Stardeep (15 page)

three-wagon caravan was converted into a tidy but temporary shop. Raidon at last saw what Quent bought and sold—pears, persimmons, oranges, grapes, and other fruit. Though such was common in Shou Town and Telflamm, such variety was rarer the farther one traveled from The Golden Way. Especially this far out of season, explained Quent.

Raidon bid the caravan chief and his fellow laborers farewell. The wagon drivers, Ledroc, Corthandu, and Khuldam the dwarf, waved after him. Quent, after paying him, was already busy making a deal with a local shopkeeper. Japhoca scowled and flipped him a rude hand gesture. The monk chose not to take offense.

His contract fulfilled and gold heavy in his pouch, Raidon walked into city twilight. Chandlers, elderly men in soot-stained aprons, lit lamps along the main street that led down to the docks. The Commorand brothers Erik and Adrik caught up to him and walked along, talking about how they hoped to find a new patron in Emmech willing to employ their sorcerous talents. Maybe even one that would take them across the Sea of Fallen Stats, or perhaps deep into the heart of the Yuirwood, where stood stones scribed with arcane glyphs—

“The Yuirwood?” Mention of the forest drew Raidon from his walking reverie. “What do you know of it?”

Adrik grinned conspiratorially and said, “This I read once in a moldy book: ‘Strange enchantments and old, strong magic are thick in the Yuirwood’s tangles. The ancient elves of Yuireshanyaar were masters of powerful spells, and they left behind menhir circles, standing stone monuments carved in an ancient Elvish dialect. The magic of these circles has faded with the strength of the Yuirwood itself, but some power remains in them yet.’ “

Raidon gauged the sorcerer’s manner, then asked him, “You wish to enter the Yuirwood?”

Adrik, the younger brother, nodded earnestly. Erik, the

older, said, “We go wherever coin takes us.” He shrugged.

“I travel into the Yuirwood. I need help, maybe a guide. I have this much to pay.” Raidon poured out the contents of his pouch just filled with Quent s salary, the gold heavy in his palm.

Erik looked skeptical and said, “That’s enough for one of us, not both.”

“I’ll go,” said Adrik. He turned to his brother. “You stay here and find a wealthy sponsor with a ship, one who’ll take us both across the Fallen Stars.”

Erik considered. “Raidon, how much time do you intend to spend in the forest?”

“I seek my mother,” replied the monk.

The older brother frowned. “Indeterminate, then. I don’t know—”

“Erik, I’ll be back within two tendays. The Shou’s gold holds me only that long.”

It was Raidon’s turn to frown, but he could offer no rejoinder. A sorcerer’s rate was high.

Etik said, “Then go, brother. You’ll find me here when you return, seeking our glorious future in a smelly dock tavern.” Erik Commorand smiled, waved, and walked away.

Adrik waved aftet his brother. “See you in two tendays, or less, if the Shou finds what he seeks!”

The sorcerer turned and clapped Raidon on the shoulder. “This will be a fantastic opportunity, I just know it! When do we leave?”

“Dawn. I need nothing in Emmech.”

Adrik nodded. “Sure, sure… where are we going, specifically, within the forest? It is a wide, trackless place. Let’s see the map.”

“I have no map.”

The sorcerer cocked his head. “No map? Well, what landmarks shall we steer by?”

“I only know that my vanished mother came from these woods.”

“You only know…” Adrik s smile faltered. “That’s all, nothing else? I’m not sure… but perhaps we can work with that. From what Yuir village did she hail?”

“I know not.”

“What about her name? You must know that. We can ask around…”

Raidon was already shaking his head. “To me, she was Mother. One day, she told me her old home called her back— the Yuirwood. She gave me something to remember her by—a forget-me-not—and she departed, twelve or so years ago. That is the sum of what I know.”

Adrik’s smile wholly departed and became a frown. The sorcerer’s gaze fell to the heap of gold Raidon still proffered. A ghost of the grin returned.

“Right,” he said, scooping up half the coins. “Looks like we still need a guide. I don’t know this forest from the Rawlinswood.”

Daylight turned dull needles emerald and snow into heaps of glittering diamonds. In the chilly twilight beneath the sunlight canopy, three figures followed a narrow and faintly marked forest path.

Necalama, an elf, walked at the head of the procession. Perhaps he was a half-elf—Raidon couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he moved with an easy, certain stride, rarely looking behind to see whether the monk and sorcerer still followed. Necalama had agreed to lead Raidon Kane and Adrik Commorand through the forest to the well-known if less well-traveled elf refuge of Relkath’s Foot.

Raidon offered their guide payment, but Necalama had shrugged and indicated he was going anyway; the two travelers

might as well accompany him. Eithet way, he explained, it was an easy trek along a well-blazed path.

Raidon wasn’t certain he agreed with the man’s assessment of the road—the path they followed, when he could discern it, was nothing like the trade routes he’d traveled since leaving Telflamm. Half the time, it seemed they walked no path at all through the snow-sprinkled forest.

In fact, walking among the Yuirwood trees was an entirely novel experience to the Shou Town native. He was used to lanes bristling with fellow city dwellers, hurrying this way and that, intent on business or pleasure or both. Colorfully dressed citizens and dual-story buildings clogged perspective whichever way you looked, and the clamor of thousands living next to each other could never be drowned out.

Here, wind brushed through the trees, whispering green secrets Raidon couldn’t decipher, though he suspected messages of ttanquility. On more than one occasion, white-coated hares broke from hiding in a flurry of snow and bounded away, racing toward some private comer of the woods. A hawk’s cry sounded above the canopy, and once, more distant and higher, a mighty roar stopped Raidon and Adrik in their tracks, though the noise barely drew an upward glance from Necalama. When the elf in the lead showed no sign of pausing or providing any explanation about the origin of the great snarl, Shou and mercenary exchanged a shrug and continued.

Their guide explained that Relkath’s Foot lay across almost the entire breadth of the Yuirwood from where they entered the forest south of Emmech. Such a trip might stretch to four or more long days of travel, or so Raidon initially expected. However, the elf claimed he knew secret paths through the Yuirwood deeps that would end up shaving a day or more off their trip. The sorcerer asked about the possibility of seeing some standing stones matked with ancient glyphs

along the way. Ndcalama had smiled and said they certainly would, else the savings in time would never come to pass.

On more than one occasion, Raidon found himself listening to the ever-talkative Adrik, who seemed compelled to speak of his many pursuits, a few of which the monk was surprised to find vaguely compelling.

For instance, Adrik told of how he once emerged from a moldy tomb clutching a spell-twined parchment containing an epic spell of true prophecy… and then an interesting tree had Adrik off the path and exclaiming over its silver leaves, leaving Raidon wondering about the oracular magic. Another time Adrik was describing a competition he’d entered in a distant city—something called the Duel Arcane, where wizards, sorcerers, warlocks, geomancers, and others with any claim at all to magic congregated to show their art… and then a bird-cry interrupted the tale. So much for the Duel Arcane; Adrik sidetracked into a long diatribe about a pet hawk he owned as a child.

Raidon held firm to his focus.

On day two, Adrik was telling Raidon about something he referred to as chaomancy, which involved all manner of unfamiliar terms such as strange attractors, resonance islands, and words so foreign they failed to find even a fleeting hold in Raidon’s mind. Necalama raised a hand, cutting Adrik off in mid-explanation, and pointed, fitst to the left then to the right.

The monk scanned for threats, but saw only two stone obelisks, one on either side of the faint trail. The obelisks were weathered and provided a home to many shades of green moss, though intricate inscriptions were clearly visible under the living veneer.

Adrik broke off his story, clapped his hands together, and ran to the obelisk on the right. “A Yuirwood rune stone!”

Raidon strangled a sigh before it could shake his focus.

Necalama smiled. He said, “Such things are scattered all through these lands. The work of an elven civilization long gone, but magic yet remains in some of them.”

Adtik reached out and gingerly traced an angular inscribed symbol. He said, “Yes—I sense something slumbering. I can’t quite make out its purpose…”

Their guide said, “No need for you to trouble yourself—I know their power. These obelisks are bound with enchantments that bend distance, making shortcuts of what would otherwise be long roads.”

“A portal?” Adrik stepped back.

The elf waggled his hand, tilting his head to one side. He said, “Close, but not precisely correct. So yes, you might describe it as a portal. Follow me through and you can decide for yourself what you want to call it.”

So saying, Necalama strode down the trail. Raidon tensed, waiting for the half-elf to disappear in a flash of smoke or in a sparkle of sttange lights.

Ne’calama passed the invisible line between the two standing stones. And nothing; Necalama walked unconcernedly forward, the stones behind him. The guide remained stubbornly, fully visible. Aftet he moved ten or so feet, he paused and gazed back. “Coming?” he asked, amusement curling his lips.

“It did not work?” inquired the monk.

“Something happened,” said Adrik, one hand held forward, palm out. “I sense a discharge of magic, even now.”

“Come along—follow me between the stones.”

Adrik and Raidon exchanged glances and followed.

Passing through the stones failed to disturb Raidon’s equilibrium in the least. He sensed no change in the environment as he walked. The faint trail ahead remained steady, and looking back, he could still see the route they had traveled prior to passing between the stones, without any discontinuity.

The monk decided their guide was having a little fun at their expense. Weren’t elves known for such foolishness?

Which meant they still had a few days of travel ahead of them, if their goal was on the western side of the Yuirwood as Necalama earlier indicated. Adrik was mumbling about probability and sliding four-space projections; in other wotds, gibberish.

Ahead, the trail broadened into a real, easily discernable path, almost a road. They passed through a copse of rustling aspens. A breath of sweet air moved through the murmuring aspen leaves, refreshing Raidon’s mind and body with an insubstantial touch.

When they emerged from the tiny grove, they found themselves walking down a sun-dappled, leaf-strewn street in a half-elven forest enclave.

“Welcome to Relkath’s Foot!” proclaimed Necalama, his arm sweeping across the panorama.

Four majestic conifers towered hundreds of feet from their broad bases, thrusting high above the forest canopy. These four splendid specimens, old beyond the years of humans, were the heart of Relkath’s Foot. From this central landmatk radiated hundreds of elevated wooden platforms resting in the boughs of the surrounding forest, strung together by a netwotk of leaf-twined ropes and suspension bridges built of hardy pine. Green-clad half-elves, made tiny by their height above the forest floor, moved here and there across them, intent on personal tasks.

Elaborately carved and adorned platforms hung in the four largest trees—amazing structures of living wood that served as floors, walls, and lofty ceilings. Leafy doors studded these tree homes, and everblooming flowers grew around all. Warm lamplight flickered from the many open-ait windows.

Though the air was wintry and Raidon’s breath steamed, the layer of snow covering the ground in eastern Aglarond was absent.

Necalama pointed at the top of the tallest of the four conifers, at the largest and most impressive structure. “The Royal Hall,” he said. “Princess Blindelsyn Oldssyne resides there. The only thing higher near here is an aerie of song dragons allied with the city.”

“Can we go up there?” exclaimed the sorcerer.

Their guide looked doubtful. He said, “Outsiders are rarely permitted in the boughs. But ttavelers are welcome in the merchants’ square, which includes a pair of inns.”

The elf gestured toward dozens of quaint wooden structures built around a massively wide square on the ground bracketed by the four towering trees. Dozens of figures, mostly elves and half-elves, milled through the area. Raidon recognized some humans, a few halflings, and even a dwarf. The scents of grilled food and the tinkle of music washed across them.

The mouth-watering aromas enticed the monk, but…

“I have questions,” Raidon said, turning to face theii half-elf guide, “about my mother. Where can I ask—who should I ask?” When Raidon had shown Necalama his mother’s forget-me-not during their trip, the elf failed to recognize it, though he said someone in Relkath’s Foot was sure to know the meaning of the smoothly regular tree symbol.

“Inns are good places for questions and, as I said, we have two,” replied Necalama. “The Green Man”—the elf pointed to an ordinary wooden house on the north side of the square—”and the Taproot”—he pointed at a lower building that sprawled back into the undergrowth—”are both fine places. Outsiders are more common at the Taproot, which boasts a first-class alehouse and private rooms. The Green Man has only a single common room in which visitors can bed down. The locals prefer it.”

Adrik enthused, “Alehouse! I say—”

“Best we try the Green Man, then,” said Raidon. “The locals are mote likely to be able to help me.”

The sorcerer frowned and nodded.

Necalama said, “You’ll find that its spirits are just as fine as the Taproot, Adrik. In fact, if you don’t mind my suggestion, ask for a glass of rootweal wine—you’ll never find better.”