A handful of young elves dashed out to meet the first wave. They brandished spears and bows. The first of the trees flowed forward on its many roots and knocked the foremost warrior flying. He landed on his back yards away. A couple of women in gray, knee-length tunics ran to help him. There was blood on his face.
The others regrouped swiftly. At a shout from the elven maid on the end, they all set the tips of their spears on fire. The trees recoiled slightly. The elves pressed their advantage, as more of them took up arms to defend. The gray boles retreated. Tildi watched in fascination. This is what the people of Walnut Tree meant when they said that the great tree had walked, but these were moving under their own power, and with their own aims.
Rustling on every side of the village drew the attention of Athandis and the visitors. More groves glided toward them, stabbing with their poinardlike branches. An elven woman in blue cried out as one thrust through her arm. Blood fountained, and the elf fell to her knees. Three of her fellows rushed in to form a circle around her until the healers could help her escape.
“Is this the work of the thief?” Athandis asked. He sounded far too calm to Tildi. The trees shrieked again, and she cringed.
“Most likely,” Edynn said. “But this is his most violent transformation to date.”
“Anathema. No respect for nature. We are their guardians, and they have been set loose upon us. I will see if we can calm them without rendering them harm.”
“You’re their guardians?” Tildi burst out. The elf smiled down upon her.
“It is why Penbrake exists, Tildi Summerbee. There are many such havens, all over Niombra. My father’s grandfather was given charge of these trees when they were created, a hundred centuries ago. They think and feel, like we do. They are greatly troubled, though. You will want to take shelter in case I can’t soothe them.”
“I’ll help you, Athandis,” Edynn offered. She took up her staff. “Tildi, find yourself a place of shelter. I hope this will not take long.”
A couple of younger elves took the protesting Tildi and Lakanta toward one of the houses. Tildi realized that it was a huge tree, not unlike Silvertree. In fact, it might have been a member of the same species, with its soft gray bark and pale leaves. Her guides boosted her up a rope ladder to a room some twenty feet above the forest floor that was clearly used by its owner as a study, with boxes of books and a big cushion for a chair. They brought her to an open window that looked out upon the clearing, and nocked arrows into the bows that they carried. The tips burst into flame.
“Just in case,” one of them told her. “We will safeguard you, no matter what, but you can see from here.”
The other set up a footstool for her. Lakanta stood next to her with an arm wound protectively around Tildi’s waist.
It was a terrifying sight.
Edynn, Rin, and Serafina had joined the defenders. Athandis set the example, seeking to stop the creatures without killing them. As a tree reached for him, screaming its terrible cry, he brought his hands together with a loud clap. The tree stopped where it was as if cast in stone. Others came for him. He was stabbed again and again by many of his charges, but his calm never wavered. Dark blood stained his light tunic. Other villagers brought their talents to bear, paralyzing and soothing with the same patience as if they were caring for a school of unruly children.
Serafina was transformed from her usual sullen self to a swooping bird of prey. She moved behind the lines of elves armed with flaming spears, casting handfuls of light at the gray trees who pushed ahead of their fellows and threatened to overwhelm that far end of the village. When she struck one, it froze in place. Her mother was also paralyzing the attackers, but from a stance near a venerable copse of hazel. Teryn and Morag stood guard around her, fending off the attacking trees, but not damaging one unless it refused to yield. Soon they disappeared from view in the heart of a grove of trees that had not been there minutes ago.
Though they were mobile, the attackers did not move very fast. Rin wheeled and dashed among the shuffling trees, distracting them so the elves could do their work. A thin, wizened stick of a beech confronted her, stabbing at her with a dozen branches. One found its mark. Rin let out a shout of pain, followed by a stream of syllables that must have been an oath in the language of the Windmanes. She cracked her whip, and tied
several of the limbs together. Then she turned on a single hoof and kicked the tree backwards with her hind feet. There was a tremendous
crack!
The trunk split lengthwise in two. The tree dropped backward, taking Rin’s whip with it. It began to seep sticky red sap from its light interior wood.
“No!” one of the elves scolded her. He knelt by the fallen tree, a look of grief on his face, but it was no use. The baleful eyes winked out. Rin looked horrified.
“She got carried away,” Lakanta said sadly. “Oh, that will haunt her, poor thing.”
Athandis moved among the trees that had been halted. He touched one after another. Tildi could see that his face wore a troubled expression as he listened to each one in turn. She felt magic being used throughout the clearing. Its waves made her feel less frightened; she assumed that it had a much stronger effect upon its subjects. Other healers joined him, bringing their influence to help the trees.
It was not enough. The spell suspending their movement appeared to lose its strength only minutes after it was applied. One after another, the trees began to move again. One thick-trunked individual surprised the elven woman attempting to calm it, and walked right over her before she could get out of its way. The crunch of bones was audible throughout the glade. Tildi’s stomach turned.
It became clear that the invaders were not moving at random. They had a purpose. To Tildi’s horror, she realized that the wave of attackers was never-ending, and they all seemed to be converging upon the house where she had taken shelter. They were seeking her leaf of the book! The fact was not lost upon her protectors. The elf to her left drew back and loosed smoothly. The arrow pocked into the ground before the first of the trees. It glared up at him, and two of its branches reached for the arrow, snapped it in two, and cast it down. They began to shake the house from side to side. More joined them, until Tildi was looking down on a solid ring of gray branches, swaying like snakes.
“Back!” ordered her other defender. She and Lakanta were helped farther up in the tree. Before Tildi knew it they had pushed her out of a window onto a limb. It was wider than her shoulders, but it was still almost fifty feet above the ground.
“Oh, no,” Tildi said, clutching the window frame. “I can’t.”
The elves didn’t wait for her to consent. The first archer picked her up under his arm and ran surefooted for the nearest tree. An elf woman inside threw open her casement and reached for them.
Below, the trees shrieked at the attempt of their quarry to escape. Athandis and the others were pale spots of color in between the waves of gray. It was clear that his attempts to turn back the moving forest were failing. Tildi was yanked inside, hustled down a level to a handsomely furnished chamber a dozen yards across, and out of another window to a narrower limb.
They were outside the circle of trees at that moment. Tildi blanched at the endless waves of angry trees. The defenders were falling. Tildi let out a cry. She saw Edynn struggling in the grasp of a cluster of narrow-boled attackers. She froze a tree and turned to another, but by the time she did, the first one had come to life again, flailing its arms. Edynn pulled loose and let off another burst of energy. The trees shrugged it off and began to move away from her, heading toward Tildi’s new hiding place.
“They are insane,” said one of Tildi’s defenders sadly, watching them come. “They have been hurt beyond saving.”
“Don’t say that!” protested his companion. The first gave him a look of infinite sadness. He nodded, and closed his eyes. “Athandis is grieved, but he agrees. Give them mercy.”
Both elves drew their bows and set the tips of the arrows alight.
“What are you doing?” Lakanta cried. “They are living creatures.”
“We are not powerful enough to change back what has been done to them,” said the second elf. “They are lost. A fundamental alteration has been visited upon them. How, we do not fully understand. Poor things, they lived in torment for so long. We hoped that they could live in peace, but there is no hope of that now.”
“Oh, you can’t,” Tildi protested, realizing what they meant to do, despite the danger the trees posed to her. “I’m sure something can be done for them …”
“Thank you for caring,” the first elf said with a rueful little nod. “We are their caretakers. It is better if we are the ones to do this. Now, and swiftly.”
They both loosed at the same moment. The fiery arrows struck two different trees, who brushed the missiles away as though they were stinging flies. They could not brush away the flames, however. The fire spread with remarkable speed. The trees recoiled, and the blaze spread from branch to branch, as others caught fire. The elven archers released arrow after arrow with blinding speed, setting more trees alight.
Tildi spotted Edynn. With terrible sorrow on her face, the elder
wizardess held out her arms. The jewel on the end of her staff began to glow. Serafina assumed a similar stance. More trees burst into flame. Soon the entire grove was burning. It was swift, but a few of the injured trees staggered around, shrieking in pain. Rin and the guards hurried in to give as many of them the coup de grace. Tildi found herself weeping uncontrollably. Lakanta folded her into her arms and stroked her hair.
When it was all over, the elves and visitors stood in the midst of blackened trunks, smoke rising to the sky. Tildi was stunned to see that the oaks of the village were very little damaged. Those scorched patches of bark and stripped branches would heal. What would not be so easily healed would be the memory of the devastation of what had been hundreds of living things, reduced to charcoal. The elves held onto one another to grieve for their loss.
Tildi realized that she felt a loss, too, greater than her sorrow for the trees. The warmth she felt from the book had gone. The thief had fled.
Edynn, her usually spotless robes smudged and torn, emerged from the ruin on Serafina’s arm. She spotted Tildi and beckoned to her. Tildi’s protectors guided her down a spiral staircase and out into the glade. Rin and the guards came to meet them.
Athandis stood while healers bustled around him, closing his wounds, and cleaning the blood from his clothing. His dark eyes glowed like the eyes of the fallen race of trees. He hefted a spear and waved a hand over its end. The stone tip, which had been broken off in the fight, became sharp again, and the bindings tight. He gestured to all the elves who were still standing. “Now, my friends, we will go after the one who has tortured our poor brethren like this. He chooses to tamper with Mother Nature’s children, but he has none of her loving-kindness toward her creations.”
“He is gone, sir,” Tildi said. “He went while you were trying to heal the trees.”
The elf turned toward her, horrified. “You are certain?”
“She has a sympathy for the book,” Edynn explained. “Surely Urestia told you of her.”
“Yes, indeed, she did,” Athandis said, grim-faced. “This wizard is cunning, and ruthless.”
“He is,” Edynn said. “More and worse could come out of this. Come, my friends. Let us mourn for our lost ones, and decide what we must do next.”
M
agpie awoke from a pleasant dream full of comfortable cushions, silken cloth, silken flesh, the silken feel of good wine pouring down his throat. He reached up to push the bottle away in order to take another kiss from those silken lips of his fiancée, and found it restrained by her hairy, scratchy hand. That wasn’t right! He opened his eyes sharply and realized his hand was secured by a loop of heavy rope to the beautifully turned bedpost over his head. He tried to turn over to undo it with his free hand, and discovered that he couldn’t because both ends were around the post, and the opposite ankle was also secured by an equally scratchy rope and tied to the bedpost at the other corner.
His elder brother Ganidur, arms folded in satisfaction, looked down at him. He was built along the same rangy lines as Magpie, but several
inches taller, with big hands and feet, wider shoulders, and a long, humorous face.
“How do you feel this morning, Eremi?”
“What in the yawning abyss is this?” Magpie demanded.
“Father asked me,” Ganidur began, with a kind of complacent smugness that made Magpie want to kick him, “to ensure that you did not get cold feet at the last minute and disappoint your fiancée. You will be at this engagement. You shouldn’t be upset! After all, you didn’t wake up in the cesspit the way you did to me on
my
betrothal day.”
“That wasn’t my idea, Gan,” Magpie said indignantly. Then he paused. “Well … perhaps I suggested it,” honesty compelled him to add.
“As I thought. Bena doesn’t have the imagination for that kind of cruelty. I had to go to my loved one’s ceremony smelling like ten days of the runs.”
“You had a bath ahead of time,” Magpie reminded him.
“As if that would do anything about an entire castle’s worth of effluvia,” Ganidur said with a snort. “The fact remains that you got to spend your betrothal night in your very own bed with your very own bedclothes and, I hope, your very own severe hangover.”
Magpie felt his head with his free hand. “You have that right, brother. I feel as if a herd of centaurs clattered across my skull during the night.”
“You’re not far-off. There was a troupe of dancing girls. They were a bit on the equine side, I might say, but vigorous! I have to give them that. But this is all for Father’s sake. I’m saving
my
particular revenge for your wedding night.”
“Thanks for the warning. We’ll be wed in a temple somewhere out in the wilderness, and you won’t be invited.”
“Nonsense. It’s a dynastic marriage, and you won’t have any choice in the matter. It’ll be done with the full array of incense, prayers, chants, fastings, vigils, sacrifices, and everything that I can persuade the high priest to throw into it, because he knows just how very devout you are, because I have told him so.”
“In spite of the fact that I shirk prayers whenever I can.”
“I don’t actually believe that,” Ganidur said with an indulgent smile. “I know in what reverence you hold Nature. And I’m sure you have the same respect for Father Time. I’m your brother, remember? It doesn’t matter what face you show to the world. I know what’s inside you.”
Magpie blanched. “Family can be damned inconvenient. Are you
going to untie these ropes, so that I can get up and get my bath, or do I have to lie here and have everyone come to me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ganidur said, his eyes twinkling. “As it so happens, I personally oversaw all the preparations for your presentation. The horse is white. It has blue eyes, which means that it cannot hear any of the imprecations you’re going to be hurling at the Powers in order to get out of your obligations. It’s still a stallion, which you won’t be if you are late to this. Father has set a whole troop of guards in order to see to it.” Ganidur put a knee on the bed and began to untie the knots holding Magpie’s wrist bond. They were at least triple knots. Magpie couldn’t really see it from the angle at which he was lying, but the length of time it was taking his brother to undo them suggested it. Fair enough; with his habit of disappearing it was right of them to take no chances whatsoever.
His father was counting upon him. That fact alone would have made him behave. If they had only asked him he would have assured them that he would have done no such thing as disappear before this most vital ceremony. On the other hand, it would be unlikely that they would believe him.
“How’s Elimar?” Magpie asked, sitting up and rubbing the red marks on his wrist as Ganidur walked around the bed to unfasten his ankle. As Magpie had surmised, the knots were complicated and numerous.
“He’s well.” Ganidur smiled at the thought of his six-year-old son, who was a special Nature’s Child to Magpie. “Do you really mean to have him stand with you as your champion at the wedding itself? He’s been practicing, and he can just about lift the practice sword over his head without toppling. I tried to have one made for his size, but he declared that he was going to lift the ceremonial sword for Uncle Magpie and nothing else.”
“You know that Benarelidur still hasn’t forgiven you for having a child first,” Magpie pointed out.
“Six years to give his wife time—I think Bena had better admit that she’s barren. Unless Nature remakes her in some way I am afraid that I or one of my youngsters is going to be the heir.”
“It’s an old and noble line,” Magpie said with a sigh. “It must not die out.”
“Then, hope for a miracle,” Ganidur said simply. “For all that our brother was born elderly and is a stickler for rules in every way, and though he wouldn’t mind exposing both of
us
upon a hillside, he does
love his wife. He would never set her aside in favor of another, despite the fact he has no heir.”
“Well, I have special prayers to be sent up before the altar,” Magpie reminded him. “I’ll send up a wish for her.” Magpie had a soft spot for his brother’s wife, who liked him despite Benarelidur’s not seeming to very much.
Ganidur hauled him up with one mighty arm, set him on his feet, and gave him a slap on the back. He pushed him in the direction of the bathing chamber.
“There are eight servants in there, all waiting to scrub a different part of you, and eight more in the robing room across the landing. Have a lovely bath.”
M
agpie survived the cleansing ceremony with most of his hide intact and escaped onto the landing, leaving the servants behind to clean soap, perfumed oil, and water off the tiled walls of the bathing chamber, and made toward the robing room. His stomach rumbled. He ignored it. He was forbidden breakfast until after the betrothal service, when he would break bread with his bride-to-be, but it half killed him to inhale the smells of breakfast floating upward from the great hall, where his father was presiding over the morning feast with his early guests. No one really expected him to appear at the table. He was supposed to be robing himself and preparing to go and stand the vigil before the altar until his bride should appear, Father Time waiting for Mother Nature in all her beauty. Magpie smiled, leaning out of the window that overlooked the main courtyard. Inbecca was indeed beautiful. He looked forward to the two of them claiming each other. It was the fulfillment of his dream that had begun when they were children. If she could look into his heart at that moment he was sure she would be surprised at such a sentimental vision, but he hoped she would also be pleased.
The courtyard was full of carriages, wagons, and wains of every description. A few elegant closed litters had been pushed out of the way against the wall of the tannery. The horses were being curried by grooms preparatory to being turned out to pasture beneath the castle to make room for more guests’ steeds. Heaven knows how many guests had already arrived on foot.
A young, dappled centaur, late for breakfast, shrugged on his ceremonial capelet as he galloped toward the door, wavy black mane flying
behind him. His metal-shod hooves rang on the stones, striking up sparks. He and his companions had been accomodated in a stable that had been turned out and modified for guests. If Magpie had given his father more notice, a purpose-built structure would have been constructed. Instead, the ancient timbers were given a quick whitewash before chandeliers were strung from them, and dressing tables tucked into the hastily redecorated tack room.
The joining ceremony was important politically, and attended by the most solemn ministerial harrumphing. There was some opposition to it, of course. Most of the gossips said that Orontae was the one getting the bargain, not wealthy and secure Levrenn. Magpie had no trouble letting them think it. His brothers, not aware of his actions during wartime or after, both were convinced that Magpie has been wasting his time going around the countryside. He had come to terms with never being able to tell them he was doing as much work as they, yet had nothing to show for it. At least, the naysayers muttered, he would be making an advantageous marriage, and bringing Inbecca’s dowry, which ought to be worth half the realm, with her. Since money was the last thing Magpie was interested in, he wanted to laugh in their faces. Instead, he deliberately went on looking like Nature’s most foolish child, unaware of his good fortune or the people who made fun of him for it. The ones who mattered were his family.
He was sorry that Tildi and Edynn couldn’t be at the joining ceremony. Tildi was such a fresh, interesting little creature. He would have enjoyed introducing her to his family, especially Ganidur, who would have spoiled her at once, and his nephew, who would have been thrilled to the skies to meet an adult who was smaller than he.
She would really have enjoyed seeing the ceremony itself.
It would have told her a good deal about how much humans and smallfolk had in common. Olen might be right or he might be wrong about the origin of the races of the world, but Magpie had been struck by Lady Urestia’s speech. He had never heard an elf speak out so passionately on anything before. He’d had many lively discussions with them, but not with so much heat. They found
him
amusing, but they had respect for the elder humans like Olen and Edynn, and those who had attained wizardry. It meant that such humans as they were in tune with nature, much as elves were. It was a shame that humans had become so divorced from the very fact of their birth. And yet their entire faith depended upon those two vital elements of all: nature and time.
Magpie had often thought of these things while he was out on the road. It was funny to have the time and space to think about such things while at home. He never had time for such thoughts here. Usually he was so busy either following a task for his father, or keeping out of his father’s way. Magpie reminded him of the loss that publicly was not a loss.
His mother, resplendent in a blue damask robe fastened up to the chin with silver buttons, came rushing out of the chamber opposite, and grabbed him by the arm.
“Eremi, they have been waiting for you for an hour!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said, bending to kiss her on the cheek. “I was just thinking.”
His mother shook her head. “You know, Benarelidur never thinks. In some cases I find that regrettable, but in terms of wasted time, you waste far more time upon such things than he does. And I don’t see that it does you any more good.”
This from the woman who had hired a classical philosopher as his tutor. Magpie opened his mouth to protest.
“I am joking, darling,” the queen said. “Please go in. Everyone is arriving, and I wish you would give me one less thing to think about. Nature and Time bless your union, my son. I have been waiting for this ever since you two were children. You are meant for each other.” She picked up her skirts to descend the steps. The young princesses, all in their new finery, bounded down the stairs past them, late for breakfast but still giggling. The youngest, Niletia, stopped to give him a big kiss on the cheek.
“I am so happy you are marrying Inbecca,” she said, her brown eyes alight. “I like her.”
“So do I,” Magpie assured her. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you for the dresses. We all like them.” She beamed, and clattered off down the stairs after the rest of the girls. He smiled after her. She reminded him of Tildi. He would love to have told her all about the smallfolk girl, but while the party was on the trail of the thief, he had said nothing to anyone. He feared jeopardizing the safety of the party. He hated sitting in the midst of luxury while a group of women, admittedly two who were wizards and two who were accomplished warriors, went out on what might be nothing more than a fine journey, but likely to be a terrible hardship with a battle at the end that they could not win. He had to admit that he was jealous that he had not been included. Was it odd to wish to be in danger instead of safe at home?
“You don’t think I’m a changeling, do you, Mother?” Magpie asked suddenly.
Lottcheva glanced back with a smile that reminded him of the winsome girl she had been when he was a boy. “Heavens, no, I was there when you were born. Your father showed up a few hours later after drinking with the council and asked, ‘Is it here yet? Oh! Puny, isn’t it?’” Her imitation of his father’s bluff attitude made Magpie laugh.
“If he thinks I was puny … Mother, have you ever met a smallfolk?”