“Calls it a Sha-lah-lah,” Ivan explained happily.
Cadderly and Shayleigh echoed the curious word together, and then Cadderly figured it out. “A shillelagh,” he said, and for a moment it made perfect sense, a shillelagh being a magical cudgel often used by druids. Such a weapon would certainly harm a vampire. A moment later, of course, it made no sense at all-where in the world did Pikel get a druid’s enchanted cudgel?
“And the water?” Cadderly asked Pikel.
The proud dwarf jumped up on his tiptoes to put his lips to Ivan’s ear.
Ivan’s look soured as he, too, began to figure it all out, began to digest the impossibility of it all. “Druid water,” he said dryly, his voice even-toned.
“Doo-dad!” Pikel squealed.
Again came the curious stares, all three wondering what in the world was happening with Pikel. Shayleigh and Ivan had seen Pikel tame a snake in Castle Trinity, but that, unlike the club and water, could be explained in other ways. But these events… What explanation might there be except that Pikel had found some measure of druidic magic?
With everything going on, though, this wasn’t the time to press the issue, or to question their apparent good luck. Cadderly, Shayleigh, and even Ivan silently realized that if they told Pikel firmly enough that dwarves could not become druids, he might just believe them. That would do nothing except give them fewer weapons to use against Rufo.
“Then we do indeed have the means to strike Rufo,” Cadderly stated firmly, ending the debate. “We have to get back into the library.”
Pikel’s smile went away, and Ivan was shaking his head before Cadderly ever finished the proclamation.
“On the morrow,” Shayleigh put in. “If Danica and Dorigen are there, and we do not know that they are, there is nothing we can do for them this night. Trust in them. Rufo is strongest in the hours of dark.”
A wolfs howl cut the night, answered by another, then a third and a fourth.
“And the vampire is mustering his forces,” Shayleigh went on. “Let us be far from this place. In the night, movement is our only ally.”
Cadderly looked back toward the library. Despite what Shayleigh had said, he did know, in his heart, that Danica was in there. Dorigen was in there, too, though the young priest had a terrible feeling that the wizard had met her end. Shayleigh’s words about Rufo were true enough, though. This was Rufo’s hour, and his allies would soon be all about them. Cadderly could not defeat Rufo, not at night, not inside the library.
He agreed and followed the elf maiden’s lead as she led them off into the woods, Pikel pausing long enough to refill his skin with the clear water of a nearby stream.
Shayleigh kept the group on the move, shifting at unexpected angles through the mountain night, knifing between high lines of stone, along the very rim of deep gorges. The elf could see in the dark, and so could the dwarves, and Cadderly had his light tube, its beam kept very narrow, half concealed under his gray traveling cloak so as not to attract too much attention.
As the wolves inevitably closed in, their howls sounding like one long, mournful keen, the young priest was forced to cap the light and put the tube away. He stumbled along as best he could in a night that had grown darker still, with Pikel supporting him on one side, Ivan on the other, and Shayleigh trying hard not to get too far ahead.
At one point, it seemed as if they had been cut off, with a group of wolves howling farther along the same path they were traveling. Shayleigh looked back to the other three, her violet eyes shining clearly, even to Cadderly’s poor night vision, and her expression revealing that she was fast running out of answers.
“Looks like we’re fighting again,” Ivan grumbled, and it was the first time Cadderly had ever seen the sturdy dwarf so obviously upset with that prospect.
Unexpectedly, the wolf pack up ahead ran on its way, across the trail and not down it at the companions. The wolves howled excitedly into the night, as if they had found some new quarry to pursue.
Shayleigh asked no questions about their good fortune. She spurred her friends ahead at full speed and came to a grove of fruit trees. Shayleigh would have preferred evergreens, where dark needles might offer some cover, but the pursuing pack was not far behind and these trees were easy to climb, even for short-limbed dwarves. Up the four went, as high as the branches would allow, Shayleigh finding a secure nook and stringing her bow immediately.
The dark shapes of the large wolves came into the clear area to the side of the grove, their fur bristling silver and black in the meager light. One came to the tree right below Cadderly and Pikel, sniffing the air, then loosing yet another terrifying howl.
It was answered by all its dozen companions at the grove, and then by a larger group, the group that had been ahead of the four companions, somewhere off to the east. The cries to the east continued, heightened, and though this group had the four treed, they could not ignore the thrill of the chase. Off the pack ran, but Shayleigh and the others did not come down, the elf explaining that this might be the best defensible spot they would find for miles.
The howling continued for many minutes, frantic, as if the wolves were indeed on a fresh trail. Cadderly’s heart fluttered at every cry-might it be Danica the beasts were chasing?
Then the howls lessened and became mixed with resonating snarls, and it seemed to the companions that whatever the wolves had been chasing was trapped.
“We must go help,” Cadderly announced, but none of the others seemed ready to leap to the ground behind him. He looked at them, particularly at sturdy Ivan, as if he had been deceived.
“Three dozen wolves,” the yellow-bearded dwarf remarked, “maybe more. All we’ll be doing is giving them more to eat!”
Cadderly didn’t flinch as he picked his way down to the next lowest branch.
Ivan huffed and shuffled in his own roost, moving close enough to slap Pikel and get him, too, moving. Agile Shayleigh was already on the ground, waiting for them.
Cadderly smiled secretly, glad to confirm once more that he was blessed by brave and righteous friends. The young priest’s grin went away, though, and all four of the companions froze (except for Pikel, who was knocked from his perch and fell hard to the ground), when a tremendous explosion rocked the very ground under their feet and a ball of fire rose into the air in the east, accompanied by the cries of many wolves.
“Dorigen?” both Cadderly and Shayleigh asked together, but neither of them moved, not knowing what they should do.
Pikel groaned and regained his footing, shaking the twigs out of his green beard. Above, high in the tree, a small form skittered along, verily flying from branch to branch.
Ivan, in the highest perch, let out a shout and turned about, lifting his axe, but Shayleigh’s call stopped him in time.
“Percival,” the elf maiden explained. “It is only Percival.”
Cadderly scrambled as high as he could go, meeting his squirrel friend. Percival chattered excitedly, hopping in circles on the branch, and Cadderly understood that the squirrel had been more than a casual observer in all of this, when, a moment later, he heard the frantic cries of a man, and the howls of the remaining wolves in pursuit.
Shayleigh and Pikel went back up into the tree, and all four, and the squirrel as well, fell silent, watching to the east. Shayleigh caught the movement first, and up came her bow, an arrow streaking off unerringly to take down a wolf that was nipping at the fleeing man’s heels.
The man, startled and not believing he had any allies in this dark place, cried out as the bolt flew past. Cadderly recognized the voice.
“Belago,” the young priest muttered.
Ivan dropped down branch by branch until he was at the lowest limb, Pikel joining him there. Both looked to the running man, figuring the angle of approach, and they shifted side by side to put themselves in line. Pikel braced Ivan’s feet as the dwarf rolled under the branch, hooking his knees, his arms hanging down.
On came Belago, blindly, more wolves nipping at his heels. Another arrow sliced past him, the elf’s aim perfect, but the frightened man seemed to not even register that fact. He seemed oblivious to everything except his belief that he was alone and helpless in a dark night and was about to be eaten by wolves.
He ran under the tree, only because that course was straightest, for he knew he had no time to climb.
Then he was caught, and he screamed as he went up suddenly, hoisted by powerful dwarven hands. Not knowing Ivan for an ally, he squirmed and lashed out, connecting on the dwarf’s face with several solid hits. Ivan just shook his head and muttered curses against “stupid people.”
Belago wasn’t beginning to break free, but his squirming was preventing Ivan from getting him high out of harm’s way. Finally the dwarf heaved Belago as high as he could and butted the man right in the face. Belago went limp in his arms, and Ivan, with Pikel’s help, tugged him up to the branch.
Shayleigh’s bow sang out several times, keeping the pack at bay as the dwarves straightened themselves out and hauled dazed Belago up a couple of branches.
“By the gods!” Vicero Belago whispered repeatedly, tears flowing freely when he at last came out of his stupor and recognized his saviors. “By the gods! And Cadderly! Dear Cadderly!” he wailed, standing on the branch to be closer to the young priest. “You have returned too late, I fear!”
Cadderly slipped over on the branch and stepped down to Belago’s level, trying to calm the man. “Was Dorigen with you?” Cadderly asked at length, thinking still of the telltale explosion.
Belago didn’t seem to recognize the name.
“Danica?” the young priest asked frantically. “What of Danica?”
“She was with you,” the wiry alchemist replied, seeming sincerely confused.
“Danica came back to the library,” Cadderly answered sharply.
“I have been out of the library for several days,” Belago replied, and he quickly told his tale. As it turned out, the four friends knew more about the place than he; all the poor alchemist knew was that he had been put out, and that very dark things, it seemed, had subsequently occurred in the library. Belago had not gone to Carradoon, as Dean Thobicus had instructed. He figured to wait for Cadderly’s return, or at least for the warmer weather. He had friends on the mountain and had taken refuge in a small shack with a hunter he knew, a man named Minshk, east of the library.
“Dark things were about,” the alchemist remarked, referring to that time in the hunter’s lodge. “Minshk and I knew that, and we were going to go to Carradoon tomorrow.” He looked to the east, his eyes sad, and mournfully repeated, “Tomorrow.”
“But the wolves came,” the alchemist continued, his voice barely a whisper. “And something else. I got away, but Minshk…” Belago slumped on the branch and went quiet, and the four friends turned their attention back to the pack surrounding the grove. The wolves couldn’t get to them, but those continuing howls would likely bring in something, or someone, that could.
“We should be getting outta here,” Ivan offered.
For the first time, Vicero Belago’s expression brightened. He reached under his heavy cloak and produced a flask, handing it toward Cadderly.
Pikel, meanwhile, had his own idea. He snapped his stubby fingers and grabbed the heavy axe from his brother’s back.
Cadderly, concerned with Belago’s offering, paid little heed to the dwarves’ ensuing argument.
“Oil of Impact,” the alchemist said excitedly. “I was going to make you another bandolier of explosive darts, but I hadn’t the time before Thobicus…” He paused, overwhelmed by the painful memory. Then his face brightened again and he pushed the flask out toward Cadderly.
“I had another flask,” he explained. “Maybe you saw the blast. I was hoping to do another one, right before Ivan caught me, but I hadn’t the time.”
Cadderly then understood the fireball that had risen in the east, and he gingerly-so very gingerly!-accepted the gift from the alchemist.
“Hey!” Ivan cried, drawing everyone’s attention. Pikel had won this round of their argument, shoving Ivan over so hard that he had to hang on to the branch by his fingertips to prevent himself from falling to the gathered wolf pack. Before the yellow-bearded dwarf could right himself or further protest, Pikel brought the axe down hard on the trunk of the tree, causing a small split. As soon as Ivan regained his balance, Pikel handed the axe back, and Ivan snatched it away, eyeing his brother curiously.
Not as curiously as Cadderly was watching. He, above all the others, even Ivan, understood what Pikel had become, what the dwarfs love of trees and flowers had given him, and the gravity of Pikel’s action, the fact that the would-be druid had just brought a weapon against a living tree, did not escape the young priest. Cadderly shifted past Ivan, who was more than willing to slide away from his unpredictable brother, and came to Pikel’s side, to find the green-bearded dwarf muttering-no, chanting-under his breath, a small knife in hand.
Before Cadderly could ask, for the young priest did not want to interrupt, Pikel slashed his own hand with the knife.
Cadderly grabbed the dwarf’s wrist and forced Pikel to look at him directly. Pikel smiled and nodded, pointed to Cadderly, to the wound, and to the wound he had inflicted on the tree.
Cadderly came to understand as a single drop of Pikel’s blood fell from his hand to land on the rough bark beside the small cut in the tree. The blood instantly rushed for the crack in the trunk and disappeared.
Pikel was chanting again, and so was Cadderly, trying to find, in Deneir’s song, some energy that he could add to the dwarf’s attempt.
More blood flowed from Pikel’s wound, every drop finding its way unerringly to the tree’s crack. A warmth rose up from that crack, the smell of springtime with it.
Cadderly found a stream of thought, of holy notes that fit the scene, and he followed it with all his heart, not knowing what would happen, not knowing what Pikel had begun.
He closed his eyes and sang on, ignoring the continuing snarls and howls of the wolves, ignoring the astonished gasps of his friends.
Cadderly opened his eyes again when the branch heaved under him, as though it had come to life. The tree had blossomed in full, large apples showing on every branch. Ivan had one in hand already, and had taken a huge bite.
The dwarf’s look soured, though, and not for the taste. “Ye think I might be fattening meself up to make a better wolf meal?” he asked in all seriousness, and he pelted the apple onto the nose of the nearest wolf.
Pikel squealed with delight; Cadderly could hardly believe what he and Pikel had done. What had they done? the young priest wondered, for he hardly saw the gain of prematurely flowering the tree. The apples provided missiles they could throw at the wolves, but certainly nothing that would drive the pack away.
The tree heaved again, and then again, and then, to the amazement of everyone on the branch, except, of course, Pikel, it came alive, not alive as a plant, but as a sentient, moving thing!
Branches rolled up and snapped down, loosing showers of apples with tremendous force, pummeling the wolf pack. Even worse for the wolves, the lowest branches reached down to club them, crunching their legs under them or sending them spinning away. Belago nearly tumbled, fell right over his branch and held on desperately with wrapped arms. Ivan did fall, bouncing from branch to branch all the way to the ground. He came up at once, axe ready, expecting a dozen wolves to leap at his throat.
Shayleigh was beside him in an instant, but the dwarf needed no protection. The wolves were too busy dodging and running. A moment later, Pikel and Cadderly, and finally Belago (who came down only because he fell), were at Ivan’s side. Some of the closest wolves made halfhearted attacks at the group, but the four friends were well armed and well trained, and with most of the pack scattering, they easily drove the stragglers away.