more than a trickle, welling up from a cup of moss-
covered stone, and running a few feet, only to van-
ish again into the thirsty soil. The mare slurped up
the entire contents of the cup in a few swallows,
and had to wait for it to fill again several times
before she'd satisfied her thirst.
It was while she was awaiting Hellsbane's satia-
tion that Tarma noticed the decided scarcity of
insects within this patch of growth. Flies and the
like had plagued them since they entered the
Pelagirs; as a horsewoman, Tarma generally took
them for granted.
There were no flies in here. Nor any other in-
sects. Curious . ..
When the mare was finished, Tarma guided her
out backward, there being no room to turn her
around; it seemed almost as if the bushes and vines
were willing to let them inflict a limited amount of
damage in order to reach the water, but resisted
any more than that. And as soon as they were clear
of the scent of the crushed vegetation, the flies
descended on Hellsbane again.
An idea occurred to her; she backtracked to the
bushes, and got a handful of the trampled leaves
and rubbed them on the back of her hand. She
waited for some sort of reaction; rash, burning,
itching—nothing happened. Satisfied that the vege-
tation at least wasn't harmful, she rubbed it into
the mare's shaggy hide. It turned her a rather odd
shade of gray-green, but the flies wouldn't even
land on her.
Very pleased with herself, Tarma watered Iron-
heart and repeated the process on her. By the time
she'd finished, the sun was well up, and she was
having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She was
going to have to get some rest, at least.
But that was another advantage of having battle-
steeds.
She loosed Hellsbane and took her to the en-
trance of the circle. "Guard," she said, shortly. The
mare immediately went into sentry-mode—and it
would take a determined attacker indeed to get
past those iron-shod hooves and wicked teeth. Now
all she needed to keep alert for was attack from
above.
She propped herself up with their packs and
saddles, and allowed herself to fall into a half-doze.
It wasn't as restful as real sleep, but it would do.
When hunger finally made further rest impossi-
ble, it was getting on to sunset—and Kethry was
showing signs of breaking out of trance.
She'd carefully briefed Tarma on what she'd need
to do; Tarma shook herself into full alertness, and
rummaged in Kethry's pack for high-energy rat
ions.
Taking those and her waterskin, she sat on her
heels just outside of the inscribed circle, and waited.
She didn't have to wait long; Kethry's eyes opened
almost immediately, and she sagged forward with
exhaustion, scarcely able to make the little dismiss-
ing motion that broke the magic shield about her.
Tarma was across the circle the instant she'd done
so, and supported her with one arm while she drank.
Kethry looked totally exhausted; mentally as well
as physically. She was pale as new milk, and scarcely
had the energy to drink, much less speak. Tarma
helped her to her feet, then half-carried her to the
tiny campsite and her bedroll.
Kethry had no more than touched her head to her
blankets than she was asleep. She slept for several
hours, well past moonrise, then awoke again with
the first appearance of the lights and noises that
had so disturbed Tarma the night before.
"They seem to be harmless," Tarma began.
"They are. That's not what woke me," Kethry
croaked from a raw throat. "It's coming—what I
called—"
"What did you call, anyway?"
After a swallow or two of water, Kethry was
better able to speak. "A kyree—they're a little like
wolves, only bigger; they also have some of the
physical characteristics of the big grass-cats, re-
tractile claws, that sort of thing. They're also like
Gervase's folk; they're human-smart and have some
gift for magic. They'd probably do quite well for
themselves if they had hands instead of paws—well,
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 15
