Riark’s eyes reappeared, and Nayr shivered, an entirely affected response but one learned and ingrained during human life that she had yet to shrug off. She realised she had done it and would have blushed if she had capillaries in her cherry-wood cheeks.
‘His works? You mean the mutilation of our trees into cutlery, buildings and statues?’ she snapped.
Riark raised a fern eyebrow.
‘Look about you, Nayr. Is not Mount Greenwood a mutilation under that definition?’
‘It is,’ she said without a moment’s hesitation, which disquieted the king. He felt her fingers melded into his torso and understood her intimately.
‘You think this a travesty of our power?’ he said, quietly.
‘We do not build. Mount Greenwood is a human affectation.’
‘This is nothing more than artistry of growth, Nayr,’ he said, but still in tune with her, he knew that she did not consider it to be so.
He separated from her and disappeared into his Mother Tree, reappearing on the soil in the Bower of the King.
‘This is the strongest forest in the world. There are glorified woods, pretty little things away in the Stragglers, but those to the south were eradicated by Awgren. He was wise enough not to contend with us and we have had peace. But now we are infested.’
Nayr stood, balling her hands on her hips.
‘Perhaps we should no longer stop our people fighting back?’
Riark shook his head.
‘It may come to that, but as it seems that banners are being staked in the ground, it is time we did the same for the forest. I will meet with their leader in the north and their queen in the south. I will state our terms, mark our borders and establish a basis for peace.’
‘And if they do not accept your terms?’
‘We will do as all good farmers must. We will eradicate the pests that invade our crops.’ He paused and beckoned to her.
‘Come.’
Somewhere outside a wolf howled, but they both ignored the sound. Nayr walked down to join Riark in the bower. She reached out and became one with him again. He was filled with an urgent sense of danger and fear of change. He focused on the need to grow and change, revealed his belief in caution, but also his decision that stronger measures may become necessary. They wrangled back and forth with their opinions for a day or so, and by the time they had done, they had taken root and the two of them had taken on the look of a young tree, limbs stretched over one another’s backs. They drew apart and Riark nodded to her.
‘I will go first to meet their leader in the north, this…’ he struggled, as did all older Dryads, with remembering individual names, but he recalled that the lord in the north was named after the woods. ‘…this child of the linden dell. We must show him the immutable power of the forest.’
Lord Linwood continued his long ride into the forest flanked by Lady Isobel. He wore full steel armour and a great helm. A shield hung over his back. His great-sword swung at his hip, and he sat upright in his saddle, despite the agony it caused his compressed vertebrae – a complaint he had dismissed ever since he gained it on the Field of the Scarlet Grass, facing down one of Awgren’s larger creations. He wore no cloak or cape, for he believed it too cumbersome in a fight, and so he ignored the cold as best he could. Lady Isobel was similarly attired, with her hair tied back into a long, thick plait. She too carried a great sword and shield bearing the emblem of her house – a river running across a green background. The two of them were an image of all the splendour of warfare that now remained among the Combined People.
Their horses reared as something ahead of them burst from the ground, sending up a shower of soil, chalk and rock. Lady Isobel cried out as she expertly wheeled her horse, bringing it back under control. Linwood’s reared up, kicking out forward with its hooves, but then righted itself.
Before them stood a diminutive, hunched man clothed in a hood and cloak of dark green leaves and vines. His face was not visible and he supported himself on staff of yew.
‘Who passes in the forest?’ The voice rumbled and cracked as though it came up from deep underground, splitting roots as it emerged. The man did not raise his head.
Linwood had taken fright quite badly, finding the appearance not only unexpected but eerie in its entire; a moment in which confidence was shattered by violence in a matter of seconds.
‘I am Lord Linwood of Stragglers’ End, Duke of Stragglers’ Drift and Crinan. Who bars my way?’ said Linwood, entirely forgetting Lady Isobel. She drew up alongside him, hand on the hilt of her sword.
‘And the architect of the forest’s destruction?’ said the figure.
Linwood steadied his horse, gripping its flanks with his thighs and loosening his hands, ready to take up arms.
‘Who bars my way?’ he said, forceful but moderate in volume.
‘This is not your way, child Linwood,’ creaked the figure and Linwood was reminded of an old tree swaying in a high wind.
‘This is not a way at all. There are no ways in the forest for the likes of man.’
‘I will not ask again,’ said Linwood, drawing his sword.
The figure raised his staff and thrust it back down into the earth with a terrible force. Less than a heartbeat later, and roots threw themselves up out of the ground, grasping Linwood’s sword and holding it in place in his hand. Another tendril swatted Lady Isobel’s hand away then hovered at the hip height, its tip swaying back and forth like a cobra.
‘You do not make demands nor do you command here, child of the linden dell,’ said the figure. It drew itself up, the hunch disappearing, and the hood and cloak fell away to leaves upon the grass. Beneath, Riark stood unguarded, his polished wooden flesh not far akin in aesthetic from a dummy Linwood had once slashed at in training using the very sword he held now. Riark’s features formed on his blank face, monstrous and terrible. His cold, blank eyes snatched at Linwood’s gaze and held it. Plates of wooden armour formed from Riark’s flesh, piling layer upon layer of breast and backplate, vambrace, gauntlet and pauldron, coif and helm. His long vines coursed out from under it and a beard of moss stretched down to his waist. He grew in stature until he stood a full eight-foot in height, and only then did a tall, spindly crown of mahogany burst forth from his head, shooting splinters down upon the cowed lord.
Linwood gulped and felt his own shoulders shaking. His mouth dried up and his lips shrank back, curling under his teeth. He licked his lips and gasped when he tried to speak. Isobel’s horse backed up then turned to flee. This time, she was not successful in checking it. Linwood’s mount bucked, reared and galloped back the way it had come. Still gripping his sword tight, Linwood was plucked from the saddle and cast down upon the grass without his weapon.
Riark bore down upon him, forcing one terrible foot into his breastplate. When he spoke, the words were a roar so loud that Linwood heard his ears bang. Sap sprayed across his face and momentarily blinded him until he could wipe it away on his sleeve.
‘I am Riark, king of the Dryads, and the forests are my realm, child of the linden dell. You would well to remember it. Draw off your people and leave my borders.’
Linwood said nothing, grasping for some retort and pondering how to take down such a creature. It seemed the stories his men told were not as fanciful as he had first supposed.
Riark leant in ever closer, rage splintering his face and scalding steam hissed from the cracks. Knots grew, shattered and reformed. Linwood looked into the nothing of his polished eyes and could not move.
‘When your men have left our borders, seek for me again, child of the linden dell. My people will be watching. We will discuss terms for your road; perhaps a route; perhaps nothing. But we will discuss what favours I am prepared to grant your kind; you will no longer take without asking leave.’
Riark decided to leave the man a little pride and did not force an answer. He pushed down with the foot and to his credit, Linwood did not cry out as his ribs fractured. Riark drew off a few paces, and some twenty Dryads, differing i
n the details of appearance but all terrible, all magnificent echoes of trees from some nightmare, stalked forward and planted their roots beside Riark.
‘We are the forest. I am the forest. You do not hold sway here, child.’
With that the vine holding Linwood’s sword whipped round and pointed the tip at his throat. It was suspended in this fashion for a moment and Linwood scowled at it, the faces of all those he had killed with it flashing in his mind. Then the sword drew back, spun at the hilt and with terrifying speed, the vine propelled the blade point first at Riark’s chest. It impacted with such force that the wood there rent open and the sword was driven in to the hilt. Riark smiled and the vine was sucked back into the earth. He reached out with his hand and withdrew the sword then tossed it at Linwood’s feet.
‘An honour to meet you, Lord Linwood, Duke of Stragglers’ Drift and Crinan. I look forward to meeting you again under friendlier circumstances.’
The Dryads turned and dived into the trees. All was silent aside from the sound of Linwood’s heavy, rapid breathing.
He scrambled to his feet and retrieved his sword, only to find it bent at the middle. He tossed it aside in disgust.
‘Riark!’ he hollered, ‘Riark.’
Only the sound of leaves in the wind and an owl hooting greeted his ears.
Linwood stumbled towards the nearest tree with an arm wrapped around his torso, cradling his ribs. He hauled the shield from his back and smashed it repeatedly into the tree.
‘Your men have retreated so quickly?’ a voice came from above him. Linwood looked up and saw Riark’s head emerging half way up the trunk.
Linwood staggered back and pointed up at him.
‘You unhorsed me, unprovoked, in retaliation for crimes I did not even know had been perpetrated. You break my sword and steal my dignity. You are a creature I cannot best nor kill. Come down and face me.’
Riark’s head disappeared inside the trunk, but, making Linwood jump, he stepped out from behind the tree, once more cloaked and hunched, clutching the yew staff. He walked over to where Linwood’s sword lay and taking it up in his gnarly hands, he bent it back into shape so perfectly, it was impossible to tell it had ever been distorted.
He held it out in open hands and Linwood retrieved it, never taking his eyes from Riark’s face.
‘Shall we begin again?’ said Riark, satisfied that he had conveyed his mastery of all that went on in the forest.
Linwood coughed.
‘Do you have a boon to ask of me, Lord Linwood?’ said Riark, softly.
Linwood nodded and then spoke,
‘Aye. I am building this road so that my people may pass through your forest to our home in the south.’
‘Such a road would be possible, but nigh impossible for you to traverse without stations on the route,’ said Riark. ‘These I will not allow. The north and the south are already cleared of the trees. The waist of this land must remain as untainted forest. I will not allow my realm to diminish any further. I might permit a road around the coast, if more trees are allowed to grow north of our borders in return.’
Linwood thought this unsatisfactory and the road far too long.
‘Tell me, Riark, what will you do if Lady Isobel persists with building the road on the route I have already approved?’ He thought he knew the answer but also knew his duty.
Riark’s face was not visible beneath the hood and when his voice came, it was deep and once more rumbled up from the deep.
‘When mites infest a plant, the only hope for the plant is to kill the mites. You can see this will be of no difficulty for us,’ said Riark. ‘Don’t be a fool.’
‘I have plans that depend upon this road,’ Linwood replied.
‘Make new plans,’ said Riark and stepped into the tree.
Linwood sheathed his sword and walked back along the road. He met her riding back, and she nearly rode him into the dirt. She saw him at the last moment, diverted into the trees and circled back around. She was wide-eyed and sweating.
‘Cousin, are you unhurt?’ she winced, seeing that he cradled his ribs.
He nodded.
‘Send word to all the sites to withdraw from the forest and make camp to the north. All construction stops for now.’
Riark watched them go and, satisfied, set out for his next destination through the soil. He decided not to trouble Lord Aldwyn as of yet, given that he had not set foot within the forest, but sent Nayr to watch the encampments of the Hinterland.
Riark stepped out of an apple tree and onto a courtyard of stone. He looked about him. The courtyard was encircled by low buildings and beyond them a high wall with steps running to the summit. Riark stepped forward and his companions also exited the tree. Cries went up from a group of people who had been gathered outside what may have been a temple on the north wall and a guard with a crossbow levelled it at them from the wall, calling out,
‘Call to the guards! Intruders!’
Riark held up his hands in a peaceful gesture and strode through the Folly streets, heading for the Maw Keep.
Chapter Fifteen
Cathryn was woken by a call to the guards. She was barely into a pair of leather breeches when an urgent rap sounded through her oaken door, restrained and clearly wanting to be louder were it not for her station. She slipped a calico shirt over her head and tied back her hair as she marched upon the door. The face of the guard on the other side was grave.
‘My lady, the peninsula has been breached by intruders.’
She frowned, continuing to tidy her hair.
‘Intruders?’
Ailsa bustled up behind her, careful to keep out of view from the door and began to gather up Cathryn's weapons and armour while also attending to her own.
The queen of the Combined People met the king of the Dryads halfway down the sloping road between the the Maw Keep and the wall surrounding the lower planes, a stretch of road enclosed by thin stone walls. Cathryn’s entourage planted themselves in a line barring the way, shields raised and spears poised, but a mere look at the intruders told them any attack would be useless.
Cathryn turned back to her aide.
‘I want archers with flaming arrows atop these walls. Seal all the gates on all possible escape routes.’
Ailsa nodded and set off at a jog, breaking into a run only when she was out of sight.
Cathryn pushed her way through the line of her men and watched Riark lead his people towards her. She recognised him as a Dryad from the tales of old, but even if she had never heard the name, she still would have made a well-reckoned guess as to the nature of this creature; his appearance told all that was needed to make such a judgement.
She said nothing, but stood with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting to see how the situation would unfold. In her mind she extrapolated what would happen if she were to order attacks upon these creatures in particular ways. She found it hard to imagine anything but fire would be a credible remedy to this threat - if it was indeed a threat.
Riark’s face became clear as he approached, serene but nearly featureless – his nose, eyes, mouth and ears merely hinted at by gentle contours in the wood. She detected power in his stance and his being, but not aggression.
The group of Dryads came to a halt and Riark bowed. As much as Cathryn wanted to wait, she knew she had to assert her authority and speak first. Her first instinct was to make a challenge regarding the breaching of her walls.
‘May I offer assistance?’ she said, her hands still gently clasped.
Riark straightened up and his mouth became more defined. It splintered open when he spoke and Cathryn could see green fronds of flesh within the tear.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, and his voice spoke of wet soil and damp chalk; of mulched leaves washed into a stream by the rain.
‘Perhaps we can offer assistance. Perhaps we might just take counsel together,’ he said.
For a moment he looked as though he were struggling with something, perhaps a troublesome word or elus
ive concept.
‘I should also offer apology; for the manner of my arrival. Our customs are not the same and my choices were limited. I am Riark and in your tongue, you would style me as king of the Dryads. All forests are my domain, but I take root within the Impassable Forest which straddles this continent. I would have sent word or come to your gate if I had the means, but we travel through the trees and there are none outside these walls. I would speak with the ruler of mankind,’ he said, and it sounded as though water was welling in his throat; many a nearby human felt a shiver run up his or her spine.
A voice came from behind Cathryn.
‘They appeared through an apple tree in a courtyard down on the plains, Your Majesty.’
Her estimation of the threat de-escalated somewhat in her mind even as she nodded, all the time considering how to proceed.
‘I am Queen Cathryn of the Combined People. I bid you welcome and accept your apologies, King Riark.’
She kept her hands clasped and did not turn as she went on,
‘Captain of the guard, dismiss the men. Send word to the archers to stand down and tell my aide to meet us on the road back to the Maw Keep.’
A few orders were barked and the bulk of the troops filtered back to their posts leaving Cathryn with only her personal guard.
Riark bowed lower this time and she could hear his body creaking and the green flesh tendrils between his calves and thighs became taut.
‘I can arrange quarters for you and your people,’ said Cathryn, but Riark shook his head.
‘We begin to feel drained when we are away from the soil for too long. Walking these stone streets is tantamount to throwing a fish upon the bank,’ he croaked.
Cathryn smiled and walked towards him, gesturing for him to turn and walk back in the direction from which he had come.
‘I know of an orchard not far from here where we can sit. Are you in need of food or wine?’ she asked as she fell in beside him.
Riark slowly shook his head as though it were for the first time. From beside him and up so close, Cathryn could see quite clearly the grain of his wooden skin and detect the wet aroma that surrounded him. He stood a full foot taller than her and seemed broad across the chest. In some ways, she thought, he reminded her of Lachlan.
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