"Leave my forest and it shall be yours again," the treant threatened.
"Do you believe you can make threats?" asked Leng. "We could make kindling of you. I understand that in Thay, the Red Wizards have devised a way to corrupt your kind into twisted trees in their service. If only I knew how to do that."
The treant let out a low, reverberating war cry. Its roots snaked out toward its foes, who slashed at them with their weapons. Leng surreptitiously slipped backward. Vonelh unleashed a spinning, whirring collection of magical blades that cut into the treant's trunk. Bessick held a root in place with his raw strength, while Ardeth sliced at it with her sword. Nithinial and Royce readied their crossbows and launched their steel quarrels at the treant's face, but then they heard Leng behind them mutter, "If we are not permitted fire..."
Royce spun backward, leaping toward the priest, but he could not stop Leng from what he was doing. A fiery column burst from the air above and rained down onto the treant as if from heaven itself. It enveloped the treant so that every limb was awash with fire that leaped and coursed along its body, incinerating leaves and burning away bark. The roar of the blaze overwhelmed its screams as its body crumbled away.
Ardeth and the Antiquarians could do nothing but try to jump free of the wave of fire that coursed down the treant's trunk and over its writhing roots. The axe fell from its grasp, crashing atop one of the tents and flattening it.
The treant's instinct to protect nature—especially its woods—was overwhelmed by its agony, and it clambered into the open wood, flames leaping from its branches and igniting neighboring trees on the clearing's edge. Before it could escape the clearing, Bessick swung his heavy spiked chain and snagged the treant along its trunk. A swift yank pulled it backward, tumbling to the ground and sending Gan and Ardeth scrambling as it landed in a crackling inferno of leaping flames and blazing heat. The group darted back to the edge of the clearing, though the quick-spreading flames would soon threaten them again.
"Take cover," called Vonelh, before spreading his arms and muttering a few arcane syllables. The sky exploded in huge hailstones that pelted the clearing and the trees surrounding it. They hissed and sizzled as they struck the roaring flames and melted, and soon the clearing was a mess of soggy ash and wet, burnt debris. The remains of the treant were lost among the charred fragments of inanimate trees. Several of the tents and much of the group's equipment was irretrievably lost.
Royce, leader of the Antiquarians, spun to confront Mythkar Leng. His natural deference to the high priest was forgotten on this occasion, and his face was red from the heat and his anger. "We were close to talking our way out of this. That's what we do—that's how we survive. If you hadn't confronted it..."
Leng smiled smugly, unapologetic. "Would you care to finish that sentence, Hundar?" he asked.
Royce checked himself, but his tone was completely insincere. His shoulders hung, and he let his sword fall to the ground at his side.
"You could have killed us all," Royce said. "You may yet."
Leng could have slain Royce where he stood. He needed no weapon. Leng could merely lay a hand on Royce, and take his life. Royce was practically inviting him to do it. Ardeth prayed that he would, and give her an excuse to sink her sword into the priest's back. Likewise, Nithinial, Gunton, and Bessick all had weapons ready. But Leng's smile vanished.
"We still have a mission, do we not?" he said. "A few crushed and waterlogged rations don't change that. I can create food and drink, with my god's grace. We have our weapons and our wits. The Star Mounts await, and soon we'll find out if Geildarr's Sanctuary is a myth or not." With that, as if nothing had happened, he led the way into the forest.
Behind his back, looks passed between the Antiquarians and Ardeth, while Gan stepped through the muck to reclaim the fallen axe. Inside, Ardeth was beaming. What luck! she thought. With all of them on one side, it would be no trick to finish the priest. The only question was, which form of death would be most appropriate?
Chapter 8
Such beautiful music, thought Vell as he woke, but it was only the wind whistling through the trees.
No, he thought. One tree—the tree. He could see it, almost feel it growing.
Half awake, he lay on his back on a carpet of leaves and could not bring himself to look any direction but up. A panoply of shades and tones filled his eyes from the light filtering through the great branches, whose smallest offshoots were themselves the size of trees. Oranges, reds, and golds fluttered and shimmered in those oaken boughs, an ocean of leaves growing crisp and golden—for even this bastion of permanence was subject to nature's cycles.
What beauty! Tears trickled down Vell's cheeks. He felt so humbled under the immensity of it. All of his fears and anger vanished as if they had never mattered and were only faint memories, like the shadow of something that happened long ago. The nagging voice in his breast, the beast inside, fell silent, and for the first time in what felt like so long—perhaps the first time in his life, he mused—he knew complete peace. He would never know if what he was feeling was brought on by the treant's drink, the tree's natural magic, or something within his own mind, but it didn't matter.
No wonder men had spent their lives seeking this place. He knew this to be Grandfather Tree, but he did not dwell on that or any name, including his own. He almost forgot himself, lost himself in heady contemplation. If he had been allowed to lie there, he knew, he might have starved and turned to dust, still looking up at the gnarled trunk that had borne silent witness to the whole of history and more.
Yet he felt no anger when he was roused from his reverie. Thanar came to him and crouched at his side. "They say a great tree structures a goodly part of the cosmos," he said, "and Grandfather Tree is its reflection on Faerun. I don't know if that's true, but I can think of no better symbol for the nobility of all living things."
As he stood and regained something of his wits, Vell's wonder didn't lessen; it only amplified. He surveyed his surroundings. The tree's size was no illusion. Other oaks, themselves mighty and huge, grew underneath its lowest branches, circling it the way the stone menhirs ringed the altar at Morgur's Mound.
"They spent a lifetime seeking it," the druid went on. "They say they would spend a thousand lifetimes now, keeping it safe and secret."
"The Tree Ghosts," Vell said. "Will they help us?"
Thanar smiled. The simplest gesture was so amplified here that the warmth in his smile struck Vell and lit up his spirit. "They have made no promises as yet. But they trust us."
Vell became aware that other people were beneath Grandfather Tree, some so far away that Vell could tell nothing about them. Others were closer and looking on. He recognized some by their dress as the Tree Ghost barbarians, perhaps some of the same he had met on the outside. Many stood guard as well around the tree. There were others: lithe, brown-clad figures whose skins were coppery tones. By Uthgar, Vell realized. These were elves! For all the exotic folk that had come through Grunwald in the old days, he had never laid his eyes on an elf till today.
Finally, he looked toward the others, still asleep, or perhaps unaware, open-eyed and gawking at the majesty of the canopy above. Only Thluna was not among them.
"They roused me first," said Thanar. "Thluna is meeting with the tribal elders in the settlement nearby. I thought it wise to take you there next."
"Why?" asked Vell. He realized that this was the first time he had ever spoken to the druid alone.
"You transformed into a behemoth, did you not?" Thanar said. "I have transformation powers of my own. I surveyed the Wall wearing a mountain goat's form, but what happened to you goes far beyond. There are rare individuals with abilities that surpass those of any common druid. Apparently one is living in the Tree Ghosts' settlement. Perhaps she can help you understand your condition. She is a flighty creature who comes and goes with her whims, but this young elf promises she will help you however she can."
"The Tree Ghosts live among the elves?" Vell ask
ed. The notion amazed him.
"Normally the tree plays host to much stranger forest folk," Thanar told him, "satyrs, korreds, centaurs, and the like. They have taken their leave since we outsiders arrived." This talk of such woodland beings, so remote from his experience, was amazing to Vell.
"We will rouse the others soon," said Thanar. "Let them know this miracle. The Tree Ghosts do not keep it jealously—indeed, they wish all light souls could experience this place—but they are very protective. I only hope Keirkrad will think wisely and keep his dogma in check."
But Keirkrad's face was crossed with a look of naked awe, just like the rest of the group. Vell's eyes settled on Kellin and he was astonished at what he saw. In a state of glorious languor, her bright eyes open and staring at the world, he beheld her clearly as a creature of wonder. She controlled magic; it flowed into her and out, and now he saw her as magic itself, shimmering and glowing with all of its forbidden wonder and power.
What an effect this place had, Vell thought. It banished all that was inconsequential and brought into sharp focus what mattered most. The fog on his brain had floated away; he desperately wished it would never return.
"Vell," said Thanar. "Meet Rask Urgek, of the Tree Ghosts." Vell almost gasped to see the massive barbarian approaching him, wearing a glistening chain shirt. With large ears, orange-tinged skin, traces of fangs, and wiry hair pulled up into a topknot, Rask Urgek was clearly a half-orc. The North crawled with such hybrids, most of who served as mercenaries. They were regarded as the scum of the civilized world and as pariahs within orc tribes; few were allowed to join Uthgardt tribes. No trace of orcish anger appeared on Rask's features. Instead, he showed the warmth and peace of years spent in the company of this extraordinary tree.
"Vell the Brown," Rask said. "Walk with me. Your friends will be safe with Thanar watching over them."
Rask and Vell walked together, leaves crunching beneath their feet.
"Thank you for allowing us to come here," said Vell. He looked up and raised his palms, offering a simple gesture against the immensity of their setting. "I don't know what words could describe my feelings about this place."
"We Tree Ghosts spent many decades searching for this tree," said Rask. "It was the tribe's solitary purpose and drive. When I joined the search, I had a nagging fear that we would find it and it would be a disappointment. How happy I was that it was not so. Our village lies some distance from the tree now. We would not tolerate habitation under the tree's branches, as you would not on Morgur's Mound. Now that we found what was missing, it has not removed our drive but only sharpened it: Grandfather Tree must be kept safe."
"Perhaps that was missing from our tribe," said Vell. "Drive, purpose."
"You have it now, do you not?" asked Rask. "Thanar told me of your mission. We shall help however we can, for your quest mirrors our own. Like you, a hated enemy dogged our steps and meant to reach the tree before us. Look here..." He brushed some leaves off a rotten log and uncovered an ancient carving, to Vell a familiar and ominous one—the hulking, destructive Blue Bear.
"Sometime soon, this last trace of human habitation will finally rot away," said Rask. "It is the same with the rest of the world. Stone may outlast wood, but none of our stone menhirs or any of civilization's works will outlive Grandfather Tree."
"We don't know where we're bound," said Vell, impatient with this philosophizing. "Nor do we know why the beast sent us, or for what purpose it's empowered me. And our enemy..."
"Your enemy is the Zhentarim," said Rask. "I know them better than I'd care to. My parents were caravan guards on their Black Road, and I made that trip a few times myself. I would wager anything that Mayor Geildarr of Llorkh is part of this. The past is a fascination for him, and robbing it is his favorite hobby. Perhaps he has your chief as well."
"I am not the leader of this expedition," said Vell. "You should tell Thluna."
"We have," Rask told him. "But you are of special interest, Vell." Vell reflected that before Morgur's Mound, no one would have regarded him that way. "Your situation is most peculiar. The nature of your destiny is in question. It requires clarification."
"I agree," said Vell.
"There is magic in this forest that may help you. Nearby, atop one of the mountains that outsiders call the Lost Peaks, lie the Fountains of Memory. It may hold answers. With the Dancing Folks' permission, I think you should visit it and see."
"And Kellin as well," Vell added. "She and I were both chosen by the Thunderbeast. We should go together."
"Kellin, yes." Rask paused a moment. "You've put yourself between her and your chief in the past. It's created tension among your group. Was that what you wanted?"
"No." Vell lowered his head. "Some fear our tribe is being ripped asunder. I want it to stay unified as much as the rest. But Kellin..."
"What is she to you?" Rask's tone was vaguely confrontational. "A potential lover? Your lost twin? Like her father, she has made a study of our tribes and wants us to feel flattered to be the subject of civilized sagecraft. Tell me, Vell. What if we were to keep her unconscious? She would not be harmed and would be returned to your party once you left the tree."
"No," Vell said without hesitation. "You can trust her."
"Can we?" asked Rask, grim-faced. "She will write of our people if she lives to do so. Will she perhaps threaten our greatest secret: our location?"
"She will not," said Vell. Rask inspected him, then an improbable smile broke out on his tusked features. Vell instantly knew this had nothing to do with Kellin, but was a test for him.
"Come my friend," the half-orc said. "Let us rouse the others."
* * * *
Something was different in the shade of Grandfather Tree. For the first time, the iciness that the party had carried since leaving Sungar's Camp seemed to fall away. The petty squabbles ceased. They felt not like a group thrust together by the whims of circumstance, but a true band of fellows, united by destiny and a common goal. Even Keirkrad was changed after he broke down and wept at the sight of the boughs spreading above, painting the sky with brilliant hues of autumn.
Kellin was especially awestruck. She held great reverence for the Tree Ghosts' unique ancestor mound, something her father once tried to locate by following the clues of the famed Harper bard Mintiper Moonsilver, who even claimed to have explored forbidden dungeons beneath the tree.
Would that her father could see her now.
Rask Urgek led them to the village of Ghostand just north of the tree, constructed on shadowed platforms above the forest floor in a stand of oak trees. The Tree Ghost chieftain, the grizzled Gunther Longtooth, met them at the camp's edge with Thluna at his side.
"Your cause is just," said Gunther. "We shall help you however we can." The roar that went up from the Thunderbeasts scattered the birds from the trees above.
The mood was light that evening as the travelers put aside the heaviness of their task for the morrow. Mead and elven wine flowed freely, and soon the Tree Ghosts, who had faintly distrusted the outsiders, were as brothers with the Thunderbeasts, and even the elves seemed like long-lost friends. Copper-tressed Faeniele Eshele, the de facto leader of the elves here, was as close an advisor to Gunther Longtooth as the Tree Ghost elders. She was all but an honorary member of the tribe herself. The camp, well hidden and safe in the deep woods, was transformed into an impromptu feast, one that brought great bliss to the weary visitors. No fire lit this place, but strings of luminous lichens and magical lamps bathed the festivities in a warm glow. Wood elf minstrels blended their flutes and strings with the Tree Ghosts' Uthgardt sagas, a warm meld representing the friendship and accord their two races had found in this strange place.
Keirkrad chatted with Gunther, a fellow of his generation, and with whom he was faintly acquainted from some dealings in the past. Thanar spent his time with lithesome Hala Spiritwalk—the Tree Ghost shaman—as well as some other druids visiting Grandfather Tree, some elves, and even one of the great red-furre
d creatures known as an alaghi. Ilskar, Hengin, and the rest found company among Tree Ghosts warriors of various ilk, and Kellin found a surprisingly appreciative audience in the Tree Ghosts' skalds and loremasters.
There was much laughter and happiness among the trees that night, together with dance and music, good food and mellowness. Perhaps it was a god-sent calm before great struggles to come, but it was precious peace nonetheless.
Vell was sampling some elven brandy when Rask Urgek approached him. By then, Vell was almost used to seeing orc features on a fellow Uthgardt.
"Vell," he said. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Lanaal Featherbreeze."
Before him stood a lovely elf maiden, seemingly young in appearance, though Vell was well aware of elf longevity. Her skin was not the coppery tone of most of the elves in the village, but was tinged a rich bronze, and her hair was a cascade of golden curls. She wore a simple green dress and blue feathers in her hair. Something was very different about her—more than just her clothing and skin tone. Vell could sense it. The other elves were naturally slight, but Lanaal seemed light and fresh as a spring breeze.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Vell," she said, clasping his hand. "We have much to discuss."
"Then you're the one Thanar told me about," he said.
She nodded. "Let us find a quieter spot to talk." She took Vell by the hand and—moving with graceful ease—led him up a ladder to a higher platform. He scanned the gathering one last time and saw Kellin watching him as he vanished into the trees.
Soon they reached Ghostand's highest platform—a terrace among the treetops, where the clear night sky curled above them, and a thousand bright stars shone down on them. Lanaal stood and looked up at it.
"I like to see the sky," she said. "Sometimes I lose track of it, living under the treetops."
"Pardon me for asking," said Vell, "but you're not like the other elves here, are you?"
"No," Lanaal said. "Most of them are wood elves, and I am one of the sun elves. And you, Vell. You're not like the others."
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