Chapter Twenty-One

There was blood on the boot: not much, but enough to set Dezra's heart hammering against her ribs. She glanced around with her torch held high. The forest was dark, silent save for the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"Damn it, Borlos, where are you?" she muttered.

She'd woken from a dream she immediately forgot to find the bard missing and Trephas asleep. She'd tried to wake the centaur, Arhedion, and even her father, but no amount of shaking, shouting or slapping would rouse them. Finally she'd given up, grabbed her blade and a torch, and gone to look alone.

Borlos's trail had been easy to find. She'd followed trampled plants and broken branches until something caught her eye. That something was the boot that lay at her feet.

"Bor!" she hissed. "Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

She saw footprints in the rain-softened earth. They led away, deeper into the woods: one bare, one shod. She followed them, and before long found the bard's second boot. After that, she started encountering his clothes: his leather armor scattered about; his tunic snarled in a thornbush; his trousers crumpled beneath a poplar tree. The tracks went past all these.

Finally, some distance from the camp, the trail stopped before a massive, ebon oak. Its branches creaked in the breeze as Dezra crept toward it. A man's breechcloth lay at the base of its mighty trunk. Beside it was a torch, which had guttered out.

"Borlos?" she called, her voice trembling.

“Dzzz…"

The voice was faint, muffled. She stepped back, waving her torch. "Bor? Where are you?"

Something moved, partway up the oak's trunk. At first she thought it was an animal: a chipmunk, perhaps, or a markle. Then she saw it clearly, and her jaw dropped. It was a hand, sticking out of the tree.

She watched in horrified fascination as the bard's fingers scratched feebly at the bark. Cautiously, she circled the tree, trying to understand what was going on. The oak looked perfectly normal—except for the hand.

A muffled noise, half-screech, half-whimper, sounded from within the tree. She reached out and touched the twitching fingers. The hand made a grab for her, and she yelled and jerked free. It clenched into a shaking fist. She heard Borlos's voice again.

"Hlp," he pleaded. "Gt… out… hrrr."

Dezra stuck her sword in the ground and pressed her ear against the bark. "Bor?" she asked.

"Dry -ad."

Her brows knitted. "You let her bring you here?"

"Yes, I'm an idiot," he snapped. "Now get me out!"

"Sure. How?"

The hand drooped, and Borlos sighed. "I don't know. Just think of something."

Carefully, she probed the bark around Borlos's wrist. It was thick and gnarled, and didn't yield to her touch. She gouged at it with her dagger, flaking away a piece. The wood beneath was dense, however, and she couldn't do more than score it with her blade.

She stepped back, glancing around, and looked at his breechcloth on the ground. "Borlos," she asked, "are you naked?"

"No," he growled. "I'm wearing an enormous bloody tree. Or hadn't you noticed?"

Her eyes settled on the torch that lay, extinguished, beside it. She pursed her lips, then sheathed her dirk and leaned close to the tree again.

"I've got an idea," she said. "Don't wander off."

"Oh. Ha, ha."

Smiling crookedly, she picked up Borlos's torch and lit it with her own brand. When she had it burning, she took a deep breath and thrust it at the oak.

After a moment, the bark near Borlos's hand began to smolder. The whole tree shuddered, from its roots to its topmost boughs. Leaves and twigs fell around Dezra. She held the torch in place, letting it scorch the bark, char the wood beneath.

"Come on," she muttered. "Let him go."

The bark around Borlos's wrist began to open. She dropped the brand she'd brought with her, keeping Borlos's torch next to the wood, and grabbed his hand. She tugged, and his arm started sliding free. Planting her foot against the trunk, she pulled with all her strength.

"Ow!" Borlos grunted. The wood had opened enough for her to see his face, glistening with sap. "Dez, she's in here with me. She's not letting go…

Dezra heard a faint whistling sound from above. She looked up, saw a branch swinging down, and had just enough time to turn her face away before it hit, sending her reeling. She lost her grip on Borlos and hit the ground hard, ears ringing.

When she got her wind back, she turned back to face the tree. She'd gotten Borlos halfway out. Now his arm, his head and part of his chest were outside the tree, while the rest stayed trapped within.

"Well, that didn't work," he said sourly.

"Hold on," Dezra said, raising the torch. "Maybe if I try again—"

Another branch swung down. She felt the wind as its leaves whipped past her face, and stopped in her tracks.

"Or maybe not," she muttered.

She fell back, rubbing her forehead. Borlos winced as, slowly, the dryad started pulling him back in.

Then came another voice, behind her. "Dezra!" it called. "Borlos! Where art thou?"

She spun. "Trephas?" she shouted. "Over here! Hurry!"

They waited, listening to the sound of approaching hoof-beats. At last, Trephas emerged from the darkness, armed with torch and lance. Behind him rode Arhedion; at the rear, red-faced and puffing, jogged Caramon.

"What in the Abyss is going on?" Caramon asked as he stumbled toward Dezra. He stopped suddenly, gaping at Borlos. Only the bard's forearm and face poked through the bark now.

"Hi, big guy," Borlos said. "You happen to bring a hatchet with you?"

"No!" Trephas barked. "Don't harm the tree. It will only make things worse."

"Uh-oh," Dezra muttered.

The centaur looked at her sharply. "I thought so," he grumbled. "Only pain could have broken the spell of sleeping the dryad cast on us. What didst thou do to it?"

Dezra lowered her torch. "I burned it, a little."

Trephas winced. "Pray thou didn't hurt her too badly, then," he said. Dropping his lance, he strode toward the tree. A branch lashed down at him, but he caught it in his hand. "Be easy, Pallidice," he said. "It's me, Trephas."

The branch slipped free and withdrew into the heights. Trephas laid a hand on the tree's bark. "Oak-maiden," he said softly. "The human isn't yours to take. Release him."

A musical voice called from the tree. "I will not!" it huffed. "I love him. He wants to be with me."

"I don't!" Borlos protested.

"There," Trephas said. "Did you hear him? Release him, Pallidice, and come forth."

"Oh… very well."

The tree split open. Borlos tumbled out, naked and glistening. Arhedion hurried forward, helping him rise and stagger away from the tree. Dezra tossed the bard his breechcloth. While he was girding himself, his face red, the dryad emerged from the oak.

Her green hair shimmered in the firelight as she strode toward Trephas. He knelt before her, and she flung her arms about his neck, kissing him repeatedly.

"Trephas!" she exclaimed. "Oh, how wonderful! My tree's gained many rings since I saw you last!"

Arhedion laughed out loud. "She remembers thee well enough."

"So it seems," Trephas said, chuckling. Flushed, he grabbed the dryad's shoulders and held her away from him. "Pallidice, I need your help."

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "Truly?"

"Truly."

The dryad shrieked with delight and spun in a circle, her hair flying outward and revealing her dark, nubile body. When she stopped, she planted her fists on her hips and smiled at Trephas.

"Tell me, then," she said. "What is it you want?"

"Well, why didn't you come to me, instead of sneaking around in the dark?" Pallidice asked when Trephas finished explaining. "It would have saved a lot of bother."

"We were going to see you tomorrow," Trephas replied patiently. "You're the one who put us to sleep, and lured him to your tree." He nodded at Borlos, who looked away. The bard was dressed now, but he was very quiet.

Pallidice shrugged. "Don't blame me. You camped too close to my tree. Would you blame a spider for eating a moth that flew into its web?"

"No one's blaming anybody," Trephas said. "We want your help. Will you take us to Guithern?"

The dryad's face turned serious. It was a striking change from her childish mien. "You say the Wood itself's in danger from this… Grimbough thing?"

"Aye," Trephas replied. "And if Lord Chrethon wins, nothing will be spared. Not even your tree, Pallidice."

The dryad glanced at the great oak. A determined look settled on her face. "Very well, Trephas. I'll help you. But understand this—I do so only to save my tree. The paths my people travel aren't for mortals to walk."

"I understand," Trephas said. "I wouldn't ask, were the need not so great."

The dryad furrowed her brow. "There's one problem, though. I can take only one man inside with me. But never fear," she added, seeing the centaur's face fall. "If you let me return to my tree, I'll find help. Return to your camp and finish your rest. My sisters and I shall meet you here in the morning."

"Sisters?" Borlos blurted, alarmed.

Pallidice laughed. "Of course, my love! These woods are filled with dryads—and won't they be happy to see you!"

Tired though Borlos was, when they returned to camp he didn't sleep another wink.

"There are people," the bard told Caramon, "who'd consider this a sign they were about to enter paradise."

Caramon chuckled. He and his companions faced four dryads now. Pallidice was even more luminous in daylight. Her hair shimmered like emeralds, her eyes like amethysts. Her skin—she still wore not a stitch of clothing—was utterly unblemished. Her three companions were just as beautiful, each in her own way.

"I can see where they'd get that idea," Caramon replied wistfully. "If I'd met these lasses when I was young, I might still be living in one of these trees."

"I think I'm going to be ill," Dezra grumbled.

Trephas, who'd been speaking with Arhedion, turned to face the dryads. "Oak-maidens," he said, bowing. "This is an honor—I know thy kind don't often gather in such numbers in the open."

Two of the dryads nudged each other and giggled, stealing quick glances at Borlos. Pallidice nodded. "How could we do otherwise, with our trees in peril?" she replied. "Now, come. Gamaia will take you to her tree, Trephas. Tessonda will take the old one, and Elirope will see to the girl. As for you," she added, looking at Borlos, "I'm keeping you to myseif."

"Oh," the bard said, smiling weakly. "How nice."

Trephas clapped Arhedion's shoulder in farewell, then let his dryad, Gamaia, guide him into the woods. Caramon went in a different direction, his face red as a summer plum as Tessonda took his hand and led him away. Dezra went last, following Elirope. When the others were gone, Arhedion took his leave as well, turning south and cantering away into the forest.

"Ah," Pallidice said, staring at Borlos through thick, green eyelashes. "My dear one. At last we're alone."

"Uh, well," the bard stammered. "That is, I—"

The dryad spread her arms. "Come to me, my love."

"All right," Borlos said.

He embraced her, his lips seeking hers. He ached with pleasure as their mouths locked together. When they finally parted—he had no idea when that was, except that it was still morning—she led him, laughing, toward her tree. The tree split open, revealing a narrow passage of living wood. Borlos followed her in, glassy-eyed and grinning. He was fully aware she'd cast a glamor over him with her kiss.

On the other hand, he thought, who gives a damn?

Sap flowed about him. She took him in her arms, and they kissed once more. As it had last night, the tree closed around them; this time, he didn't even think of escape. Wood sealed shut, then bark, and all was dark.

"What… happens… now?" he asked between kisses.

"This," Pallidice said.

The ground opened beneath their feet, swallowing them both.