“I’m Carin.” She edged away from the tree and kept the horse between herself and the oak as she knotted the reins around the mare’s neck.
“A lovely name!” the sprite said. “If I knew my own, I’d tell it to you and seal our new acquaintance. But I don’t remember my name. So call me only woodsprite, and I’ll answer.”
Busy with the horse, Carin didn’t reply. When she was satisfied that the reins wouldn’t drag, she slapped the animal’s rump to send it home. The mare trotted only a short distance, however, then stood with eyes and ears trained on its former rider as if awaiting instructions.
Carin ran at the animal, waving her arms and shouting. “Get away! Go home.”
The mare trotted a few more steps, then looked back again. Carin threw a clod at her. “Go home, or stay in these miserable woods all night—it doesn’t matter to me,” she snapped. “I don’t have time to bother with you.”
Adjusting the sack of food so that it rode more comfortably on her shoulders, Carin stepped out briskly. Until she could find shelter well away from the talking tree, she’d walk herself warm. She could walk for hours after dark fell, guided by the stars circling overhead. If her absence from the manor wasn’t noticed until nightfall, Verek would have the added challenge of tracking her in the dark on a course that even Carin could not have anticipated she’d take.
That swordsman would have less of a reason to follow this horse-thief, Carin thought, grimly, if that mare of his would go home. A glance over one shoulder found the horse still standing where she’d left it.
She cupped her hands and shouted into the distance: “You stupid beast! Go!”
“Loyal to a fault is that animal,” commented the woodsprite from very near.
“Oh—!” Carin half jumped, half stumbled away from the scrub oak that had spoken. Gathering herself, she spun around to face it. “I thought I’d left you behind, sprite, in that other tree. How are you managing to follow me?”
“In the forest, I can go anywhere,” the creature said. “Though I’m not sure how I came to be a dweller in trees, I find that I may travel through them freely, so long as they cluster thickly. Onto the plains, however, I may not venture. I tried it once and nearly expired before I found a tiny shrub for shelter. For days I lingered in its twigs, gathering strength for the leap back to the safety of the forest. I haven’t had the courage to repeat the attempt.
“But I digress,” the tree interrupted itself. “Let me entreat you again to go no farther, but to return to your faithful horse and ride back the way you came.”
“Woodsprite,” Carin said with more patience than she felt, “I can’t go back. I’ve been heading just one way for so long, I’m not sure I’d know how to turn back. And besides, it’s no good for me to be anywhere Lord Verek can find me.” Carin had a sudden urge to duck behind a tree as she thought of the swordsman’s intense gaze, the looks he gave her, terrifying and indefinable … glances that made her want to scream. “If he catches me out here a second time, he’s liable to do what he threatened before: kill me the slow and painful way.” She shook her head. “I need to keep going, sprite. Please don’t try to stop me.”
Striding forth again, Carin settled into the ground-covering walk that had become, over a summer of travel up from the south, her natural gait. The trees against the sunset made a pattern of stripes, dark then bright, which blurred at the edges of her vision as she hurried along.
“I—beg—you—stop—at—once,” came the woodsprite’s disconnected voice as the creature leapt from tree to tree to keep up with her. “If—you—go—on … you—will—die.”
“So I’ve been told,” Carin said, remembering Verek’s warning about perils massed along his northern borders. But why believe him? He’d lie, or exaggerate, to keep her scared and obedient.
The trees were silent. Maybe the doomsaying sprite had given up its efforts to dissuade her. Carin paced onward, putting the mare far behind. Had the animal turned for home, finally understanding that its rider was gone and it had to fend for itself? She didn’t like to think of the little mare spending an unsheltered night in the woods, probably skittery at being so far from the warmth and security of its stable.
“You—do—not—know—what—waits—ahead.”
The woodsprite hadn’t left. It clipped its words as it jumped tree-to-tree beside her. “Death—will—find—you … ere—you—go—far.”
Sighing, Carin stopped. The woodsprite’s words of warning were only slightly less annoying than the broken way it said them. Conversations with the creature were best held while standing still.
“Then teach me, sprite, what you think I need to know,” she demanded. “What waits ahead? What danger could there be in this empty forest?”
“This forest isn’t empty, Carin,” the woodsprite said, a bit breathless but fluent again. “You speak, I think, of the mage’s ensorcelled woods. When you traveled there, then indeed you were quite safe—kept from harm by the mage’s spells. I bide in his woods myself, you know, for that reason. No woodcutters trouble the mage’s trees. In them I rest peacefully, secure in knowing that my haven shan’t be hewn down as I sleep.
“But the mage’s woods are behind us now,” the sprite went on. “Where your horse took fright at nothing you could see: that was the edge of the magic lands. Here in this forest, beyond that boundary, is the realm of the wasteland dogs. I tell you as a friend, Carin—the dogs are ferocious beasts, and most especially vicious at this time of year. They sense the coming of winter and know they must gorge and fatten themselves before snow and ice deprive them of their prey.”
Carin barely heard the woodsprite’s warning about wild dogs. She fastened on its talk of ensorcellment and unseen boundaries.
“Sprite, what are you saying about magic and spells? You don’t really believe Verek’s woods are hexed, do you?” Involuntarily Carin threw a glance over her shoulder, half expecting to see a figure in black riding at her on a tall hunter. “I know the man can be brutal, but you seem to think he’s something even worse.”
“The powers of the mage and the bewitchment of his woods are plain for all to see … all, that is, except you, Carin,” the woodsprite softly replied. “I watched as the mage took you to the woods’ edge, where his spells dance between the trees. I watched the magic flow around you but not touch you. I saw the astonishment in the mage’s face when he realized that his spells were nothing to you.” The sprite made a whistling sound, as if chuckling at the memory.
“You watched?” Carin stared at the woodsprite. “I knew I saw something moving in the trees beside that clearing.” She stood with her hands on her hips. “If you hadn’t distracted me just there, I wouldn’t have ended up on the ground with my knee split open, bleeding all over those rocks.”
And the swordsman wouldn’t have come off his horse to doctor her. Carin could still feel his hands on her leg. Verek’s eyes had been inches from hers. She recoiled at the memory, and shrank as she recalled riding in front of him—his arms enclosing her, caging her. Sweet mother of Drisha, she never wanted to be that close to the devil again.
“Ah,” the woodsprite said. “Indeed I am to blame for your unfortunate accident. My apologies. I meant no harm. I wished only to see where the mage would take his captive and what might come of it. My curiosity overcame me, for until that day I had known of no one—excepting myself—who wasn’t bound by the mage’s enchantments.”
Carin rubbed her forehead. She was having trouble taking in what the woodsprite was telling her. Each question the creature answered raised a dozen more.
“If the ‘spells’ don’t work on you, then how do you know they’re real?” she demanded. “Maybe you’re just repeating a tale that you got from some villager. Maybe the people around here refuse to enter Verek’s woods because they’re superstitious, or they’re afraid of the owner. As I learned myself, the Lord of Ruain takes a dim view of trespassers. That’s really why no one sets foot on his land, isn’t it?”
A patch of bark flickered on the trunk of the tree Carin was addressing. The sprite’s reply looked and sounded agitated.
“Upon my oath, the ensorcellments are real—do not doubt them! Though I am not fettered by them, I see the spells that curtain the trees. They are as clear to me as to the villagers. Indeed, all manner of beasts that creep, crawl, run, or fly sense the enchantment, and they stay away. Didn’t your mare balk? And the mage’s favorite mount, which took you up after your fall? Do you not remember how that horse hesitated at the crest of the hill, putting you back afoot for the final steps to the barrier?”
“There was nothing—” Carin started to argue, then broke off, thinking suddenly of Verek’s question. “How have you come through the barrier?” he’d asked her.
“It’s nothing to you,” the sprite said. “But you appear to be quite alone in your inability to perceive the boundary that is raised by magic. All along the edge of the enchanted woods, whether to north or south, the spells weave and twine. Even I won’t approach them too closely. I am careful to leap for the safety of a tree that bears no touch of the sorcery. You, however, stand drenched in the mage’s spells as the enchantments wash over you with power enough to consume your very being—and yet you pass through safely, knowing nothing of the nightmare visions that swirl around you.”
Carin shivered. Evening had closed in as the woodsprite spoke, and the air was cold. She needed to keep moving. But the creature’s extraordinary claims held her riveted.
“If I can believe you, sprite, then apparently only you and I can enter and leave Lord Verek’s woods anytime we want. For you, they’re a haven away from the woodcutters’ axes. But how can you stay there? Aren’t you afraid of him?”
“Don’t think me braver than you are, Carin,” the woodsprite said. “The mage is formidable, and I wouldn’t wish him for a foe. I find, however—to my relief and his vexation—that he can’t touch me. I merely leap, like so”—Carin saw the tiniest flash in the dusk—“and I’m beyond his reach.” The woodsprite’s voice was no longer near, but came from some distance away. “Then I leap again”—another spark flashed—“and I elude him once more.” The voice had returned to a nearby oak.
“It maddened him when we first met,” the sprite continued, “and he discovered that his spells were useless against me. Even now, he speaks resentfully whenever our paths cross. But I’m grateful that he chooses to speak at all. In my wandering days, before I settled in the mage’s woods, I found no one who would converse with me. All whom I approached ran away in fear, though I spoke courteously to them. All ran … that is, until today … this happy day when I offered a friendly warning to you, Carin, and you did me the great honor of accepting me as I am.”
What a pitiful little creature, she thought. It sounds starved for company. Since it could leap so agilely and match the pace she set, maybe it would agree to accompany her on her journey. After so long alone, she wouldn’t mind some companionship either.
Carin started to ask. But the creature cut her off.
“Shh—quiet!” it ordered. “Listen!”
“What?” She strained to hear over the sighing of a light wind in the treetops. At first there was nothing, only a faint whiff of skunk in the air. But then a high-pitched whine floated in on the breeze, followed by frenzied, distant barking.
“A dog!” the woodsprite shrieked. “And where there is one wasteland dog, the pack follows. Run! Run to the safety of the mage’s woods. Hurry! I beg you, Carin.”
Her hand flew to the hilt of the stolen kitchen knife at her belt. If it was only one dog, she could kill it. Was one dog enough of a threat to send her cowering back to Verek’s woods?
The sprite screamed at her, its voice thin and shrill. “Carin! Run! You cannot stand against the pack. Wasteland dogs delight in killing. Run—or feel your throat torn out!”
Standing stock-still in the gloom, Carin listened for the single dog that had barked. But a wicked howl rent the dusk, followed by another and another, until the air throbbed with the cries of the pack.
Dark shapes glided through the trees, barely visible in the owl-light just before full night descended. The pack had closed on her with uncanny swiftness. Carin smelled their stench, and gagged. Then she was running, her feet pounding the ground but much, much too slowly. All of reality seemed to go slow, but not the dogs. They flew over the ground, gaining on her with every stride.
Her lungs hurt. Her heart was bursting. She threw back her head but she couldn’t cry out, having no breath to spare.
A light flashed ahead. In it, she glimpsed a way, maybe, to live.
“Quickly!” the woodsprite shrieked at her. “Here—to me! Climb for your life.”
With the pack’s leaders howling at her heels, Carin sprinted for the tree. She couldn’t mistake which one the sprite meant for her to go up. A large oak stood in a clearing directly in her path, its limbs glowing with some weird inner light like a beacon to guide her. Barely breaking stride, she launched into the chest-high lower limbs and worked frantically to pull her body higher, out of reach of snapping jaws and tearing teeth.
Something grabbed her. She kicked furiously. But it was not a dog that held her. The sack of provisions on her back had snagged in the tree’s branches. She grabbed its cord and yanked violently. She couldn’t free it.
“Woodsprite!” she cried. “Help me!”
Tree limbs snapped. “Climb!” screamed the sprite in an anguished voice. “You … are … freed …” The voice trailed off, and the tree’s inner glow winked out.
Carin lunged upward as the branches that had held her gave way. The limbs crashed to the ground. Sharp cries from below said the branches had landed squarely on the pack.
She climbed until her feet found a thick limb that grew almost straight out. A wave of dizziness threatened to drop her off it; she hugged the tree trunk until she’d steadied. Then she wedged herself into a sturdy fork and sat gulping air, willing her pounding heart to slow. Below her the dogs yipped and whined, impatient to claim the prey they’d treed.
“Woodsprite?” Carin called softly when she had breath enough for words. “Are you there?” Her voice was little more than a whisper to avoid exciting the hunters below. “Sprite?”
She got no answer.
“Woodsprite!” she shrieked as a rush of ungovernable panic threatened to take her. “Where are you?”
Only the dogs responded. For minutes the forest rang with the clamor of the pack in full throat, baying its bloodlust.
On her branch above the dogs’ heads, Carin sat very still, her fingers digging into the tree’s bark with such force that they burned. She closed her eyes and took slow, deep breaths.
“Woodsprite!” she called again in a hoarse whisper when the dogs’ howling had abated somewhat. “Are you there?”
“I am,” came the soft reply.
Her muscles relaxed. She wasn’t alone.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Where did you go?”
“I … had to leave this ancient oak … for a time,” the sprite murmured. “The branches …” The voice trailed off anew, filling Carin with fresh alarm.
“Stay with me, sprite,” she hissed into the dark. “Are you hurt?”
“I am … undamaged,” the sprite replied in a voice thinner and reedier than before. “When I broke the branches to free you, there was … distress. I took myself to another tree, until the … discomfort … had passed.”
Carin stroked the tree trunk. But which creature did she attempt to soothe? The wounded oak, or the woodsprite inside it?
“You felt pain when you broke the branches?”
“In the tree, there was pain … or something like,” the woodsprite said. “I cannot clearly explain it. A feeling of loss and a great hurt overwhelmed me in the moment when I caused the limbs to break. I couldn’t abide in this tree—not even long enough to see that you reached safety. But the feeling is gone now. This great oak is distressed no more.”
Carin pressed
against the trunk. “Sprite, if it wasn’t for you, those dogs down there would be gnawing my bones right now. I should have listened. But how soon before they lose interest? I can’t stay in this tree all winter.”
“Friend,” said the voice, stronger now, “the wasteland dogs are as noted for their endurance as for their savagery. When they’ve treed their prey, they don’t leave until the doomed creature falls to them. It’s useless to imagine that you can outlast them.”
“You’re saying I’m doomed?” Carin murmured, her stomach twisting.
“I am telling you only that you cannot trust in time and patience, for the pack has both on its side. Rather, you must hold tight, high in these branches, through the dark hours. By midday tomorrow—sooner, if luck goes with me—I will have brought the one who can save you. For now, I must leave you in the care of this ancient oak. But be of good heart. I’m going now to find the mage.”
“What?” Carin cried. “You don’t mean Verek? You don’t seriously intend to hand me over to him, do you? Did you hear anything I said, woodsprite? If you betray me to him, he’ll kill me.”
Carin groped in the dark, trying in vain to lay hands on the sprite and shake sense into the creature. “Listen to me! Verek barely stopped short of removing my head when he caught me on his land. Now I’ve trespassed again. And I told him I’d work for him, and instead I ran. And I stole from him—bread from his table, and a good knife.” Carin made a quick mental inventory and realized she had more to account for. “I also helped myself to those amazing healing powders that Verek makes. And to top it all, I stole the mare. Horse-thieving is a capital crime, sprite.
“Tell me this, my faithless friend,” Carin demanded. “Why should Verek bother to come to my rescue? When you’ve found him and told him what’s happened, why shouldn’t he laugh at you and say, ‘Let the dogs have her—she deserves her death—they’re saving me the trouble of hanging her’?”
WATERSPELL Book 1: The Warlock Page 7
