Chapter Twenty-Two

Later, Caramon managed to convince himself he hadn't enjoyed a moment of his time inside the dryad's oak. At the time, though, he forgot everything, aware only of her touch, scent and taste, and of the undulating movements of the tree and its roots as they pushed him and Tessonda down into the earth.

Then, with a shout, he fell through open air, dropping with a clatter of armor and weapons onto solid ground. Tessonda landed nimbly beside him.

"Are you all right, my love?" she asked, concerned.

Caramon lay on his side, wheezing. "I'm fine. Just give me a moment's peace."

"Of course, dear one," Tessonda answered. "Shall I fetch a light?"

"That'd be nice," Caramon said. It was utterly dark. The air was warm and moist, and smelled of rich soil.

After a moment, a dim, blue-white glow kindled in the gloom. The dryad appeared before him, a crystal globe cupped in either hand. Inside the globes crawled countless tiny, glowing beetles.

"Bug-lamps," he said, standing up. Tessonda handed him one of the globes. He'd seen them before, years ago: they'd lit the Forestmaster's glade when he and his friends appeared before her during the war.

The thought of the Forestmaster jolted him back to the present. He glanced around. He and Tessonda were in a close, tight cavern of loose earth. Clots of soil fell from the ceiling and slid down the walls. Hairy tendrils—the lowest extremities of Tessonda's oak—dangled down, tickling his face. He could see no way out, and he stiffened as he realized he was buried alive.

"Be easy," the dryad said, smiling. "No harm will come to you. Your friends are close—follow."

As Caramon watched, Tessonda walked to a wall, and the earth parted before her, forming a narrow tunnel. She stepped inside, beckoning. "Come."

Caramon walked after her. The passage widened, making itself large enough to admit him. He stepped in, holding the bug lamp high. When he was ten paces down the tunnel, he heard a rumble behind him. Glancing back, he saw the chamber he'd just left collapse in a shower of earth. Swallowing, he hurried on, resolving to stay very close to the dryad.

Soon, the passage opened into a broader, higher chamber than the one they'd just left. He and Tessonda stepped inside, the tunnel sealing shut behind them. Trephas and Gamaia were in the cavern already. Tessonda flounced over to her sister dryad, and they whispered and giggled together. Caramon flushed, knowing they were discussing him and the centaur, then turned to regard the horse-man. Trephas, who also held a bug lamp, looked about in awe.

"Seen the others yet?" Caramon asked.

"No," Trephas replied. "They'll be along."

Before long, another passage opened in the chamber's far wall. Elirope emerged, Dezra right behind. Caramon saw his daughter's face was pale, except for two small blossoms of pink on her cheeks. She didn't even look at Elirope as the dryad went to join the others.

She glanced around. "Where are Bor and Pallidice?"

"I don't—" Caramon started.

Before he could finish, a shower of earth pattered down on his dragon-helm. He glanced up, shielding his face from the falling dirt.

"Get back!" Dezra shouted, grabbing his arm and hauling him away.

An eyeblink later, Borlos plunged through the ceiling, falling in a heap where Caramon had been. His lyre made a hideous sound as he hit the ground. Pallidice dropped down beside him, then offered Borlos a hand and helped him rise.

Pallidice conferred with the other dryads for a moment, then embraced each in turn. One by one, Tessonda, Gamaia and Elirope strode to the cavern's walls, stepped into the tunnels that opened there, and disappeared. When the dryads were gone, Caramon turned to his daughter, a bemused grin on his lips.

"I don't want to talk about it," she growled.

"Come," Pallidice said. She strode to the wall, opening another tunnel. "This is the way to Laird Guithern's realm."

They followed the dryad out of the chamber, Dezra going first, then Trephas. Caramon fell in behind, glancing back as Borlos shuffled after. The bard's mouth had curled into a lazy smile.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Caramon said.

Borlos nodded, still grinning. "Let's just say I could get used to this."

There was no knowing how far they traveled, in what direction, or for how long. Hours passed, or perhaps days. Without the sky to mark time, it was hard to tell.

They never saw more than ten paces ahead, or twenty behind. Pallidice stayed at the fore, parting the earth before her; when they had all passed, it collapsed again. Their surroundings changed little: black, rich-smelling earth, spotted with red clay and smooth stones. Roots and tendrils dangled from the ceiling. From time to time, the passage rose or fell, turned one way or the other. Pallidice set a brisk, steady pace. The others stayed close, lest the path continue without them and bury them alive beneath the earth.

"How do you know where the passage goes?" Caramon asked.

Pallidice glanced at him, puzzled. Then understanding dawned on her face. "Of course—your kind are used to traveling on roads. That isn't our way. I don't know where the passage goes because there is no passage—not like you're used to. I wish to go to Laird Guithern's domain, so the earth opens to take me there."

They walked on in silence, for hours or days. Slowly, the tunnel grew colder, its edges rockier. When they stopped at last, the ground beneath them was more stone than dirt, the air chill enough that their breath frosted before them, forming misty plumes that glowed eerily in the bug-lamps' light. The tunnel ended in front of Pallidice, in a wall of solid rock. She pressed both her delicate hands against it, and it yielded, opening to reveal a cavern of stone.

They could see right away that the cave wasn't empty. Many large bug-lamps filled it with light; smoldering braziers gave it heat. On the floor, surrounded by cushions, was a white, wool blanket. Upon it, a feast was arrayed: bowls of apples and berries, loaves of bread and wheels of cheese. There was a basket of sweet grass, two silver pitchers and four golden goblets. Four copper bowls, brimming with clear water, rested beside clean linen towels.

"What in the Abyss—" Caramon exclaimed.

"Not the Abyss," Pallidice replied. "We're at the threshold of the faerie realm. You may rest here—wash yourselves, eat, drink—while I go ahead and speak to the sprites."

She strode into the cave, waving for the others to follow. They did as she bade, and the stone wall sealed shut behind them, closing so tightly that not even the slightest crack marked its edges. There was no other way out—at least, none they could see.

"How long will you be gone?" Borlos asked nervously.

"Never fear, my love," Pallidice answered. "No harm will come to you. If I wished you ill, I could have buried you alive at any time, while we traveled from my oak to this place."

"Well, that's a comfort," Dezra said with a wry chuckle. Borlos and Caramon shuddered.

The dryad wrapped her arms around Borlos. "We'll meet again, my love," she promised. "Don't forget me while I'm gone."

"I don't think that's likely," Borlos declared, dazed.

Giggling, Pallidice strode to the cavern's edge, opposite the way they'd come in. She touched the stone, and another passage opened. She stepped inside and turned back to the others. She waved farewell, blew Borlos a kiss, then the rock closed with a low, echoing boom. The dryad was gone.

"So," Dezra said. "What now?"

Caramon's stomach gurgled furiously. Borlos burst out laughing. "Well put, big guy," he said, sitting on one of the cushions. "Let's eat."

They washed first, using the water and towels. Walking through the open earth, had left them all smeared with grime. When they'd rinsed their faces and hands, they dined. The food was succulent—the bread warm and laced with herbs, the cheese soft and nutty, the fruit tart and firm. Trephas devoured the grass with relish. One of the pitchers proved to be filled with mead, the other with fresh milk; Caramon drank the latter while Borlos guzzled two goblets of fragrant honey-wine.

Dezra didn't touch any of it. Instead, she sat on one of the cushions, her back rigid, her sheathed sword across her lap.

"You're not eating?" Caramon asked around a mouthful of bread.

She shook her head. "Being sealed in a cave with no way out doesn't help my appetite."

"It hasn't hurt mine any."

"Not much does, does it?" she snapped.

Before her father could respond, she shoved herself to her feet and walked away, to the cavern's edge. She stood facing the wall, vainly searching for cracks that might indicate a door. Behind her, the sounds of feasting continued.

After a while, she heard Trephas's war harness jingle, and his hooves clack across the stone floor, toward her. She stiffened.

"Dezra?" he asked. "Is something troubling thee?"

She scowled at him. "You mean besides being trapped here by that tree trollop? Yes, actually—there's plenty bothering me. The way you talk, for one thing."

"The way I talk?" the centaur repeated, confused. "What about it irks thee?"

"Just that," she snapped, rounding on him. "All this thee-thou-thy nonsense. It's driving me crazy."

His eyebrows rose. "'Tis only politeness. My people use those words with everyone, except those we love dearly—husbands and wives, parents, children. Even then, we only use them in private. It wouldn't be proper to call thee 'you.' "

"To the Abyss with proper!" she shouted, then fell silent as Borlos and Caramon glanced her way. She waited for the bard and her father to return to their food and drink. "You called that dryad 'you.' "

"Pallidice?" Trephas asked, and chuckled. "We trysted together a few times, when I was a colt. I got into the habit then. When my father learned I'd been dallying with a dryad—"

He broke off abruptly, his brow furrowing.

Dezra tensed. "What's wrong?" She shoved Trephas aside, looking back toward the blanket, and stared in shock.

Caramon and Borlos lay motionless on the ground. The bard had curled up on his side, still gripping a goblet; mead from the cup had spilled onto the floor. Caramon sprawled on his back, mouth open and eyes closed.

"Oh, crap," Dezra growled.

She pushed past Trephas and dashed to her father's side. Crouching down, she pressed her ear against his chest. After a moment, she sighed. "He's still alive."

"The bard as well," Trephas agreed, bending low over Borlos. "What's happened to them?"

"What do you think's happened?" Dezra shot back.

Trephas's eyes went wide. "The food?"

"And the drink too, probably." She stared at Caramon for a moment, then looked up. "How much did you eat?"

The centaur didn't reply. His head drooped, his beard brushing his chest. As she watched, he crumpled to the ground, nearly crushing Borlos. He began to snore.

"That much, huh?" Dezra asked. She sat down, thinking hard. "I'll kill that dryad when she comes back," she muttered. "I'll wring that green bitch's neck with my bare—"

Before she could finish the thought, her mouth opened in an enormous yawn. She reeled, stunned, as weariness settled over her.

"But I didn't eat anything," she muttered, glancing around the cavern. "How could—"

She knew as soon as her gaze fell upon the smoldering braziers. The coals were drugged, too. It took longer for it to work on her, but soon she could no longer fight off the urge to sleep. She slumped against her father's slumbering form, her head resting on his breastplate.

"Damn," she mumbled, and slept.