Suddenly Zara was there. “What is it?” she asked, looking up at him.
She knew what was wrong, but she was allowing him to talk about it, so he turned and poured out all of the turmoil that was within him to her. She listened to every word with care and understanding written across her beautiful face. She took in the look of anguish on his face, the pain in his words, the worry in his eyes, and he discovered that he felt better just talking to her.
When he had finished, she put her hand on his shoulder. “You have done all that can be done. You can only fight the battle immediately before you. You have sent protection into the countryside, which may be why the enemy does not show himself. You have promoted to service every qualified squire and able-bodied man that could be found. Our people are not as timid as you fear, and their beloved King has much more strength than he realizes. And do not forget, that your wife, and their Queen, still has a little magic left in her.”
Arnaud grinned. “I’m sure glad that you’re on our side.” Then he took his wife’s hand and turned serious, “I never wanted you to forsake your magic or your training. I understood your desire for Kamarie to have a normal childhood, but I think it’s time for our daughter to learn who her mother really is.”
Zara bit her lip. “When we come through this... we will talk about it then.”
❖ ❖ ❖
Traveling cross country on foot proved more difficult than Kamarie had feared. Three days had passed and the loss of their horses was greatly felt. Brant set a grueling pace, and as a result they were now into the deep wilderness, far to the south of the Mountains of Dusk. They were in the great forest that spaned the width of Aom-igh from Pearl Cove to the Harshlands. It was dark, and the trails Brant guided them through were barely wide enough for two to walk abreast. The uneven terrain, rocks, and roots twisting across their path made it difficult to keep up with Brant’s long and certain strides, and made conversation impossible. At noon on the fourth day, they came upon a clearing in the middle of the forest, and as they hurried across, Yole caught up with Dylanna and asked the question that had been burning in his mind for days.
“Do these forests have names, Dylanna?”
“Yes, they do, Yole. But this forest is so old that no one knows what its true name is any more.”
“Why not?”
Brant answered quietly, “Because the trees refuse to remind us.”
Yole gave him a look of disbelief and Oraeyn snorted, thinking that Brant was joking. But then Dylanna spoke again, after shooting Brant a look of surprised astonishment.
“Brant gave a very good answer to your question, Yole,” she responded mildly.
As they reached the other side of the clearing and continued on, deeper into the great woods on winding, narrow trails, Oraeyn found the going difficult. He seemed to be tripping over just about every root or branch that happened to cross the path. Every time he took a step it seemed as though some root or branch reached up to entangle his feet.
“Don’t these trees ever end?” Oraeyn growled as he tumbled over yet another tree root.
Kamarie grinned at him as he slowly picked himself up, but she wisely chose not to make any sarcastic comments.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would almost say that they are doing it on purpose,” he muttered angrily, glancing up at the owner of the offending root.
Dylanna overheard him and spoke, “Don’t be so sure that they aren’t. These forests are full of leftover pockets of magic from the golden years during the reign of King Llian, which nobody ever bothered to clean up. Besides the magic, these woods are also inhabited by wood nymphs. They have a great sense of fun and mischief, though they are good-natured and rarely do they mean any true harm. However, I have never found them to be very helpful, nor in the least accommodating.”
Oraeyn stopped and stared at Dylanna. “Well, can you tell me how to make them stop tripping me, if they are, in fact, doing it on purpose?”
Dylanna smiled. “I suppose you could always try simply asking them to stop.”
Oraeyn decided right then and there that Dylanna had either gone crazy or that all of them were setting him up to be laughed at. Still, he was beyond aggravated and decided that her suggestion was worth a try. He turned to the tree whose root he had just tripped over and addressed it, feeling more than a little foolish.
“Good tree...”
Kamarie giggled, and Yole laughed out right. Even Brant and Dylanna seemed amused. Oraeyn could feel his ears turning red, and he wondered once again if this were all just a big joke somehow. Ignoring the amusement of the others, he took a deep breath and continued.
“We are on a very important journey and we need to make all haste possible. Also, falling on my face is not very comfortable and neither is it a habit I want to get used to. So would you please stop tripping me? And could you kindly send the word along to all your friends asking them not to trip me either?”
The whole tree shook slightly as though a small breeze was blowing through its branches. Oraeyn got the feeling that if trees could laugh, then this one would be. He had never seen a tree laugh before, had never believed it possible, but this one was doing a fairly good impression. He glared at the laughing tree, then spun around and marched off in the direction that they had been heading. He managed to take two steps before a root promptly, and very observably, rose up out of the ground and tripped him.
Oraeyn jumped back to his feet and rashly drew his sword. “That’s it!” he cried. “This stops now!”
His last word rang through the forest and the sword began to glow and hum, but Oraeyn did not notice it. He was, instead, focused on the tree in front of him. He could not have said exactly what happened next. All he could remember was that one moment he was staring at the tree, willing it to stop tripping him, willing it to obey his command, and then the tree began to twist and shake violently. The leaves rustled, and for a moment Oraeyn felt that he could distinguish whispered words in the susurration. Oraeyn stepped back and stared at the tree in shock as it waved around as though caught in a ferocious windstorm.
Then, without warning, the tree stopped and was still again, as all good trees ought to be when there is no actual wind present. From behind the tree stepped a young girl, perhaps four or five years younger than himself; she was small and slight, so thin that she was almost transparent. Her skin was light brown, almost matching the trunk of the tree he had just been talking to. Her hair was long and brown, and her eyes were a deep, forest green flecked with gold that reminded him of light from the Dragon’s Eye hitting the leaves of a tree; there was age beyond her apparent years in her eyes, wisdom Oraeyn could not even begin to fathom. Her face was pixie-like and full of mischief, and she had long, graceful arms. The girl was dressed in a green, filmy dress that made one think the wind was blowing around her, even when there was no wind. She was altogether childlike, despite the ancient depth of her eyes.
For a moment, the whole forest seemed frozen. The girl looked at each of them in turn, a look of surprise registering in her eyes as she realized that they were all staring at her.
“Why did you pull me out?” the girl demanded in fury, storming up to stand in front of Oraeyn, who had been in the process of sheathing his sword, sensing no threat from this small girl. The top of her head barely came up to his chin and she had to throw her head back to look him in the eye, but the look on her face made Oraeyn take a step back, despite her small stature.
“Pull you out?” Oraeyn asked.
“Yes, you pulled me out, and I want to know why you did it and how you expect to put me back in again.”
Oraeyn shared a puzzled look with Kamarie. Kamarie shrugged. The girl was speaking clearly, but nothing she said made sense.
“Pulled you out of where?” Oraeyn asked.
The girl fixed him with a stare that said he must be either quite stupid or very unobservant.
Then she explained in an exasperated tone, “Out of my tree, o
f course.”
“You’re a wood nymph?”
Dylanna gasped.
The wood nymph put her hands on her hips. “What did you think I was? A water nymph?” She snorted. “Water nymphs look more like her,” she pointed at Kamarie, “dark hair, blue eyes and pale skin.”
“Hold on,” Oraeyn said, “you said that I pulled you out of your tree, how do you know it was me? Maybe it was someone else.” He was certainly hoping it had been someone else.
The wood nymph fixed him with a glare. “I know it was you who pulled me out of my tree because I could see your magic from several miles away; it’s glowing all around you like the light of the Dragon’s Eye. You are also the only one standing here who could have possibly pulled me out of my tree. I haven’t been out of my tree in a hundred years, not since I was just a sapling.” She paused, her face thoughtful. “Well, I suppose I should thank you for reminding me how to leave my tree.” Then her eyes sparked angrily. “But I cannot remember how to get back in! And it’s your fault! Put me back.”
Oraeyn was taken aback by the girl’s fierce words, but he was more surprised by the other things she had said about him. She can see my ‘magic’? Oraeyn thought, what magic? I don’t know anything about magic. Dylanna’s a wizardess, and Calyssia was too, Yole is a dragon, he must have some magic. Brant is full of puzzles and questions, and it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he is covered in magic. Even Kamarie probably has some magic about her, considering her mother’s a wizardess, never mind that she never told Kamarie about it. But me? No, not me. I don’t have any kind of power, not like that.
The girl was growing impatient and she stomped her foot. “I want to go back in my tree,” she said irritably, “the Dragon’s Eye hurts my eyes and my head ever so terribly, I don’t like the brightness of it. When I used to come out of my tree to dance through the woods, it was always at night. I do not like being out in the daytime. I’m nocturnal! Put me back!”
“Can trees be nocturnal?” Yole asked.
The wood nymph glared at him. “I’m a wood nymph, and I’m nocturnal.”
Yole was abashed. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“You’re grumpy, for a tree,” Oraeyn commented.
“Put. Me. Back. In. My. Tree.” The wood nymph’s voice was fierce and low. “Or you will never walk anywhere on land again without tripping every two or three steps, I swear it.”
Oraeyn sighed and put his hands up. “Fine! I don’t know what I did to pull you out of your tree, I certainly never meant to. But, if you think for some reason that I can put you back, I will try!” He scratched his head, trying to remember what it was that he had done shortly before the wood nymph had appeared. Then an idea hit him. He did not know if he could put the nymph back in the tree, because he was not at all convinced that he had been the one who had pulled her out, but he decided he might as well make a deal and get something out of the bargain.
“First, you have to promise to stop tripping me,” he said fiercely, “and to pass the word on to the rest of the wood nymphs to stop tripping me on purpose, or I will pull all of you out of your trees and then I will make you forget how to get back in permanently.”
The threat worked. The nymph looked at him first in derision, then in shock, then in actual fear. Her eyes darted around, and then she nodded in reluctant agreement. She threw back her head, closed her eyes, and hummed a few whispery notes that floated up on the breeze and seemed to hang over the whole forest for a moment, then the music faded away.
“Done,” she said.
“Good.”
He drew his sword and pointed at the wood nymph with the Fang Blade. Feeling somewhat foolish he said, “As you were!” And willed his words to send the wood nymph back into her tree.
For a moment, nothing happened, and Oraeyn lowered his sword, disappointed and dreading a life of tripping and stumbling over tree roots. He wondered if he could get assigned to one of Aom-igh’s few ships, perhaps he could help King Arnaud build up their navy when this was all over, assuming they came through the war alive. Then the nymph sprang into the air with a cry of delight. She hovered above the ground for a second and then came back down lightly. She spun in a circle, clapped her hands, and laughed excitedly, her eyes glowing.
“I remembered how to get back in!” she exclaimed, dancing around the travelers, her fragile, willowy form moving gracefully, like branches swaying in the wind. “And I can remind the others! You have freed us from our own forgetfulness!”
She danced lightly over to Oraeyn and kissed him playfully. “All my thanks! If you are ever in need, just call on the trees, we will come to your aid, the whole forest is in your debt. And I am sorry for tripping you, but oh! It was so much fun!” She laughed, kissed him again, and then vanished.
Oraeyn was too shocked to reply, and before he could think of one single thing to say, he realized that the girl had disappeared again. He glanced around, wondering if he would catch a glimpse of her again, then he heard the leaves of the tall tree that had tripped him rustle, making a noise that sounded very decidedly like joy. He looked up at the tree and smiled, knowing that the wood nymph had made it home. He caught Kamarie’s eye and smiled at her, but all she offered in return was a glare.
❖ ❖ ❖
Tobias paced around the large room that Prince Elroy had provided him. He was worried. King Seamas had arrived in Roalthae that morning, but Tobias had not yet been summoned and he feared what this might mean. The reports from Aom-igh worried him. If true, King Seamas would lose his throne forever by bringing his men and his people to dishonor. An entire village had been destroyed, and the defenseless and innocent families had been slaughtered. Tobias recalled the young Kestrel’s report, reluctantly given through shame-faced eyes:
“My commanding officer was looking for someone, or ... something,” the boy hesitated.
Tobias nodded patiently. The boy was a good lad, a Kestrel, in the final year of his apprenticeship and training. At the end of this campaign the lad would complete his rite of passage and enter into the ranks of the aethalons as a full-fledged warrior.
“Sir, I thought we were simply invading Aom-igh because they threatened us, but Aetoli Aoren mentioned something that they had stolen... or someone they were harboring? It wasn’t very clear. He said he had orders directly from the Council and the King himself to leave behind no trace of our passing. We asked some questions in the town, and Aoren seemed to think we had found what we were sent to find. Then we burned the entire village... sir... it wasn’t just fighting men we killed. Their women... they’re not like ours, sir, they had no military training at all. Sir... they weren’t a threat.”
Tobias’ eyes clouded as he remembered the report. There were plenty of men who would still stand against such acts. Any aethalon should know such an order carried a stain of dishonor with it. A good warrior followed orders but did not follow them blindly. But the order was from the Council. He frowned. The Council was manipulating the King, but how could he prove it? There was also the matter of Tobias’ own dishonesty. He had lied to his King, an offense worthy of death. He had no idea if the King or anyone else knew of his treachery; only one other person had known about his lie and he believed she had taken the secret to her grave.
Tobias straightened. He would not falter now. If the King knew of his treachery and was planning to punish him accordingly, he would face it. His treason had been committed in order to protect the King himself, and he still believed it had been the right thing to do. If Seamas did not know and his Council had found out about the fugitive some other way, well, then they could only guess at his own part in it, a part that had been so small it was possible nobody, not even the King, remembered it. It would not do to start panicking, not yet. He could still be useful to his King, and more importantly, to his country. He would serve both, with honor, and the threat of death would not alter that.
❖ ❖ ❖
The day was sweltering and muggy with a clear, blue sky
above them. The Dragon’s Eye beat down on them in scorching waves. Dylanna and Kamarie had pulled their hoods up to shield their faces from the almost unbearable light. It was too hot for hoods, but Kamarie figured that it was better than having her face red and burned the next day. Oraeyn and Brant did not comment on the heat, but they looked uncomfortable. Yole, however, seemed to actually enjoy it. Kamarie envied him.
As the day wore on, Kamarie wished with all her might that it would rain. She was uncomfortably warm and sticky and tired and thirsty. When she could stand it no longer, she threw off her hood. Dylanna scolded her, but Kamarie was in no mood to listen.
“I am dying from the heat, Aunt Dylanna,” Kamarie said forcefully. “I do not care if I get freckles or even burned by the Dragon’s Eye, the hood retains too much warmth and I cannot wear it.”
Dylanna did not say anything, but she arched an eyebrow in disapproval.
“How much farther is it to the Harshlands?” Oraeyn asked, to nobody in particular.
“Almost a six days’ walk from where we now stand,” Dylanna said.
Oraeyn wished that he had not asked. He was glad to see that the Dragon’s Eye was riding low in the late afternoon sky and that the evening star had come out. Everyone was tired, and the tempers were running thick. It was much to everyone’s relief that Brant stopped before the Eye had fully set and announced they would set up camp for the night. They put their packs down and made camp. They ate a cold meal, as Brant still would not allow them to start a fire, and as the evening grew darker they began unrolling their blankets and getting ready to sleep for a few hours.
However, no sooner had true darkness set in than Brant stiffened and held a warning finger up to his lips. The others froze, watching him, trying to read his face. Brant stood in the shadows of the evening with his head slightly cocked and his eyes drawn into narrow slits, as though he were trying to slice through the darkness of the glade to see what was hidden beyond view. He silently and swiftly drew his sword and crouched into a fighter’s stance.
King's Warrior (The Minstrel's Song Book 1) Page 22
