Chapter Ten

The view from the Haven Road was spectacular, they were still high up in the hills, and the forest stretched out below them, the trees crowded together with little space between. The breaks among them were small and few: here a gap marking a meadow, there a snaking line where a stream flowed. The rest was a verdant ocean, rippling as the wind hissed through the leaves. It was the witchery of the place that made it lush when Solace's vallenwoods were still budding. The trees looked ordinary—aspens on the hills, dark oaks below—but something about them exuded a wild, deep power that was more felt than seen.

"Are we going to stand up here forever?" Dezra asked. "Or can we go down now?"

"D-down?" Uwen blurted, wide-eyed with awe.

"You're not scared, are you?" Dezra scoffed. She laughed as the farmboy's face reddened.

Borlos glared at her. "Have done, Dez. There's enough stories about Darken Wood to shiver a kender's skin."

"Ghost stories, you mean." She nodded at the trees. "The dead don't walk there any more."

Caramon nodded. "True. But what about those things who attacked you at Prayer's Eye?"

"The Skorenoi won't trouble us," Trephas declared. "These lands still belong to my people. But even so, we'll camp outside the Wood until morning."

Uwen let out a thankful sigh, and even Borlos and Caramon looked relieved. Dezra, however, eyed the centaur skeptically. She picked up an aspen leaf and began to rip pieces off it.

"What now, then?" she asked.

Caramon nodded down the slope. "We camp. There's a spot down there, at the wood's edge."

They followed his gaze, seeing a green sward, dotted with wildflowers, down by the tree line. A creek wended through it, forming a pond at the forest's rim.

"S-so close?" Uwen asked nervously. "Isn't there somewhere else?"

"You can stay in the middle of the road, if you want," Dezra snapped.

"Dezra," Borlos interjected. "Leave the kid alone."

She shot him a scathing look. "Why don't you go play your lute?" Turning, she started downhill.

It was a hard climb. The ground was loose and gravelly. The horses flared their nostrils, shying back when Caramon and the others tried to coax them down the slope. Finally Trephas, who'd followed Dezra partway down the hill, turned and climbed back up. He strode from one fidgeting horse to the next, making strange sounds. He blew out his lips, pranced sideways, and shook himself, whickering. The horses eyed him, then lowered their heads.

"Release the reins," he said. "Leave them to me."

Astonished, the others did as he bade. When he started back down the hill, the horses followed. The others gaped.

"Did he just do what I think he did?" asked Borlos. "Did he talk to them?"

"Why not?" Dezra called up. "He's at least as much horse as man, and he can speak our language well enough."

Down in the sward, Caramon and Uwen tethered the horses while Trephas walked in a broad circle, flattening the grass. Borlos sat on a log, tuning his lute. Dezra went to the creek and filled her waterskin.

It was dark when she returned. Caramon and Uwen walked toward the camp from the tree line, carrying armloads of dry, gray wood. "Don't worry," Caramon told Trephas. "It's all windfall—we didn't cut any. My brother Raist warned me never to harm anything in Darken Wood."

"I've heard tales of thy brother," Trephas said. "His wisdom is renowned, but in this case he overstated. It isn't forbidden to cut timber in Darken Wood, or gather berries or nutmeats… or even hunt. The only law is not to take more than we need. It's the way of Chislev: We don't mourn that which dies fulfilling its purpose in this world."

"I remember," Caramon replied. "The Forestmaster told my friends and me that, during the War—" He stopped, eyebrows rising. "What's wrong?"

The centaur's ruddy skin had grown suddenly pale, and his nostrils were flared wide. He bowed his head, his mane spilling over his face.

"Trephas?" Dezra asked.

He was silent a moment, then drew a deep breath and blew it out. "I'll find us supper," he said. He moved away, to the forest's edge.

The others watched him go. Dezra chewed her lip, then turned to her father. "You should see to the fire."

Nodding, Caramon set up the firewood on a patch of bare earth and ringed it with stones. Satisfied, he picked up a rock and struck it against his dagger. Nothing happened. He struck them again and again, to no avail.

"Come on, you bastard," he muttered. "Light."

Sighing, Dezra strode over and crouched beside him. She scraped another stone against her own dirk, and made a bright spark that fell into the firewood. The tinder caught quickly, issuing a curl of smoke that she coaxed into a crackling fire.

Caramon looked from the flames to Dezra, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged, her mouth curling into a lopsided grin as she slapped her dagger back into its sheath.

The sound of plucked strings rang across the sward: Borlos was playing his lute. He strummed a few chords, tightened a string, then began a sweet, wistful ballad. He sang in a quiet tenor:

"She stank of fish and wine-oh," Dezra interrupted.

Borlos's lute twanged discordantly. He glared at her. "I'd rather you didn't interrupt," he said.

She laughed. "And I'd rather you didn't play. Honestly, Bor, that song was so maudlin—"

"Hush," Caramon said suddenly.

The sharpness in his tone checked Dezra's tongue. She rose, touching her sword. Uwen reached for his axe. Borlos set down his lute and cast about, trying to remember where he'd put his mace.

"Stay," Caramon said. "We're not in danger."

"Oh, for the love of Reorx," Dezra snapped. "What, then?"

His brow furrowed. "I'm not sure. A feeling—like someone was in pain. It came from that way… ." He pointed toward the dark forest.

He expected Dezra to laugh. Instead, she stared at the trees, her face pale. "I think I felt it too, just now," she murmured. "It was like… like…"

"Like the forest itself was suffering."

They nearly leapt out of their skins. Concentrating on the forest, they hadn't seen Trephas approaching. The centaur stepped into the firelight. Slung over his shoulder were three coneys.

"It happens sometimes," he said, his face troubled. "It isn't very strong here. Still, not long ago, we wouldn't have been able to feel it at all, this far away."

"Far away from what?" Borlos asked.

Trephas hesitated, stricken, then lowered his gaze. "No. I've already said too much. Thou must wait until we reach Ithax."

"The hell we must," Caramon said. He walked toward the centaur, folding his arms. "There's more than just a war going on in there," he said, pointing at the trees. "Tell us."

The strange, disquieting feeling had passed. The night was still, save for the murmur of the leaves. The fire crackled, sending a storm of embers roiling skyward. Trephas looked from Dezra to Caramon, then sighed and tossed the coneys to the ground.

"Very well," he said. "But first, let us eat. Thou wilt have little appetite, I fear, after the tale is told."

"It began ten years ago, when the Knights of Takhisis held these lands," Trephas began. He knelt by the fire, staring at the embers. The others gathered around, sucking meat from the last of the coneys' bones. They watched the centaur intently, glancing now and then at the looming shadow of Darken Wood.

"I've told thee of Lord Chrethon," Trephas murmured. "I haven't said why he rebelled against the Circle. It wasn't for any terrible crime, not as two-legged folk reckon it. He was exiled for fighting the Dark Knights. His tribe slew a company of them, so the Circle cast them out."

"What?" Dezra exclaimed. "But they were evil! It was right to fight them."

"That was what Chrethon believed. He wasn't alone." Trephas paused, then shook his head. "But the Forestmaster bade us not to enter the war—and in those days, the Forestmaster spoke for Chislev herself."

"And the gods chose for darkness to win the war," Borlos added. "Chaos was too much a threat for Good and Evil to quarrel, and at the time, Evil was stronger. So the gods—all the gods—let the Knights triumph, so they could fight the greater danger."

Trephas nodded. "Just so. But Lord Chrethon felt he knew better. The Circle was loath to slay him for it, however, and instead took his tail, marking him as a traitor and exiling his tribe.

"For two years after the Chaos War, we heard nothing of his people. They'd gone east and disappeared. Some believed they'd perished, or left Darken Wood. Then, one spring, one of the Circle, Lord Thymmiar, went hunting in the east. Without warning, Chrethon and his minions attacked his party, and slaughtered them all—save one, Xagander, whom Chrethon allowed to go free. First, though, Chrethon gelded him."

The meadow was still. Caramon and Borlos exchanged grim glances. Uwen went white, dropping his hands into his lap.

"That was the war's beginning," Trephas continued. "Xagander returned to Ithax, bearing Lord Thymmiar's head and the tale of the attack. Chrethon, he said, had gone mad, yearning for revenge against those who had punished him.

"Chrethon's followers had changed in other ways, too. Out of loyalty to their lord, they had docked their own tails—but that wasn't all. They were deformed now, Xagander said, twisted and foul. They looked and moved like no centaur."

"Like the ones at Prayer's Eye," Dezra murmured.

Trephas nodded. "At first, the Circle didn't believe Xagander. He was mad himself after his ordeal, and soon took his own life. But that summer, Chrethon and his minions struck again—another ambush, this time aimed at Lord Pleuron. Unlike Thymmiar, however, Pleuron survived, though he lost an arm in the fighting, as well as his son, Acraton. He returned to Ithax and confirmed Xagander's tale. The Keening Wind tribe had indeed changed—or Crossed, as we call it now. They'd become Skorenoi."

"But it would take powerful magic to do such a thing," Caramon ventured. "How could it happen?"

"That was a mystery," Trephas said. "My people never practiced sorcery, even before magic disappeared. The Circle tried to learn the answer, but to no avail. The Skorenoi's attacks became more and more vicious. By the next year they were razing whole villages. They slew scores of my people, and took even more as prisoners. What's worse, within a week, those prisoners had also Crossed, and fought beside the Skorenoi, their tails shorn and their bodies changed.

"So our enemy grew, and we weakened. We fled lands we'd walked for centuries. Even in the places we thought safest, we found danger from within. Our own kin deserted us, gave themselves into Chrethon's service."

Dezra stared in disbelief. "But why?"

"What reasons are there ever for betrayal?" Trephas replied. "Many warriors sympathized with Lord Chrethon. They went over to his side. Thenidor and his fellows were the first to do so. Once they did, others followed—young stallions, mostly.

"Others did it simply for power," he added, and spat in the fire. "They saw Chrethon was winning, and changed sides. The worst happened two summers ago. One of the chieftains, Leodippos of the Leaping Hart, renounced the Circle and took most of his tribe to Sangelior, the Skorenoi's stronghold. Now Leodippos is Chrethon's right hand, leading many of the attacks himself. And every time, he drives us back even farther.

"That's how it stands today," Trephas finished sadly. "We are outmatched. The Circle believes we won't see summer's end, unless something's done."

"So they sent you to find help," Caramon said.

The centaur nodded.

Dezra glanced around the sward, looking at Uwen, Borlos and her father. "And this is the best you could do?" she asked. "You should have gotten an army of Solamnic Knights, or at least a gang of sellswords."

"The Circle didn't send me for help fighting the Skorenoi," Trephas replied. "We need thee for something else."

"What, then?" Caramon pressed.

Trephas leveled his dark gaze on them. "Thou asked what stood behind Chrethon—what sort of magic begat the Skorenoi."

"I thought you said you didn't know," noted Dezra.

"Not so. I said it was a mystery, and it was, for many years. But now we know the truth." He paused, then blew out his lips. "During our first battle against Lord Leodippos, after he and his tribe Crossed, my brother Gyrtomon captured several Skorenoi. We lost the battle, and many of our warriors were dragged away to serve Chrethon, but we kept the prisoners to question them.

"Most of them took their own lives, rather than telling us anything. One we kept from harming himself, though, and our herbalists plied him with draughts to make him speak. That was how we learned about the daemon tree."

Dezra blinked. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think I heard that right. Did you say daemon—"

"Tree, aye."

"I see," Dezra said skeptically. "And it's this… tree… ."

"That changes my people into Skorenoi," Trephas finished.

"How?" Uwen asked.

Caramon spoke before the centaur could answer. "Chaos," he breathed. "That's it, isn't it?"

"What?" Dezra scoffed. "That's impossible. Chaos was banished ten years ago, at the end of the war. How can he be back?"

"He isn't," Trephas said. "If he were, Darken Wood would no longer stand. But his children remain, just as the children of the gods—elves, ogres, humans—stayed when their makers departed. Even now, shadow-wights and fire dragons still roam the land."

Borlos nodded. "I've heard the same."

"And there are others, too," Trephas continued. "Beings of immense power. One dwells in Darken Wood, in the east. Its true name is not known, but my people call it Grim-bough. Once, it was one of the forest's grandest oaks, but Chaos touched it, perverted it with his power. When the change was done, Grimbough could think and speak, and lusted for blood. Like all minions of Chaos, its power comes from corrupting others. Such is the case with the Skorenoi. Grimbough twists them when they Cross—in body, mind and soul."

No one spoke for a long time. A wolf howled mournfully, deep within the wood.

"Grimbough isn't just corrupting my people, either," Trephas added. "It wants to destroy the forest itself. That's why Darken Wood's in pain." He drew a hand across his face, his eyes shining. "In the east, Grimbough has worked its corruption on the forest, just as it has marked the Skorenoi. Its stain still hasn't spread far, praise Chislev, but it grows every day. My people strive to preserve the wood, but if Chrethon defeats us, Darken Wood will be lost."

"It's something to do with the tree, right?" Borlos asked. "That's why you want our help."

"Aye. Don't ask what thy task shall be," the centaur added before they could speak. "The Circle didn't tell me."

Caramon shifted, giving Trephas a hard look. "So… you tricked me into coming," he said slowly. The fire popped, sending sparks soaring.

"Father," Dezra said impatiently, "he didn't come for you. I'm the one who went with him, remember?"

"Only to lure me after you," Caramon said. "Isn't that right, Trephas?"

The centaur hunched his shoulders, staring at the ground. "Aye," he replied. "I proposed the wager at the fair to trick thee into accompanying me, but when thou refused, I had to find another way. I took thy daughter, knowing thou wouldst follow."

Dezra rose, her face red. "So I was what, then?" she snapped. "Bait?"

"Not just that," Trephas answered. "The Circle bade me bring back a Majere—they didn't specify which. At first, I wanted thy father, because of his renown. But when I saw what thou didst at the fair, and again to that sellsword in the tavern, I thought the Circle would find thee as useful as Caramon—perhaps even more." He flashed an apologetic glance at her father. "I mean no offense, but I thought thou wouldst be… more like thou once were."

"Then you don't need him after all," Dezra declared triumphantly. "I'm the better choice."

The centaur hesitated. "Perhaps… ."

"Good," Dezra finished. "Because you can only have one of us. If he goes with you, I'm out."

"Dez—" Caramon began.

"No!" she snapped. "I don't want you tagging along, hanging over my shoulder. Go back to Solace. If you don't, I'll leave, and go on to Haven."

No one spoke. The others looked from daughter to father, not sure what would happen next. They stared stonily at each other. Finally, Caramon sighed, slumping.

"If that's the choice, then," Caramon said, "you go to Haven. I won't let you do go into Darken Wood alone."

Dezra scowled. "Fine. Sorry, Trephas—I hope you can make do with an old man instead of me."

More silence.

At length, Borlos frowned. "One thing I don't get," he said. "What about the Forestmaster? She's Darken Wood's guardian. Can't she stop this daemon tree?"

Trephas drew himself up righteously. "The Forestmaster fought Grimbough with all her strength. That's why more of the forest hasn't changed."

Caramon stared at the centaur, his face pale, forgetting his quarrel with Dezra. " 'Fought' ?" he repeated. "Is… is the Forestmaster dead?"

"Nay," the centaur answered sadly. "But perhaps 'twould be better if she were… ."