FORTY-EIGHT
Alaric was the first to admit that things didn’t quite feel right now. On the one hand, there was magic here—lots of it, and he could sense that it was neither benign nor hostile. It was just there, as though it had always been a part of the whole world and ever would be. On the other hand, he kept getting the impression that the appearance of the land was deceiving.
Once they forded a shallow river that lie on the edge of the Cursed Dales, they were heading into a thick forest of ancient trees. Alaric took a deep breath and noticed that the air had a sweet taste. Was that part of the magic as well? Ronan had retreated again, after instructing Alaric to find the road and head through the forest and over the mountain pass.
So far, Alaric had seen nothing that resembled a road.
Talena kept one hand on her sword. She looked at the trees as though she expected them to leap on her at any moment.
The late afternoon sun angled through the rifts in the trees, spreading a dappled carpet of light across the ground. Though autumn, there was a hint of spring in the air. Did winter ever come to this place?
“I don’t like this,” Talena whispered.
“What’s the matter now?” Alaric asked.
“I keep getting the feeling that the trees have eyes,” she said.
Well, he couldn’t fault her there. The same sensation was starting to haunt him as well. Vagner? he thought. Do you sense anything?
The demon sniffed the air more in the manner of a dog, then flared nostrils like a true horse. I’m not sure, the demon’s voice whispered in Alaric’s head, and he felt the thrum of the bond they shared as sharp as a knife’s edge on his nerves. As if the magic in this place was enhancing the thread that bound man and demon as one. There are many smells here that remind me of things I think I have forgotten.
But do you sense anyone alive?
Everything here smells alive, the demon thought back.
Alaric sighed. He wished Ronan would come forth and say something. As annoyed as he had felt at the bard spirit’s secretive ways lately, he still needed that guidance. Speaking the language of Garrowye seemed perfectly natural on his tongue, more so the closer to his destination he came. He couldn’t help wondering how much of himself he was losing? Or what he had gained.
But Ronan seemed to be hiding now, and no manner of coaxing would bring him forth. This puzzled Alaric all the more. If the wall was gone from his mind, where was Ronan hiding?
Horns, he wished Fenelon and the others were here. He glanced at a flowering shrub as they passed it and saw a multitude of bees hovering around the blossoms. Odd...he thought bees only gathered pollen in the spring.
Bees...
Horns, he wondered how Shona was faring. Was she even alive? He would have given anything to see her now. She would have been squealing and begging him to chase away the bees. The thought made him smile slightly with distraction...
...And then he heard Talena shout.
Alaric turned just in time to see several of the trees moving, their roots pulling out of the ground. They stood up like spiders, dribbling clumps of earth from uneven legs as they closed together so that there was only one path ahead.
“Go!” he shouted to Talena, and hoped she would obey. A glance over his shoulder showed him more of the trees were drawing their roots out of the soil and starting after him. Without thinking, he slammed heels into Vagner’s sides. The demon leapt forward, nearly unseating Alaric. He barely managed to cling to the mane and the saddle. “Go!” Alaric shouted again, and leaned over Vagner’s neck. The demon stretched out his pace and surged ahead, catching up with Kessa.
Like a gauntlet, the trees closed in, forcing the riders to follow a specific trail. Behind them, the trees would close over the path, leaving no sign of where they had come from. Always ahead, there was the gap.
Ronan, what is happening? Alaric cried in his own head.
Suddenly, the gap widened out. The trees stopped forming up. Alaric and Talena rode into a grove where old ruins had been shrouded in vines and moss. They clattered into the middle of some sort of courtyard where marble flagstones had been laid. Talena dragged Kessa to a halt and looked back just as Alaric reached her side.
The trees were not crossing the edge of the ruins. In fact, they had gone back to being ordinary trees again. He could see through them...see the road they had taken as though it had always been there.
“What sort of magic was that?” Talena hissed.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Alaric said. His own heart was thundering with excitement and anger. Why had Ronan said nothing?
He glanced around at the ruins now. White marble peeped out from under the green. The marking looked vaguely familiar...
Shadow Vale. The heart of the volcano wherein he had battled Tane Doran. He had seen their likeness there.
“This looks like a temple,” Alaric said.
“It is a temple,” Talena said and frowned. “A heretic temple. We should go back...”
“Through those trees?” Alaric asked.
She shot him a hard look as though she was about to reply. Then she shook her head. “We’ll find another way,” she said instead.
“There is no other way...”
Both Alaric and Talena turned at the sound of that voice. It was deep and rich, and sent delightful chills through Alaric’s flesh.
“Once you have passed the guardians of the first wood, you have no choice but to go on...”
“Who’s there?” Alaric called. He scanned the woods and the ruins with eyes and mage senses, but he saw no one.
Talena started to draw her sword when white light sprang up from the edges of the marble ruins, forcing her to hide her eyes from its brilliance.
“Draw not your steel in this sacred place,” the voice said.
“Show yourself!” she shouted.
“In time,” the voice replied. “For now, go on...”
Alaric felt a blast of air passing him. The wind carried the odor of spices and earth and water and life itself. Briefly, he thought it moved with the translucent shape of a dragon for he sensed the great expanse of wings and felt warm breath caressing his face. Then it vanished, leaving not a leaf stirring in its wake. He glanced over at Talena. She was covering her arms over her face.
“It’s gone, I think,” he said.
She lowered her arms and looked around. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” he said. “Except that we can’t go back. The trees won’t let us.”
Her eyes narrowed and she sighed. Snagging Kessa’s reins, Talena turned the mare eastward and rode on into the ruins. Alaric urged Vagner to follow.
Ronan, please tell me, what was that? he begged in his thoughts.
But Ronan said nothing, and Alaric was starting to wonder if the bard was there at all.
Vagner listened to Alaric’s calls to Ronan, and the demon wanted to tell Alaric that Ronan was there. But Ronan was whispering to the demon from within Vagner’s own mind, using his True Name to keep him from saying anything about it. At times, it felt as though Ronan was weaving a wall inside Vagner’s mind. But that is not possible, the demon thought. Not without consent. Then again, considering that Ronan knew Vagner’s True Name.
Why are you frightening Alaric this way? Vagner wondered. Why won’t you answer him?
“I am not frightening him, demon, I am gathering my strength,” Ronan replied. “And he wastes my time with his questions, just as you do.”
For what purpose would you be gathering your strength? Vagner asked.
No reply.
Oh, very well, keep your secrets then, Vagner thought. Though the demon had an inkling that he knew them already. Had Ronan not told him something before?
What was it he could not remember?
There seemed to be a number of gaps in the demon’s memory these days. And he was sleeping. Really sleeping. Demons were not supposed to need sleep. Vagner had pretended to sleep more than once just to keep
Alaric from worrying over him.
And then there was the desire to eat. It surprised him when Ronan told Alaric to let Vagner go feed. Yet, Vagner could not recall what he had eaten...or if he had eaten at all. He was always hungry, so that didn’t count. But was he feeding?
He could not remember.
I don’t like this, Vagner thought.
Ronan heaved a sigh...or so it seemed. Alaric might have actually been the one who sighed.
“Do you not want your freedom?” Ronan asked.
More than anything, Vagner admitted.
“Then let me do what I must so we both will be free,” Ronan said. “For once I have what I want, you shall have your freedom.”
And what do you want?
“My freedom as well,” Ronan said.
But...doesn’t your freedom mean that you will cease to be?
Warmth flooded the demon, a sense that his question had invoked the bard spirit’s wrath. “No, I will not cease to be, demon, but you will if you do not cease this foolish prattle and let me get on with my affairs.”
Very well, Vagner thought. But at least tell me what that thing was that spoke to us and felt like the wind...
“Something we had hoped would not know of our coming so soon,” Ronan replied.
His presence seemed to fade even in the demon’s mind. Vagner would like to have asked more, but he heard the words “Remember not,” whispered with his True Name.
And once more wondered what there was not to remember.
FORTY-NINE
I don’t like this, Talena thought.
Those aggressive trees had been one thing. Her heart was still running fast, and it was a wonder she had not wet her breeks. They drove us this way on purpose! To what purpose, she did not want to think.
Then there had been that voice—the creature that spoke and could not be seen. That rushed through them like a wind. She shuddered to even consider what that might have been. Definitely something so large, she could not begin to conceive of its vastness.
But now, as she rode through the trees along a well-marked trail that wound a path over mossy hummocks and skittered left and right through gnarled trees, she kept feeling the eerie sensation that there were eyes watching her every move. She turned from side to side when the trail allowed, and more than once in her peripheral vision, she thought she saw bark shift, trees stir, and eyes...large, soulful eyes that would close the moment she looked right at them.
It was enough to give a rock the jitters.
Still, for all that, she was feeling an odd kinship with this strange place. The air around her sang a song to her Aelfyn blood, and that melody wooed her like the sweet words of a lost lover returned. Called to something in the pit of her very being. The further from the Cursed Dales she got, the stronger the sensation grew. Light and trembling, the touch of it wafted across her nerves like gossamer threads, as though she were being drawn gently to the heart of a great spider web of power. And well below, she sensed a regular rhythm, the slow and ponderous beating of a giant heart. Ymir’s heart. The Heart of the World, she had once heard it called.
Talena could even feel the beat through Kessa as the mare gracefully picked her way over beds of thick moss that deadened the sound of her hoof beats. That struck Talena oddest of all. Kessa was moving as quiet as a lamb with none of her usual twitching and balking. Never before had the mare felt so calm under the saddle.
She glanced over at Lark and the big yellow beast he rode. Even Ordha’s hooves made no sound. The bard—he’s a heretic, Talena, and you must never forget that, she scolded herself—wore an expression of child-like wonder. And why not? she thought. He is at home here...
“It’s like spring here,” he muttered as his eyes roved over the forest.
Talena frowned. He was right. The trees in the part of the forest that edged the Cursed Dales were crowned in autumn’s gold and amber glory. But here...the air was warm, and the trees wore green. Thick moss was underfoot. Flowers bloomed in patches of sunlight. And while brief glimpses of the landscape ahead through the gaps in the trees showed snowcaps atop the peaks of the Blacktooth Mountains, a rich verdant carpet skirted the range.
What was it her mother once said?
“It is always green in the land of the White Ones, even when Winter covers the rest of the world...”
“This isn’t natural,” Talena said aloud.
“Oh, but it is,” Lark said softly, reverently. “It’s the way the whole world once was...”
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
His face reddened a bit. He shrugged. “It just seems natural, is all,” he said and managed a faint smile. “There is a song I learned as a lad.”
He dropped the reins trustingly and reached around, drawing his small harp from his pack.
“The spring of the world
Is fading fast,
The shadows seep
From down below,
The summer sky
No longer last
As darkness comes
To shape the way
For shadows to swallow
The green
And the sun shall
No longer be seen...”
He stopped playing and frowned at the harp in his hand.
“I’m not sure I like that song,” Talena said.
“Neither do I, come to think of it,” Lark said, still looking puzzled. “Oh well.”
He turned to put his harp away. His expression made her wonder, for he looked confused, as though he had no idea where he had learned that song. Talena watched him, wondering what was going on in his head when Kessa suddenly pricked her ears and whickered softly.
Talena hauled the mare to a full stop. Lark gave her a puzzled look, but she raised her hand to indicate silence was wise. Slowly, she dismounted from the saddle, hitching Kessa’s reins to a root. The mare’s attention was fully on the rise ahead of them now, and Talena had learned long ago that horses were faster to sense someone approaching.
She carefully eased towards the rise. Lark dismounted and followed. Close to the top of the hummock, she got down on her stomach and crawled to the summit. Lark followed her example and crept up beside her.
The path rolled downhill towards an open area where a horse and rider stood. The horse was flicking ears back and forth. The rider was on his knees, studying the ground.
A scout, she thought. And a young one with little experience, as near as she could tell. A more seasoned scout would have noticed that his horse was on the alert. This youth wore the uniform of a Garrowye soldier. As she watched him, she realized that he was picking up farthings, brushing the dust aside as he collected them in one hand.
Greedy little...
She shook her head. If there was a scout, there had to be a troop around. She had heard no sound of clashing steel, nor the shouts of men locked in battle. Still, they could not be far away since scouts rode in short advance in forested areas like this. Talena frowned. The last thing she wanted was to be found by a troop, even of her own countrymen, because she would have to try and explain to them what she was doing out here with a heretic. Best we just slip away and let the fool count his coins.
But then, she froze. Wait. Why would coins be laying on the path unless...
The scout’s horse had been looking in their general direction, but suddenly, the animal’s head whipped eastward, and by instinct Talena glanced that way as well.
The green of the forest floor was moving. At first, she thought the moss had come to life and gone creeping through the trees. Then she realized the movements she perceived were not moss, but mottled green cloaks. A very large number of them. A small army... It was hard to be certain just how many bodies were there, but she was willing to bet that more than fifty men were moving soundlessly through the woods. Some were drawing bows and arrows. Others were pulling swords.
And all of them were looking right at the clueless scout still gathering his coins.
Talena scoured the ground
around her until she found a large enough stone. Before Lark’s startled gaze, she reared up to her knees and tossed the stone towards the movement among the trees. It landed true, hitting one of the green cloaks hard in the head.
The owner cursed.
The scout suddenly sprang up, dropping the farthings as he snagged his horse’s reins and mounted up.
“Bring him down!” someone shouted. “Stop them!”
Several of the green cloaks turned and pointed towards the hummock where Talena was now scrambling to her feet. She reached down and grabbed Lark by the arm and shouted, “Run!”
Of all the stupid... Alaric’s first instinct was to grab Talena and shake her hard. But there were green-cloaked figures rushing up the hummock towards them with swords drawn. There would be time for scolding her later...assuming they got out of this alive.
Besides, having done the damage, Talena was now urging Alaric towards the horses. “Run!” she barked at him again. “Go! Save yourself!”
It would have been a good idea had the green cloaks not been so close. And he knew, in spite of what Ronan would have said, that there was no way he could leave her to face their attackers alone. I’ve already left too many behind and regretted it. So he turned and drew his own blade and made ready to meet his attackers.
Talena met the forerunner of the green cloaks head on, yelling and swinging her sword. Their steel clashed, and she kicked at her attacker’s nearest knee, knocking him off balance with the blow. Before she could kill him, another came at her, forcing her to drop under the swing of his blade. He nimbly dodged her riposte and attacked again.
Alaric turned his attention to his own defense. One of the green cloaks had reached him, and under the hood, he could see a very youthful face painted green and brown to blend with bark and leaves and shadows. The youth was short too...much shorter than Alaric.
Horns! He’s only a boy!
But that lad swung his sword with the skill of a man, and shaking off the momentary distraction of that discovery, Alaric barely got his own blade across in time to stop the attack. Rather than kill the youth, Alaric retaliated with a fist to the jaw. His punch sent the youth staggering back into the next green cloak, and briefly caused the path between the trees to be blocked with stumbling bodies.
Wandering Lark (The Demon-Bound Duology) Page 32
