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But Ledaygen stood _tall_ and bristling with thick branches. Delrael wondered if this could be the result of some backwash of magic from the _dayid_, the congregation of spirits that had lived in the forest. Bryl had worked with the _dayid_ to quench the forest fire -- but Ledaygen had died, leaving little to salvage.
Now the forest stood lush ... but _wrong_ somehow.
Kellos, the ylvan leader, came up to him. Kellos squeezed his mouth into a tight shape. Dark circles under his flinty eyes made him look exhausted from the burden of bearing so much anger inside himself. The purple bruise from the noose looked like a bandanna at his throat; when he spoke, his voice remained scratchy and harsh. In the days since their rescue from the Black Falcons, Kellos had never once called Delrael by name.
"Something's wrong with this forest." Kellos jerked his head up at the trees. "It's like a blow to the stomach. Can't you feel it? They're all screaming. This forest is in pain."
Delrael continued to lead his fighters ahead anyway. "I can see that."
Scowling, Kellos dropped back.
The trees themselves were thin and unbalanced. Their branches reached like claws. Each joint swelled with large knobs, like the fingers of a starving man. The force of the trees stretching upward, trying to grow as fast as they could, made the air taut with energy.
It reminded Delrael of the blackened tree plantations on the hills outside of Taire. He wondered if Jathen would have made that comparison. Enrod stumbled along, looking disturbed. He had acted even more disoriented since Jathen's death.
The human army continued through the trees. The forest seemed close and oppressive. Delrael knew they should stop for a meal and a rest, but none of the fighters seemed anxious for that.
Kellos came up to him again. "Characters are watching us from out there in the trees. They're very good woodsmen. Even I can barely detect them. But they're here, now, very close to us." He looked around, ready to pull his crossbow and arm it.
Delrael signalled his fighters to stop. A few moments later, when all the characters had ground to a halt, he stepped in front, alone and vulnerable. He looked out into the trees.
"I know you're there, khelebar. I am Delrael, called _kennok_limb. Your Healer Thilane gave me a new leg. Noldir Woodcarver made it for me."
He peeled up his trouser leg to expose the grain of the golden wood and the choppy white gash from where Annik had struck him. "Call Tayron Tribeleader. He knows who I am."
The silence bothered Delrael; suspicion and uneasiness did not fit with his memories of the khelebar at all. But he had been injured that first time, followed by only two companions. Now, he brought an entire army.
Delrael waited and blinked his eyes. In that moment a khelebar man emerged from the trees directly in front of him.
His hair was dark and cropped close to his head. His broad shoulders remained bare. His chest showed no ornament. The bottom half of his body was that of a panther, with four powerful clawed legs, dusty fur, and rippling muscles. His panther tail twitched as he stepped forward.
"We remember you, _kennok_limb. I see that much has changed." The khelebar man looked around the thick forest. "Much has changed here as well. Do you remember me?"
Delrael looked at him, but he recalled a man with long hair hanging in black braids down his back and an ornate pine-cone pendant at his throat.
"Of course I remember you, Ydaim Trailwalker."
The khelebar man smiled at him. "Since you remember me, I have no choice but to welcome you."
* * * *
Tayron Tribeleader padded about on the council clearing where the khelebar made bonfires and told tales. Delrael remembered the war councils the panther-people had held during the forest fire and in planning their assault against the Cyclops.
Delrael sat cross-legged on the ash-covered clearing, waiting for Tayron to continue. He looked across at the hex-discontinuity, where the forested-hill terrain met the adjacent hexagon of mountains; but the terrains did not match up correctly and left a sheer cliff. Many khelebar had thrown themselves over the edge in the last moments of the fire.
Near the center of the clearing stood a pine seedling, about as tall as Delrael's knee. This, he remembered, was the one pine tree that survived from the old Ledaygen, protected from the flames by the fall of the towering Father Pine in the clearing. The seedling looked normal and alive, the only truly healthy tree Delrael had seen in the entire hexagon. Somewhere deep in the hex should be a similarly healthy oak tree, one brought back to life through the sacrifice of Thilane Healer.
Beside the pine seedling stood a complex symbolic monument for the forest. Noldir Woodcarver had fashioned it from the scorched hulk of the Father Pine.
Tayron's dusty blond hair had also been cut short, as had all of the khelebar Delrael had seen. Ydaim explained it to him. "We will not allow our hair to grow until Ledaygen has grown to its former glory."
Tayron stopped is pacing, and the sunlight played across his dappled back. He finally spoke again. "Few khelebar remain here. Most could not stand the enormous task of resurrecting the forest. They could not bear the scars they saw, and they have gone to lesser forests to form their own groups. Only I and Ydaim and a few dozen others do all this work.
"But the blood of Ledaygen has made the soil magic. You see how fast the trees have returned. Our work has paid off. We will never leave our home."
Delrael turned his gaze away and pursed his lips. Until now, Tayron had not asked about the human army or its purpose; but Delrael could no longer avoid the issue.
"Tayron, I have to tell you why we're here. A gigantic monster horde follows us, only a day or two behind. Their purpose is to destroy the map. They will flood through here like a storm, and they'll cause as much destruction as the fire did. I know of no way you can avoid them. They are coming."
Ydaim melted out of the forest to stand by the clearing. His face bore a shocked expression. Delrael thought he saw shadows of other khelebar between the trees. Tayron stared at him with wide, devastated eyes.
"You are bringing the evil creatures here! To destroy our work? How could you do this?" His voice cracked as it grew shrill. "You know what Ledaygen has already suffered -- why couldn't you choose another route and protect us?"
This time frustration began to bubble up within Delrael. He thought of Vailret and Bryl taking their risk as they went alone to get the Earth Stone. He thought of how Jathen had been murdered by the manticore, and all the Tairan characters slaughtered in Siryyk's attack. He drew himself to his feet and felt his hands trembling.
"The end of the Game is near, Tayron, and this could be the final battle. All characters are in play. We can't afford to shelter one place or one group. Everything counts now." He scowled. "I'm sorry for your forest, but we are fighting for all of Gamearth. If we win this one struggle, then we determine our fate for the Outsiders. We will always have peace."
"A war to end all wars?" Ydaim said, interrupting from where he stood. His face wore a cynical expression. "I'm not sure I believe in the idea."
Delrael turned to him, but then three human figures appeared among the trees. "Delrael!" Romm shouted, and all three marched into the clearing. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]