"Hlp," he pleaded. "Gt… out… hrrr."
Dezra stuck her sword in the ground and pressed her ear against the bark. "Bor?" she asked
"Dry -ad."
Her brows knitted. "You let her bring you here?"
"Yes, I'm an idiot," he snapped. "Now get me out!"
"Sure. How?"
The hand drooped, and Borlos sighed. "I don't know. Just think of something."
Carefully, she probed the bark around Borlos's wrist. It was thick and gnarled, and didn't yield to her touch. She gouged at it with her dagger, flaking away a piece. The wood beneath was dense, however, and she couldn't do more than score it with her blade.
She stepped back, glancing around, and looked at his breechcloth on the ground. "Borlos," she asked, "are you naked?"
"No," he growled. "I'm wearing an enormous bloody tree. Or hadn't you noticed?"
Her eyes settled on the torch that lay, extinguished, beside it. She pursed her lips, then sheathed her dirk and leaned close to the tree again.
"I've got an idea," she said. "Don't wander off."
"Oh. Ha, ha."
Smiling crookedly, she picked up Borlos's torch and lit it with her own brand. When she had it burning, she took a deep breath and thrust it at the oak.
After a moment, the bark near Borlos's hand began to smolder. The whole tree shuddered, from its roots to its topmost boughs. Leaves and twigs fell around Dezra. She held the torch in place, letting it scorch the bark, char the wood beneath.
"Come on," she muttered. "Let him go."
The bark around Borlos's wrist began to open. She dropped the brand she'd brought with her, keeping Borlos's torch next to the wood, and grabbed his hand. She tugged, and his arm started sliding free. Planting her foot against the trunk, she pulled with all her strength.
"Ow!" Borlos grunted. The wood had opened enough for her to see his face, glistening with sap. "Dez, she's in here with me. She's not letting go…
Dezra heard a faint whistling sound from above. She looked up, saw a branch swinging down, and had just enough time to turn her face away before it hit, sending her reeling. She lost her grip on Borlos and hit the ground hard, ears ringing.
When she got her wind back, she turned back to face the tree. She'd gotten Borlos halfway out. Now his arm, his head and part of his chest were outside the tree, while the rest stayed trapped within.
"Well, that didn't work," he said sourly.
"Hold on," Dezra said, raising the torch. "Maybe if I try again—"
Another branch swung down. She felt the wind as its leaves whipped past her face, and stopped in her tracks.
"Or maybe not," she muttered.
She fell back, rubbing her forehead. Borlos winced as, slowly, the dryad started pulling him back in.
Then came another voice, behind her. "Dezra!" it called. "Borlos! Where art thou?"
She spun. "Trephas?" she shouted. "Over here! Hurry!"
They waited, listening to the sound of approaching hoof-beats. At last, Trephas emerged from the darkness, armed with torch and lance. Behind him rode Arhedion; at the rear, red-faced and puffing, jogged Caramon.
"What in the Abyss is going on?" Caramon asked as he stumbled toward Dezra. He stopped suddenly, gaping at Borlos. Only the bard's forearm and face poked through the bark now.
"Hi, big guy," Borlos said. "You happen to bring a hatchet with you?"
"No!" Trephas barked. "Don't harm the tree. It will only make things worse."
"Uh-oh," Dezra muttered.
The centaur looked at her sharply. "I thought so," he grumbled. "Only pain could have broken the spell of sleeping the dryad cast on us. What didst thou do to it?"
Dezra lowered her torch. "I burned it, a little."
Trephas winced. "Pray thou didn't hurt her too badly, then," he said. Dropping his lance, he strode toward the tree. A branch lashed down at him, but he caught it in his hand. "Be easy, Pallidice," he said. "It's me, Trephas."
The branch slipped free and withdrew into the heights. Trephas laid a hand on the tree's bark. "Oak-maiden," he said softly. "The human isn't yours to take. Release him."
A musical voice called from the tree. "I will not!" it huffed. "I love him. He wants to be with me."
"I don't!" Borlos protested.
"There," Trephas said. "Did you hear him? Release him, Pallidice, and come forth."
"Oh… very well."
The tree split open. Borlos tumbled out, naked and glistening. Arhedion hurried forward, helping him rise and stagger away from the tree. Dezra tossed the bard his breechcloth. While he was girding himself, his face red, the dryad emerged from the oak.
Her green hair shimmered in the firelight as she strode toward Trephas. He knelt before her, and she flung her arms about his neck, kissing him repeatedly.
"Trephas!" she exclaimed. "Oh, how wonderful! My tree's gained many rings since I saw you last!"
Arhedion laughed out loud. "She remembers thee well enough."
"So it seems," Trephas said, chuckling. Flushed, he grabbed the dryad's shoulders and held her away from him. "Pallidice, I need your help."
She looked at him, wide-eyed. "Truly?"
"Truly."
The dryad shrieked with delight and spun in a circle, her hair flying outward and revealing her dark, nubile body. When she stopped, she planted her fists on her hips and smiled at Trephas.
"Tell me, then," she said. "What is it you want?"
"Well, why didn't you come to me, instead of sneaking around in the dark?" Pallidice asked when Trephas finished explaining. "It would have saved a lot of bother."
"We were going to see you tomorrow," Trephas replied patiently. "You're the one who put us to sleep, and lured him to your tree." He nodded at Borlos, who looked away. The bard was dressed now, but he was very quiet.
Pallidice shrugged. "Don't blame me. You camped too close to my tree. Would you blame a spider for eating a moth that flew into its web?"
"No one's blaming anybody," Trephas said. "We want your help. Will you take us to Guithern?"
The dryad's face turned serious. It was a striking change from her childish mien. "You say the Wood itself's in danger from this… Grimbough thing?"
"Aye," Trephas replied. "And if Lord Chrethon wins, nothing will be spared. Not even your tree, Pallidice."
The dryad glanced at the great oak. A determined look settled on her face. "Very well, Trephas. I'll help you. But understand this—I do so only to save my tree. The paths my people travel aren't for mortals to walk."
"I understand," Trephas said. "I wouldn't ask, were the need not so great."
The dryad furrowed her brow. "There's one problem, though. I can take only one man inside with me. But never fear," she added, seeing the centaur's face fall. "If you let me return to my tree, I'll find help. Return to your camp and finish your rest. My sisters and I shall meet you here in the morning."
"Sisters?" Borlos blurted, alarmed.
Pallidice laughed. "Of course, my love! These woods are filled with dryads—and won't they be happy to see you!"
Tired though Borlos was, when they returned to camp he didn't sleep another wink.
"There are people," the bard told Caramon, "who'd consider this a sign they were about to enter paradise."
Caramon chuckled. He and his companions faced four dryads now. Pallidice was even more luminous in daylight. Her hair shimmered like emeralds, her eyes like amethysts. Her skin—she still wore not a stitch of clothing—was utterly unblemished. Her three companions were just as beautiful, each in her own way.
"I can see where they'd get that idea," Caramon replied wistfully. "If I'd met these lasses when I was young, I might still be living in one of these trees."
"I think I'm going to be ill," Dezra grumbled.
Trephas, who'd been speaking with Arhedion, turned to face the dryads. "Oak-maidens," he said, bowing. "This is an honor—I know thy kind don't often gather in such numbers in the open."
Two of the dryads nudged each
other and giggled, stealing quick glances at Borlos. Pallidice nodded. "How could we do otherwise, with our trees in peril?" she replied. "Now, come. Gamaia will take you to her tree, Trephas. Tessonda will take the old one, and Elirope will see to the girl. As for you," she added, looking at Borlos, "I'm keeping you to myseif."
"Oh," the bard said, smiling weakly. "How nice."
Trephas clapped Arhedion's shoulder in farewell, then let his dryad, Gamaia, guide him into the woods. Caramon went in a different direction, his face red as a summer plum as Tessonda took his hand and led him away. Dezra went last, following Elirope. When the others were gone, Arhedion took his leave as well, turning south and cantering away into the forest.
"Ah," Pallidice said, staring at Borlos through thick, green eyelashes. "My dear one. At last we're alone."
"Uh, well," the bard stammered. "That is, I—"
The dryad spread her arms. "Come to me, my love."
"All right," Borlos said.
He embraced her, his lips seeking hers. He ached with pleasure as their mouths locked together. When they finally parted—he had no idea when that was, except that it was still morning—she led him, laughing, toward her tree. The tree split open, revealing a narrow passage of living wood. Borlos followed her in, glassy-eyed and grinning. He was fully aware she'd cast a glamor over him with her kiss.
On the other hand, he thought, who gives a damn?
Sap flowed about him. She took him in her arms, and they kissed once more. As it had last night, the tree closed around them; this time, he didn't even think of escape. Wood sealed shut, then bark, and all was dark.
"What… happens… now?" he asked between kisses.
"This," Pallidice said.
The ground opened beneath their feet, swallowing them both.
22
Later, Caramon managed to convince himself he hadn't enjoyed a moment of his time inside the dryad's oak. At the time, though, he forgot everything, aware only of her touch, scent and taste, and of the undulating movements of the tree and its roots as they pushed him and Tessonda down into the earth.
Then, with a shout, he fell through open air, dropping with a clatter of armor and weapons onto solid ground. Tessonda landed nimbly beside him.
"Are you all right, my love?" she asked, concerned.
Caramon lay on his side, wheezing. "I'm fine. Just give me a moment's peace."
"Of course, dear one," Tessonda answered. "Shall I fetch a light?"
"That'd be nice," Caramon said. It was utterly dark. The air was warm and moist, and smelled of rich soil.
After a moment, a dim, blue-white glow kindled in the gloom. The dryad appeared before him, a crystal globe cupped in either hand. Inside the globes crawled countless tiny, glowing beetles.
"Bug-lamps," he said, standing up. Tessonda handed him one of the globes. He'd seen them before, years ago: they'd lit the Forestmaster's glade when he and his friends appeared before her during the war.
The thought of the Forestmaster jolted him back to the present. He glanced around. He and Tessonda were in a close, tight cavern of loose earth. Clots of soil fell from the ceiling and slid down the walls. Hairy tendrils—the lowest extremities of Tessonda's oak—dangled down, tickling his face. He could see no way out, and he stiffened as he realized he was buried alive.
"Be easy," the dryad said, smiling. "No harm will come to you. Your friends are close—follow."
As Caramon watched, Tessonda walked to a wall, and the earth parted before her, forming a narrow tunnel. She stepped inside, beckoning. "Come."
Caramon walked after her. The passage widened, making itself large enough to admit him. He stepped in, holding the bug lamp high. When he was ten paces down the tunnel, he heard a rumble behind him. Glancing back, he saw the chamber he'd just left collapse in a shower of earth. Swallowing, he hurried on, resolving to stay very close to the dryad.
Soon, the passage opened into a broader, higher chamber than the one they'd just left. He and Tessonda stepped inside, the tunnel sealing shut behind them. Trephas and Gamaia were in the cavern already. Tessonda flounced over to her sister dryad, and they whispered and giggled together. Caramon flushed, knowing they were discussing him and the centaur, then turned to regard the horse-man. Trephas, who also held a bug lamp, looked about in awe.
"Seen the others yet?" Caramon asked.
"No," Trephas replied. "They'll be along."
Before long, another passage opened in the chamber's far wall. Elirope emerged, Dezra right behind. Caramon saw his daughter's face was pale, except for two small blossoms of pink on her cheeks. She didn't even look at Elirope as the dryad went to join the others.
She glanced around. "Where are Bor and Pallidice?"
"I don't—" Caramon started.
Before he could finish, a shower of earth pattered down on his dragon-helm. He glanced up, shielding his face from the falling dirt.
"Get back!" Dezra shouted, grabbing his arm and hauling him away.
An eyeblink later, Borlos plunged through the ceiling, falling in a heap where Caramon had been. His lyre made a hideous sound as he hit the ground. Pallidice dropped down beside him, then offered Borlos a hand and helped him rise.
Pallidice conferred with the other dryads for a moment, then embraced each in turn. One by one, Tessonda, Gamaia and Elirope strode to the cavern's walls, stepped into the tunnels that opened there, and disappeared. When the dryads were gone, Caramon turned to his daughter, a bemused grin on his lips.
"I don't want to talk about it," she growled.
"Come," Pallidice said. She strode to the wall, opening another tunnel. "This is the way to Laird Guithern's realm."
They followed the dryad out of the chamber, Dezra going first, then Trephas. Caramon fell in behind, glancing back as Borlos shuffled after. The bard's mouth had curled into a lazy smile.
"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Caramon said.
Borlos nodded, still grinning. "Let's just say I could get used to this."
There was no knowing how far they traveled, in what direction, or for how long. Hours passed, or perhaps days. Without the sky to mark time, it was hard to tell.
They never saw more than ten paces ahead, or twenty behind. Pallidice stayed at the fore, parting the earth before her; when they had all passed, it collapsed again. Their surroundings changed little: black, rich-smelling earth, spotted with red clay and smooth stones. Roots and tendrils dangled from the ceiling. From time to time, the passage rose or fell, turned one way or the other. Pallidice set a brisk, steady pace. The others stayed close, lest the path continue without them and bury them alive beneath the earth.
"How do you know where the passage goes?" Caramon asked.
Pallidice glanced at him, puzzled. Then understanding dawned on her face. "Of course—your kind are used to traveling on roads. That isn't our way. I don't know where the passage goes because there is no passage—not like you're used to. I wish to go to Laird Guithern's domain, so the earth opens to take me there."
They walked on in silence, for hours or days. Slowly, the tunnel grew colder, its edges rockier. When they stopped at last, the ground beneath them was more stone than dirt, the air chill enough that their breath frosted before them, forming misty plumes that glowed eerily in the bug-lamps' light. The tunnel ended in front of Pallidice, in a wall of solid rock. She pressed both her delicate hands against it, and it yielded, opening to reveal a cavern of stone.
They could see right away that the cave wasn't empty. Many large bug-lamps filled it with light; smoldering braziers gave it heat. On the floor, surrounded by cushions, was a white, wool blanket. Upon it, a feast was arrayed: bowls of apples and berries, loaves of bread and wheels of cheese. There was a basket of sweet grass, two silver pitchers and four golden goblets. Four copper bowls, brimming with clear water, rested beside clean linen towels.
"What in the Abyss—" Caramon exclaimed.
"Not the Abyss," Pallidice replied. "We're at the threshold of the faerie realm.
You may rest here—wash yourselves, eat, drink—while I go ahead and speak to the sprites."
She strode into the cave, waving for the others to follow. They did as she bade, and the stone wall sealed shut behind them, closing so tightly that not even the slightest crack marked its edges. There was no other way out—at least, none they could see.
"How long will you be gone?" Borlos asked nervously.
"Never fear, my love," Pallidice answered. "No harm will come to you. If I wished you ill, I could have buried you alive at any time, while we traveled from my oak to this place."
"Well, that's a comfort," Dezra said with a wry chuckle. Borlos and Caramon shuddered.
The dryad wrapped her arms around Borlos. "We'll meet again, my love," she promised. "Don't forget me while I'm gone."
"I don't think that's likely," Borlos declared, dazed.
Giggling, Pallidice strode to the cavern's edge, opposite the way they'd come in. She touched the stone, and another passage opened. She stepped inside and turned back to the others. She waved farewell, blew Borlos a kiss, then the rock closed with a low, echoing boom. The dryad was gone.
"So," Dezra said. "What now?"
Caramon's stomach gurgled furiously. Borlos burst out laughing. "Well put, big guy," he said, sitting on one of the cushions. "Let's eat."
They washed first, using the water and towels. Walking through the open earth, had left them all smeared with grime. When they'd rinsed their faces and hands, they dined. The food was succulent—the bread warm and laced with herbs, the cheese soft and nutty, the fruit tart and firm. Trephas devoured the grass with relish. One of the pitchers proved to be filled with mead, the other with fresh milk; Caramon drank the latter while Borlos guzzled two goblets of fragrant honey-wine.
Dezra didn't touch any of it. Instead, she sat on one of the cushions, her back rigid, her sheathed sword across her lap.
Dezra's Quest Page 16
