by Anne Logston
“These rumors made it even more vital that I obtain troops,” Sharl continued. “My father dared send none with me, for such an army would reach Cielman first if they traveled westward enough, but mercenary soldiers and mages for hire were arriving from the west, and we arranged messages for several companies to travel directly to Allanmere. They are likely arriving even as we speak. However, the defenses of Allanmere are hardly begun, and I hurried homeward to speed their construction. At the same time I worried about the hostility between the city and our elven neighbors, because the enmity of the elves, and our inability to obtain game and timber from the forest, would be a serious hindrance. A wagon of trade goods would follow from Cielman, but I had to find some way to make the elves listen to us.”
“You chose a strange manner in which to make friendly overtures,” Valann growled.
“Hush,” Rowan said, refilling Val’s goblet. “Let him speak. Do you see it as a certainty that this barbarian army will not pass us by?”
“Some part of the force certainly will,” Sharl answered. “But it is inevitable that others will come. There are no other cities within many days travel of Allanmere, and certainly some part of the army must follow the trade roads to Allanmere in search of supplies. Even if they were farther east, the river is deeper and swifter there, much harder to cross, and they must either change their course radically or fare farther west looking for a ford, which will, in turn, lead them back toward Allanmere.”
“Continue your story,” Rowan commanded, nodding her understanding.
“When we were attacked by a small party of the barbarians as I told you,” Sharl said reluctantly, “I at first had no thought to pursue them into the forest. Then I realized that pursuing these men made a likely excuse to enter the forest and perhaps earn a little goodwill with the elves. At least if we killed those who might endanger them, elves might be disposed to listen rather than slay us immediately. And a little time could be gained, as well, if we could travel directly through the forest instead of around it.
“I wish we could have caught up with the three before they happened upon Valann and Chyrie,” Sharl continued earnestly. “I swear to you that I have never wished them the slightest harm. We were delayed, however, fleeing an elven patrol roused by the barbarians, and forced from our intended road for some time before Rivkah’s magic allowed us to find our way back to their trail unseen. Her magic concealed us while we followed, although it was a heavy drain on her. We found Valann and Chyrie at the place of the altars as I said.
“Valann and Chyrie’s reaction, even in the face of our rescue of them, convinced me that my plan to gain the elves’ gratitude would never work,” Sharl said. “I would be lucky even to leave the forest alive to warn my people. I told Rivkah to cast the geas upon Valann, hoping that his presence would at least get us through the elven lands safely. We had no idea that Chyrie would share the bespelled wine and become similarly bound.”
“To free Chyrie would have meant lifting the spell from Valann as well,” Rivkah interrupted. “I might have risked it, but—well, Sharl felt that Valann couldn’t be trusted, and in any event, by that time it was almost as far back to their own territory as it was to the edge of the forest. Sharl was right that it was safer for Chyrie to return around the woods with Valann than to travel back through it by herself.”
“And you would have freed them at the edge of the woods?” Rowan asked, turning to Sharl.
Sharl was silent.
“I thought not,” Rowan said. “No, when their presence seemed to grant you safety, you had another thought: They could be used as hostages to force the elves to listen, to deal with you, and a female ripe with child would be doubly valuable.”
“That I did not know,” Sharl countered. “Your folk are far different from the other elves we have met to the north. We had no way of even knowing that Chyrie was with child. She herself only now knows.”
“That is true,” Rowan agreed. “But you would have held them as hostages nonetheless, is that not true?”
Sharl glanced briefly at Rivkah, then lowered his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “I hoped to force them to act as go-betweens with the elves, and as hostages against a favorable trade treaty.”
“Did you never consider warning Valann and Chyrie of the approaching army?” Dusk asked, scowling. “Or us, when you were captured? Did you not hope that such warning would buy your freedom?”
“Our freedom wasn’t enough,” Sharl answered slowly. “I had learned from Valann and Chyrie how little unity there was among the elves. I knew that if they were free, they would simply return to warn their own clan and likely no others, and there would be no chance of a treaty. I thought the same of your folk, Rowan—that even if you warned the other elven clans, that you would become involved in your own protections and have no reason to grant us anything.”
“So you would have held us ransom against a favorable bargain with the elves while they yet had no knowledge of the approaching army,” Valann said quietly, “and warned us and our folk when it was advantageous to you to do so—time enough for us to arm ourselves and provide a buffer between you and the advancing forces, but not so soon that we would turn our resources to our own preparation before you had all that you needed from us. That at least I can understand—the first action you have taken worthy of a Wilding.”
“Thank you,” Sharl said sourly.
“And what manner of trade goods were you intending to offer us?” Rowan asked, ignoring the exchange.
“We had no way of knowing what elves might need,” Sharl said. “So we brought what we wanted them to have—metal and weapons.”
Weapons! Chyrie and Valann exchanged glances. Chyrie’s dagger was over six centuries old, thin and worn, and Valann’s not much newer. Their short swords were just as old but in somewhat better condition, due to less use.
“You offered us no such weapons,” Valann said suspiciously. “Only the useless soft metal disks.”
“As I said, the wagon of trade goods was to follow,” Sharl said. “I had no extra weapons to offer.”
“Is there anything further you wish to tell me?” Rowan asked.
Sharl thought for a moment, then shook his head wearily.
“No,” he said. “Only that these other three acted completely on my orders. Any offense they might have committed against your people is entirely my responsibility. I ask that you not punish them for following my orders, as your people would follow yours.”
“And you have concealed nothing more from us?” Rowan asked.
Sharl looked her directly in the eyes. “Nothing.”
Rowan turned to Rivkah.
“And you, do you concur with what he has said?”
“Well, I—” Rivkah paused. “What happened, yes. I honestly believed that Valann and Chyrie would be released when we reached the edge of the forest. Sharl never told me the rest of his plan. But yes, he told you everything that happened. I—I am ashamed that I cast that spell.”
“Then lift it now,” Rowan said quietly.
“It is already done,” Rivkah said tiredly. “I lifted the spell when the nets fell upon us, so that if we were killed, Valann and Chyrie at least would be free to escape if they could.”
Sharl gaped openly at the mage, and Chyrie, as surprised as he, searched her mind for the invisible barrier and found it was gone. She nodded at Rowan’s questioning glance.
“That speaks in your favor,” Rowan said. “I will consider it in rendering my judgment.”
“What will you do with us?” Sharl demanded.
“I have not yet decided.” Rowan turned to Dusk. “It has come, then, sooner than I supposed. All the other clans must be warned. First, tell me this: How far is this army, and when might we expect it to reach us?”
Sharl shrugged.
“They have only the horses they have captured on their way,” he said. “They move with great speed for foot soldiers, but parts of the army stop to attack and loot wherever they
can for supplies. At the rate they have traveled so far—and this is only hearsay and rumor—the first wave should reach us in a month and a half or less—possibly much less, since as I said, there’s little to delay them north of Allanmere. The main body will come less than a week afterward, although I can only hope part of the main force will pass us by. How many there are, no one knows.”
“Then there is no time to be lost,” Rowan said, nodding to Dusk.
Dusk stepped to the back of the hut and returned with a rolled skin, which he unfolded near the fire. To Val’s and Chyrie’s wonder, the skin held a map of the entire forest, with clan symbols marked in places.
“There are still many clans we have not located,” he said. “It would take many days to question bird and beast to find them. Wilding is one we have not located.”
Rowan turned to Val and Chyrie.
“When the humans began to settle near the forest, we feared a day would come when our many clans would face a common threat,” she said. “I thought it would be the humans of the city. I joined the clans of Inner Heart, Moon Lake, Redoak, and Owl against such a time. It has been difficult, but four clans together are stronger than four clans apart. Do you understand?”
“I understand that you must send us back to our people,” Chyrie demanded. “They are on the northeast side of the forest and must be warned. Our lands will be among the first attacked.”
“It would take you many days to return,” Dusk said patiently. “A message sent by magic would reach your people in moments. But I must know where to send it. And not only Wilding, but every clan must be warned. Every hand must hold a sword, every eye watch for intruders, every ear listen for signs.”
“You propose that Wilding work for the defense of Inner Heart?” Chyrie asked incredulously. “You ask that we spend our lives to save out-kin?”
“I propose that we form an alliance, many strong against many,” Rowan said firmly. “I propose that Inner Heart and Wilding stand together, back to back, to defend the forest in which we all live. At the very least each clan must be warned; can you not agree with that?”
Chyrie was silent, but Valann bent over the map.
“Silvertip is here,” he said, touching the skin. “Lightfoot here, Riverside here”—he glanced at Chyrie, and she gazed back, troubled—“and Wilding here.”
Dusk silently penned in the symbols at the indicated locations.
“I can only hope that other clans will help,” Rowan said. “Dusk, warn what clans we can, and we will send messages as others respond. And add to the warning to the Wilding clan the message that Valann and Chyrie are safe and well.”
“And us?” Chyrie asked. “What are we to do now?”
“For now, go and enjoy an evening with my people,” Rowan said kindly. “They see your arrival as a sign from the Mother Forest, and I am inclined to believe it is true. I promise you justice for the wrongs done to you, and I promise you safety among my people.”
“Thank you, Grandmother,” Valann said, dipping his head.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” Chyrie repeated. She let Val help her up. “And what of the humans?”
Rowan looked sternly at each of the humans in turn.
“Very well,” she said at last. “You may also go. Remember that your word is given, and there will be eyes watching you.”
Sharl rose and bowed again.
“Thank you—Grandmother.”
Valann and Chyrie glanced at each other and grimaced, but Rowan let the presumptuous claim of kinship pass.
“Go, all of you,” she said. “I have much thinking to do.”
“How WILL YOU send messages more quickly than a beast could carry them?” Valann asked Dusk as they left the hut and walked toward the bustle of elves at the central clearing.
“There are other Gifted among us,” Dusk said. “We will combine our strength to raise the very forest spirits from the roots of the Mother Forest to bear our words. They travel faster than thought, and sending the messages thus will assure the clans of our sincerity.”
“We have experimented with mages combining their power, and achieved wonderful results,” Rivkah said, her eyes lighting with interest.
“You do ample damage alone,” Valann said sourly. “The Mother Forest protect us if more like you should come.”
Rivkah winced as if struck, and was silent.
The excited murmur of the busy elves swelled into a confused babble of excited greetings and questions as Valann and Chyrie approached. Edging warily around the humans, the elves pulled Valann and Chyrie here and there, some embracing them, others just wanting to touch these oddly dressed strangers. At least twenty different elves tried to press goblets, pipes, bowls of fruit and nuts, or joints of meat into their hands; as many more draped gifts of bead, bone, or tooth-and-claw necklaces or bright garlands of flowers over their heads. Valann and Chyrie, having never received so energetic a welcome even from their own clan, were more dismayed than pleased by the excitement and were glad to retreat to a quiet corner to eat and watch Rowan’s clan celebrate. A little more hesitantly, the elves offered the humans food and wine.
“I have never seen the like,” Chyrie murmured to Valann, watching a handful of elves dance to the enthusiastic if not well-matched talent of nearly twice as many musicians. “Look—Redoak and Owl clan dancing together, and over there, Moon Lake and Inner Heart sharing cup. Do you think—can they be mates?”
“Indeed they are,” a stick-slender female elf said, sitting down beside Chyrie. She was apparently Redoak, judging by her pale skin and the fiery red braid hanging down her back. “Welcome, kinsfolk. I am Brena. There are many mates between the clans now. It is one of the reasons our clan accepted Rowan’s offer to join the clans. Many of us are barren. There had been no children born to Redoak for nearly two decades.”
“But you have hopes,” Chyrie observed, gesturing at the green band wrapping the elf’s arm.
“I have hopes.” Brena paused. “Is it true that you have two seeds growing in your womb?”
“Dusk says it is true,” Chyrie said. “I have no reason to doubt him, but I can scarce believe it.”
“I would ask—” Brena fell silent again, glancing at Valann. “We know nothing of Wilding customs, but those of us who wear the green cord tonight will dance the High Circle, and I would ask—”
Valann laughed.
“I am honored, of course, kinswoman,” he said. “Why would you hesitate to ask?”
“Customs differ between clans.” A tall male, bearing a striking resemblance to Brena, joined them, bearing a joint of roasted fowl. “We have heard it said that some clans couple only with their mates, like—” He glanced at the humans. “I am Suan, and Brena is my mate. It would be a great kindness if the mate of one touched by the Mother Forest would serve at her High Circle.”
Val turned to Chyrie. “You will be all right alone?” he asked tenderly.
“Hardly alone.” Chyrie smiled. “Go and welcome. May you sow the seeds of many strong young ones tonight.”
“There is not one in this village who would not honor your mate,” Suan told Val. “She will lack for nothing we can provide her.”
“Then, as I said, I am honored. But be warned, for my insatiable vixen of a mate will exhaust every man in your village if she is let.” Val grinned. He kissed Chyrie before he stood. “You should dance for them, my own spirit.” He took Brena’s hand and let her lead him out of the firelit clearing.
“Is it true that you are a beast-speaker as well?” another elf asked Chyrie. “Gifted, and bearing child—two children? Are you an emissary of the Mother Forest?”
“It is true that I am a beast-speaker,” Chyrie said patiently. “That much I know. The turn of the seasons will prove or disprove the rest. I would be well content with but one healthy child. If the Mother Forest has chosen to bless me with two, I will find it as much a marvel as do you.”
“And look here,” Suan murmured, taking her hand and tracing the vine design on
her arm. “I had heard that some clans make art on their very bodies, but I had never seen such. Is there more than this?”
In answer, Chyrie stretched out her legs in the firelight and pulled up the edge of her leggings, showing how the vines had twined up the smooth amber skin.
“Val has been working his art upon me for five decades,” Chyrie said, chuckling. “What he will do when I have no more undecorated skin, I do not know. Already my back is full covered. He tried to teach me the art, but I have no skill or patience for even the simplest of designs.”
“Did Val say you danced?” Rivkah asked eagerly. “Like that?” She gestured to the hard-packed ground, where the elves—now hard-pressed for breath—were still dancing.
“Not like that,” Chyrie admitted. “Wildings dance alone. I dance a sword dance.”
“Sword dance?” Sharl asked, finally breaking his brooding silence.
“How many swords?” Suan asked.
“Eleven,” Chyrie said. “Sometimes I can dance twelve, but I am only confident with eleven.”
“Eleven,” Suan repeated, impressed. “We have no sword dancers in the village now, and the last I saw could dance only eight. Would you possibly consent to dance for us? If you feel fit, of course, after your ordeal.”
“What is a sword dance?” Sharl repeated.
“I will show you,” Chyrie said, “if I may have the loan of ten swords.”
She could have had thirty if she wanted them, as every elf near her thrust scabbards at her. While the elves in the clearing finished their dance, Chyrie selected ten blades. When the clearing was empty, Chyrie took the blades out of the scabbards and placed them carefully at angles, one sharp edge hammered firmly into the earth with a wooden mallet, the other edge gleaming upright. When all eleven swords were set to her satisfaction, Chyrie put the scabbards and mallet aside, laid her boots, tunic, and leggings over a log, and stepped back out into the clearing. A murmur passed from elf to elf as firelight glistened off her amber skin and the full extent of Valann’s work became clear.
Starting at the soles of Chyrie’s feet, two moondrop vines twined upward around her legs, branching richly around her torso, thinning only at her neck, and shoots trailed down her arms. In some places the vines bore buds or flowers; in others the moondrop berries hung full and ripe. On some prescient whim, Valann had even chosen to depict a cluster of golden berries on Chyrie’s belly, which now swelled gently.
