by Ari Marmell
"True," Kaleb said. "But Corvis Rebaine was one of them."
Jassion scowled and stalked toward the trees, the smirking sorcerer trailing in his wake. CAREFULLY THEY WORMED THROUGH THE BOLES, pushing and occasionally chopping branches out of their way: Jassion with Talon, Kaleb with a broad-tipped falchion he drew from gods-knew-where. But after fewer than a dozen paces, their progress stalled. The briars and the foliage grew too thick for Kaleb's blade, and while the Kholben Shiar was not so easily ensnarled, the close press of the branches provided Jassion inadequate room to swing.
Branches twisted, contrary to any breeze, to block their path, scraping and tearing at exposed flesh. Thorns pierced leather and wool and even, at times, between links of chain, seeking blood. The air grew thick with pollen and the scents of growing things, cloying and disorienting. Somehow, though they could see the gleaming sunlight behind them, its illumination failed to reach them. They stood surrounded in a pall of darkness as heavy as the plant life.
A distant wolf howled, swiftly drowned out by the flapping of a hundred wings and the chittering of unseen rodents. And when that faded away, replaced by dozens of tiny chewing mouths and the whimpering of predator turned prey, even the jaded Jassion blanched, glad now for the shadows that hid his weakness from his companion.
"We should never have come." The baron was shocked to recognize his own voice in that whisper, to feel his lips moving, driven by a fear growing stronger than his will. "Oh, gods…"
Kaleb's own face remained as wooden as the trees, and if the same soul-deep terror churned through him, it would have required more than a brighter light to see it. With two fingers, he pushed against the nearest branch, watched as it swiftly sprang back to block his way. He pushed it again, then sniffed carefully at his fingers, apparently oblivious to the panicked whimpering beside him.
He slid the falchion beneath his cloak, back to wherever he'd kept it hidden, and raised both hands before him. He spoke, and though his voice barely rose above a whisper, his words were clearly intended for ears other than Jassion's.
"You brought this on yourself."
From upraised palms poured a sheet of incandescent flame, a torrent of obliteration. It burned a furious blue at its core, leaving spots dancing before Jassion's eyes, but at its edge, where it licked hungrily at tree and leaf and grass, its all-consuming fury was an angry red. On it came, a geyser of fire that seemed to draw strength from the pits of hell itself. And perhaps there was something unholy in Kaleb's spell, for the smoke that snaked upward, curled around the trees like a lover's caress, smelled overwhelmingly of brimstone.
Still it continued, until Jassion could see only the blinding light, hear only the furious crackling of the fire. He fell to his knees, hands clasped over his ears, rocking back and forth and praying for it to end. He felt the heat wash back over him, singeing the hairs on his hands, and wondered if his supposed ally were mad enough to incinerate them both.
So overpowering were the reverberations in Jassion's ears, indeed in his mind, that when the torrent finally ceased, he took a moment to notice.
Small embers flickered, marking the edges of the clearing that Kaleb had burned into the flesh of Theaghl-gohlatch, though already they were beginning to fade, overwhelmed by the wood's unnatural darkness. Layers of ash coated the soil, and more fell in gentle flurries. Animals wailed from all directions, cries of agony and endless rage, and Jassion was certain he heard words-subtle, alien, unintelligible-intertwined within those calls.
Hands still limned in a cerulean aura, smoke leaking from beneath his nails, Kaleb stepped into the path his fires had gouged. "I can do it again!" he called, and his voice carried far into the forest, passing through the thickest copses without hint of distortion or echo. "And again, and again still! I am no mere traveler for you to consume, and if need be I will burn my entire path, step by step! You cannot halt us, not like this."
And before Jassion's unbelieving gaze, Theaghl-gohlatch replied! Shadows danced at the limits of sight, shadows that should not, could not exist in the muted light of the dying flames. Wood and bark creaked in the darkness, accompanied by a low moan that was most assuredly not the wind, and Jassion somehow knew that he and Kaleb now stood upon a path that led directly to the heart of this godsforsaken nightmare.
Kaleb gestured for Jassion to rise. The flames around his hands flickered once and were gone, but were swiftly replaced by a steady golden glow hovering in the air just above his head. It wasn't a lot of light, but more than enough to illuminate the path before them.
"How mighty a sorcerer are you?" the baron rasped as he rose shakily to his feet, leaning briefly on Talon as though drawing strength from the demonic weapon.
"Enough," Kaleb said simply. "I suggest we move. Theaghl-gohlatch is home to more than just the trees, and not everything is so easily intimidated."
"You find trees easy to intimidate, do you?" Jassion asked wryly as he fell into step beside his companion, and then cursed himself bitterly for providing Kaleb the opening when the man replied with a jaunty "My bite is far worse than their bark."
"This is not the time for jokes, Kaleb!"
"Sure it is. I mean, if I wait until after this place kills us horribly, it'll pretty much be too late, won't it?"
It felt strange, striding through that haunted wood, and not merely in a spiritual sense. Beneath the coating of ash, the soil was thick, even spongy. It seemed greedy, reluctant to release their boots, making each step a struggle. Though the trees had apparently cleared their way-Jassion's mind shied away from thinking too long about the implications of that-many a branch and root jutted into the path, tripping them, forcing them to duck and edge ahead at awkward angles. They walked within a pocket of sanity that reached only as far as Kaleb's light; beyond, in the dark, lurked trees nourished not on water and sunlight but a palpable, undying hate.
The baron knew, in that moment, that everything he'd ever heard of Theaghl-gohlatch was undeniably, horribly real. And he wondered how anyone, no matter how vile, could stand to make this place their home.
Chirping split the dark beyond, a sound very much like a nattering sparrow, and for an instant Jassion began to relax. But the sound continued, never wavering, until the baron felt his muscles quivering, the hair on his neck standing straight-and only then did the woodland song rise to a shrieking laugh. It was a sound no animal, nor any sane man, could have produced, vacillating between a little girl's delight in some new toy, and the gibbering of an old man toying with a new little girl.
Jassion wiped the sweat from his brow with one hand, kept the other firmly wrapped about Talon's hilt-if only to keep it from trembling. He felt a weight pressing on his chest, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. For a single heartbeat, he was back in the stone cellar of Denathere's great hall, a boy feeling himself slowly crushed beneath a dozen bleeding corpses…
No! No, I will not have it! I am the Baron Jassion of Braetlyn! I have faced the worst monster history has ever birthed, and I have proved him nothing more than a man! He shoved past Kaleb, staring into the looming dark, shouting aloud, now, though he never realized he had spoken. "I did not yield to him! I will not yield to you!"
Perhaps, just perhaps it was that cry of defiance that saved him, for had Jassion remained behind his ally, his attention locked on his inner struggle, he'd never have seen the shadows gathering, moving against Kaleb's light, reaching toward them like questing fingers.
But because he had, when the attack came, Jassion stood ready to meet it.
Rustling, there, in the trees; an explosion of shattering sticks in the foliage beyond. Jassion saw nothing of his assailant, but he felt a gust of movement from the left and dropped into a defensive crouch, taking a blow against his hauberk that would otherwise have gashed open his unprotected hip. A piercing shriek stung his ears as something razor-edged raked across the mail, and though the chain kept his flesh unscarred, the force alone staggered him. Branches and leaves bent inward behind him, the only vi
sible sign of his attacker's passage.
He shifted aside, placing his back to Kaleb's as the forest came alive. From all directions he heard them, though still he saw nothing: footsteps, impossible to pinpoint or to count, circling to a rhythm almost ceremonial, even singsong, in its cadence. The susurrus of brushing leaves blended seamlessly into a choir of incomprehensible whispers. And beyond it, rising to a pitch practically beyond the baron's hearing, that inhuman laughter, never once pausing for breath.
Another flicker of movement, and Jassion swung Talon in a low arc. With a speed seemingly impossible in so large a weapon, the demon-forged blade sliced the air, whistling a war cry of its own. A jolt ran through Jassion's shoulder as something intersected Talon's sweep. An impossible, childish voice rose in an abortive scream and died in a liquid gurgle. Milky crimson, like no blood Jassion had ever seen, spattered across the leaves, and he clearly heard the sodden thump of something striking the earth near his feet. Yet in the single instant it took him to glance down, something else darted from the undergrowth to claim its prize, leaving no sign of the foe he had slain.
A dozen voices hissed as one, and the mocking laughter died without echo. Even the parchment-like whispers ceased as though the leaves themselves held their breath, perhaps hoping to escape notice.
Refusing to be lulled or distracted, Jassion maintained his crouch, waving Talon before him in wide sweeps, struggling to spy his foe in time to strike. Behind him he thought he heard Kaleb muttering under his breath, but dared not glance around to see what the sorcerer might be doing.
They came as one, from not one side but every side. Sound without source, movement without form, they remained unseen-if they were even real at all. Jassion felt the tip of his blade bite into invisible flesh, and then the Kholben Shiar was wrenched from his hand by something that drooled and babbled beside him. He could not help but scream as something punched between the links of his hauberk and into the flesh of his side, searing his nerves like grain alcohol poured across an open blister. Blood welled thickly between the intertwining rings, and though there wasn't enough to suggest an especially deep or gaping wound, Jassion felt the strength drain from his legs. Face beaded with sweat, chewing his lip to distract him from the pain until it, too, bled freely, the nobleman took a step toward his fallen blade, then one step more…
The ground rushed toward his face, an open-palmed slap delivered by the world itself. Jassion tasted soil, felt it filling his nostrils. His hand flopped like a landed fish mere inches from Talon's hilt. Already the pain of his wound was fading, settling into a manageable if constant burn, but Jassion heard the drumming of feet all around him, knew that the seconds he needed to regain his strength were seconds his foes would deny him. Something shifted above, casting a shadow not merely of darkness but of cold across his exposed back, and Jassion all but choked on the bile that surged behind his tongue, the bitterness not of death, but of failure.
The blow never fell, though, for suddenly Kaleb was there. Perhaps driven by whatever magics he had summoned, his limbs moved with speed to rival the forest creatures' own. Jassion twisted onto his side and looked up to see a blur of motion from out of the darkness. And he saw Kaleb step into the assault, his fist closing on an unseen throat and lifting his enemy high with one arm. For a single heartbeat, Jassion thought he could just make out a silhouette, far too lanky and long of limb to be human, flailing as it dangled from the sorcerer's fist. Then Kaleb's hand closed with a vicious crunch, and those limbs fell limp and melted away into the endless night.
Kaleb spun away from his fallen companion, blue flames once more flickering across his fingers. Jassion felt the first burst of searing heat as Kaleb unleashed his magics, and then his wound flared with renewed agony and he felt nothing at all. THE WORLD WAS BOBBING AROUND HIM. Up, down, up, down, not violently but sufficient to send new throbbing through his aching head, new heaves through a gut that, he was surprised to discover, had already emptied itself. Only with that revelation did he notice that his mouth tasted of bitter residue, and he could only hope that he'd not vomited on anything that wouldn't readily wash.
Jassion pried open eyes that felt gummed shut with the dregs of a tanner's vat, and gazed blearily at the forest slowly marching past him. It must have been drunk, that forest, since it was so hideously out of focus. He snickered at that, a dry, croaking sound that ceased abruptly when he realized just how badly his throat burned.
"And here I was sure you didn't know how to laugh, old boy."
The sound of Kaleb's voice was a dash of cold water to the soul, and Jassion's head finally began to clear. He was walking, had been so delirious that he hadn't even realized it, and wondered how far they'd come before the slow creep of consciousness had finally reached his brain. Something was tapping him in the back of his head as he walked; he felt back over his shoulder and discovered Talon strapped securely, if not comfortably, to his back.
He was held aloft not by his own strength, but by an iron-rigid grip that Kaleb had looped under Jassion's own arm. His side stung, but it was a dull twinge rather than the roaring agony he'd felt before.
"What…?" he croaked, rather pleased to have gotten even that much out.
"The sidhe," Kaleb told him, jostling the baron painfully as he shrugged, "apparently don't take kindly to intruders in their home. You, my heavy friend, were rather badly poisoned. If the mail hadn't absorbed some of the blow, scraped some of the venom off their claws before it got into your flesh, I might not've been able to save you."
Jassion pushed himself away, standing-wavering and unsteady, but standing-on his own two feet. With a tentative finger, he prodded through the hole in his hauberk. His skin came away covered in some sort of lumpy sludge.
"Spellwork?" he asked dubiously.
"No. My magic is focused primarily in, ah, less gentle directions. I'm not much of a healer, and what few restorative incantations I do know wouldn't have been potent enough to help you. I do, however, know my herbs. A few particular growths, chewed into a paste, should have counteracted most of the poison. You'll be sore for a time, though, and you'll need to keep the wound clean. It'll be prone to infection."
The baron shuddered at the notion that he owed his life in part to Kaleb's saliva, but nodded his thanks. Kaleb passed him a waterskin from which the parched Jassion drank greedily, rivulets spilling across his chin.
"Careful. We only have so much until we get the horses back," Kaleb warned. Then, "Can you walk on your own?"
"I can." Jassion actually wasn't certain, but he'd make himself certain rather than ask the other man to help him again.
"Good. I'm sure this'll come as a surprise, you being an aristocrat and all, but people don't actually like carrying you."
Jassion shook his head, then staggered as a new dizziness washed over him, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
"Are they gone?" he asked after he'd managed a few score paces on his own.
"Hmm?"
"The sidhe," Jassion said. "Are they gone?"
"Oh, they're around somewhere. But I don't believe they'll be disturbing us any longer." Before Jassion could ask for clarification, the sorcerer continued. "What in the name of Chalsene's darkest orifice was with that speech, anyway? 'I will not yield'? Really? You sounded like a drunken playwright. I could produce more stirring oratory by squeezing a goat."
"Kaleb-"
"An incontinent goat."
"Kaleb, do you really believe I give a damn what the sidhe think of my 'oratory'?"
"Who the hell's talking about the sidhe, old boy? I have to be seen with you, you know."
Jassion twisted and reached out a hand, unsteady but enough to stop Kaleb in his tracks. "My lord," he snarled.
"Um, what?"
"That's the second time you've called me 'old boy,' and I'll not have it. The proper form of address is 'my lord.' "
"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry. Apologies, my lord Old Boy."
Jassion's eyes flashed, and his
hand darted toward Talon's hilt like a striking snake. Clutched it-and froze, without drawing the hellish steel, beneath Kaleb's glower.
"Be very sure," the sorcerer said, his voice low. "You've seen what I can do, old boy. You tasted a morsel of it, back at Castle Braetlyn. Even if you could take me-which, just to be clear, you can't-you'd be dooming your hunt to failure."
The baron was panting hard with anger, the tendons in his hands creaking with pressure against the Kholben Shiar. "I will have your respect!" he demanded.
"No, you won't," Kaleb said. "You'll have my assistance, and that'll just have to do. If it makes you feel any better, it's not you. I really don't have much use for any of-well, anyone at all, actually."
"It doesn't."
"Ah. I can't tell you how much that bothers me. Really, I can't."
Jassion took a few deep breaths and, visibly struggling, tore his hand from Talon. He swore he heard a faint wail of disappointment from deep within the blade.
They continued without another word. The world was largely silent, its only sounds the breaking of occasional twigs beneath their boots, or a rustling leaf suggesting that, even if the sidhe would bother them no more, someone watched their progress through Theaghl-gohlatch.
Kaleb's mystical light offered little by which to judge the time. Jassion, guessing as best he could, figured that about two hours had passed between his rough awakening and the moment his companion, following gods-knew-what trail, finally led them to their destination.
It wouldn't have looked at all incongruous in most woodlands, that simple hut, but here in the malevolent reaches of Theaghl-gohlatch its presence was nothing shy of miraculous. No trees sprouted within a dozen feet on any side, though their branches intertwined above it, the sensuous fingers of wooden lovers. On three sides of the house, the clearing thus formed was filled with a chaotic admixture of herbs and vegetables, growing in no rows or pattern Jassion could ascertain.
