Feynard (31 page)

“Right,” she said sweetly, ducking beneath an X’gäthi blade. “This is all easily explained, so listen closely.” Her captive audience could do nought but! “Our dear Queen did but stumble against the outlander, who intended no affront against her person. Rather, he saved her from falling. Now, when I let you go in a moment, you will all cease this foolishness. The X’gäthi will fall back.
Immothiune, please unclasp your fingers from the outlander’s neck and allow him to release the Queen. All you others, please refrain from screaming and generally making asses of yourselves. Is that understood?”

Kevin
had indeed discovered his air supply was being cut off. If Alliathiune did not release him soon, he would black out. The other discovery of note was that the sensation of holding the Dryad Queen in his arms was not disagreeable in the slightest. The scent of wildflowers in her hair and the slight, warm trembling of her body against his was doing something quite inexplicable to his sense of balance. And abruptly, the pressure vanished and he could breathe, release the Queen, re-gather his composure and brush his clothing straight with energetic, furiously embarrassed smacks of his hands. Blades were lowered and the Dryads moved back uneasily. Several of their number remonstrated with Alliathiune, who looked unhappy but defiant.

The Queen took
Kevin’s arm with a smile. “May I? Second time lucky, they say.”

“Of course.”

But the incident left him with a sour aftertaste of foreboding. Was it an ill echo from Alliathiune’s display of power? What had the Dryad Queen seen in his eyes that should cause her to stumble so–if not those alleged ‘wizard’s eyes’ that Alliathiune had described? Was the Council in danger? Kevin did not trust his feelings as a rule, and so he laughed it off as a silly fancy and tried to concentrate on his conversation with the Queen. She, far from being flustered, had completely regained her poise and reserve. He tried very hard not to remember what she had felt like in his arms–or how Alliathiune might feel–he shot her a guilty glance.

But Alliathiune avoided his gaze, and pointedly found something else to occupy her attention.
Kevin gulped. Evidently, the fate of the Forest was not the only matter at stake!

“C
ome, dance with us!”
cried the Dryads, catching Kevin’s hand as they skipped past, whirling him out of a daydream.

Kevin
, now deep into his third flagon of a wickedly potable berry wine, was more than willing to comply. In fact, an enormous confidence possessed him and any lingering inhibitions had deserted him nearly an hour before. He was tipsy, garrulous, and having a very good time.

In the absence of the more senior creatures of the different races, who had spent all afternoon within a towering pavilion locked in discussi
on–sustained, often heated, and not always helpful discussion–their aides and advisors and helpers, having been unable to wrangle a place within the Council, had opted to start the party early instead. Kevin had entered the pavilion to deliver his initial report, but when the arguments broke out, Alliathiune had kindly taken his elbow and shown him to the tent flap. ‘It’ll go on for ages,’ she had whispered, ‘and no doubt get nasty. I know how you feel about arguments.’ He, surprised at her sensitivity, had readily acquiesced. He had done his part, anyhow–leave the politics to those with a yen for it!

But it left him at something of a loose end. Both Snatcher and Akê-Akê had vanished to goodness knows where, and he had been about to join them
, when he was accosted by a group of russet-furred Gerbils and whipped over to the ‘bar’ for a drink. This turned out to be a euphemism for an interrogation, which started with how flabbergasted they were at the colour of his hair and proceeded swimmingly from there on until Zephyr unexpectedly appeared to rescue him. However, the Unicorn soon returned to the fray within the pavilion. Kevin was left to swap stories with several junior Unicorns. His second flagon of wine had lubricated and embellished his tale of their journey to Elliadora’s Well, which the young Unicorns lapped up.

Now, he thought giddily, he was having the time of his life. Every Dryad in sight want
ed to flirt with him. He possessed boundless energy and optimism, and was becoming quite dizzy with the dancing and girlish laughter and wine swirling about in his brain. He quaffed the flagon and tossed it over his shoulder. The tempo of the music, though alien to him, made his feet twitch uncontrollably.

“Faster!” cried the girls, tugging him on.

Kevin shouted with laughter and danced the harder, chasing after the playful Dryads with all his might.

L
ater, having danced like a dervish for what felt like hours, Kevin found himself near the food, and having secured a platter of something vaguely edible along with his fourth flagon of wine, found himself a seat on one of the long benches and tucked in hungrily. By gum, he could eat a horse! Driadorn must be great, if he felt like this all the time! He had never missed Pitterdown Manor less.

“Good food, outlander?”

Kevin looked up over a mouthful of grilled vegetables. “S’good,” he muttered, slurring the words. He saw a Human, the first he had encountered in this accursed Forest.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.”

The man swung his long legs over the bench and settled down. Suddenly, he espied someone he knew. “Ho, Braddock! Over here!” Braddock, it turned out, was a Wolverine as wide as he was tall. He had muscles on top of muscles. He took up a
great deal of room on the bench.

“Who’d you find, Snake?”

“A Human, by the looks of him. What’s your name, outlander?”

“
Kevin.”

“Yeah? I’ll shake on that.” Snake had a cold hand, but his grasp was steely. He looked
Kevin up and down. “That’s a mighty unusual name, Kevin. Which part of Driadorn do you call home?”

“Uh–Thaharria-brin-Tomal, I suppose.”

“Ah, you must work for the one-horns. Proud and touchy lot. Can’t say as I like their airs and graces much, myself.”

“
Yes, I suppose they can be–”

“But what an honour to come to Elliadora’s Well, eh, good
Kevin? You must be one of the few Humans about this lighttime. We Humans should stick together.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Braddock, letting the entire contents of the flagon slide down his throat in one long gulp. “I’ll have another!”

“Big drinkers, those Wolverines,” Snake advised. “Don’t ever get yourself into a drinking contest with one of them.” Kevin blinked uncertainly. “What you drinking, anyways?”

“Wine.
Ish very good.”

“Wine?” scoffed Braddock. “Pigswill! Men don’t drink wine–do they, Snake? No, real men drink Berman’s Blast or green kale. Now’s there’s a drink t
hat’ll curl your chest hairs!”

“You’ll have one, Snake?”

“You’re a wicked son of a lamka rat, Braddock! Yes, I will at that.”

“
Kevin?”

“Sure you will!” roared the Wolverine, waving to one of the Honeybears serving at the tables. “At least one–you ever tried it before? No? Can’t say you’ve lived until you’ve tried a green kale, my friend. It’s smoother than a Dryad’s backside, sweeter than honey, and bites the living
bedathar out of you.”

“What’s a ‘
bedathar’?” Kevin inquired, as his alcohol-pickled mind slowly ruminated over the comment about Dryads’ backsides.

“A Wolverine word
you shouldn’t repeat in polite company,” said Snake, with an ugly leer across the table that showed off all the black bits between his teeth. “So, you came through the Portal with the rest of the one-horns, eh? That was quite an experience, if I say so myself.”

“No, actually I didn’t.”

Snake’s arm froze halfway to his mouth. “You don’t say. You aren’t
the
outlander everyone’s talking about, are you?”

“Well, I don’t know about–”

“Say, Braddock!” Snake cried, “Listen up for a minute, will you? This is the outlander that came all the way here with those X’gäthi and the Unicorn–what’s his name?”

“Zephyr,”
Kevin supplied eagerly.

“Zephyr, that’s right. So you came with Zephyr?”

“Yesh, thanksh, Braddosh.”

“No sweat,” growled the Wolverine. “By my oath, I had no idea we were in such important company. Why didn’t you tell me, Snake? I wouldn’t be cussing my tongue dry with Dryad’s whatsits and all if I knew who we were sitting with!”

“That must have been some journey, eh, outlander?” said Snake, letting some green kale slide down his throat. “Ah, burn me all the way, baby!” He smacked his lips, giving Kevin a whiff of something like a cross between aniseed and hot tar. “I’ll bet you have a few tales from the Old Forest. Dangerous out there, wouldn’t you say?”

His words gave
Kevin the opening he had been waiting for–the opportunity to impress these strangers with the tale of how they had braved the perils of the notorious Old Forest and fought their way to Elliadora’s Well. Before long, he had gathered an audience and was well into the swing of the telling–aided by Braddock’s occasional hint at the flagon of green kale, which was even more potent than Snatcher’s toad oil. It fairly lifted one’s head off one’s shoulders and set it back a different way!

Kevin
never suspected he was being pumped for information by two masters of the art. The occasional hint here and interjection there had him spilling the beans on Akê-Akê, then Snatcher’s involvement, and even his own origins. A second green kale followed the first. With all that alcohol swimming around in his stomach, he bragged and blabbed and fibbed with a vengeance. After a turn and a half of the glass, his head was lolling against Braddock’s shoulder and he was slurring his way through a highly improbable account of their adventures in ancient Shilliabär.

“What a story!” Snake exclaimed.

“That scarab demon sounds evil!” agreed Braddock, nudging Kevin’s hand away from his quest for a flagon. “So you saved the Dryad, eh–what did you say her name was, again?”

“
Alliath … th … oone!” Kevin mumbled, trying several times before sticking with, “’Thooney! S’right. ’Thooney.” If he said it firmly enough, it sounded right.

“The Dryad?”

“Sh’ all right–’Thooney.”

Braddock clapped him on the back, halting an incipient slide.
Kevin, at this stage, was fighting a losing battle with his body’s desire to reach the horizontal plane. “So what was her part in all this, good outlander?”

“
Thooney. Shweet girl. Sh’got green hair.”

“Really?” Snake rolled his eyes at Braddock. “So what was her part?”

“Sh’all right. Shlapped me in the fashe, one time. I’m thirshty.”

“What do you think of her?”

“Who?”

“Alliathiune.”

“’Thooney?”

“Yeah, that’s right–what did she do?”

Kevin hiccoughed and stared blearily across at the pavilion. There was a group of creatures issuing from it. The Council must have ended. “’Thooney.”

“Yeah,” growled Snake, starting to lose his cool. “Tell us about Alliathiune.”

“What? I’m thirshty, I shed!” Kevin blearily noticed his audience melting away. “Oi, come back, you.”

Braddock insisted, “Tell us about–”

“’Thooney?”

“Yes! The Seer, that’s the one!”

“Breasht … shh,” Kevin mumbled, still trying to reach for the flagon, but the Wolverine’s thick arm kept getting in the way. “She ish … ishn’t fat.”

“What? What did you say?”

“Big … uh, I feel shick.”

“Uh-oh. Snak
e …”

The music faltered and died. The party from the pavilion was not ten yards away, in a perfect position to see and hear everything when
Kevin staggered to his feet to deliver his immortal line.

“
Lisshen!” he cried to the world at large, at full drunken volume. “’Thooney ishnt fat–she ish gorgeosh! She hash big breashtsh!”

And he saluted her with an empty flagon.

*  *  *  *

There was a silence like the calm before an earthquake.

The approaching party included a fair cross-section of the most influential creatures of Driadorn. At their forefront was Mylliandawn of the Unicorns, to her right the Head Witch of Gnarlhand Coven and a hunchbacked Druid called Amadorn, and at her left hand was Alliathiune the Dryad; they were followed by the Dryad Queen, the Chief Rodent, and the great Eagle Swiftwing of Dawn; then to the rear came the Jasper Cat Ss’rrr’than’grrr-ar, nicknamed Blink for his habit of appearing directly behind people and scaring the living daylights out of them, various Wyverns, the Tusk of all Elephants, the Bear representative, and the venerable Grand Owl Two Hoots himself.

Every last vestige of colour drained from Alliathiune’s face. In the hush,
Kevin sniggered lewdly and then pitched backward over the bench. As he fell, he gashed his head open on the edge of a chair.

Kevin
began to empty his stomach with violent effect.

The nobles and rulers were trapped in frozen tableaux when there came a flash, as dazzling as a bolt of lightning, by the great trees at the far end of the Sacred Grove, and a booming concussion of sound that staggered everyone. Shrieks of dismay echoed around the peaceful vale. With one accord, the rulers and creatures of Driadorn whirled.

Dimly, Kevin beheld a majestic figure striding up from the Elliarana trees, tall and broad-shouldered, wreathed in a flowing cloak of midnight black, with a seam of silver symbols picked out around the hem and hood of his wizardly attire. He held in his right hand a black metal staff like a stylised serpent, and from its mouth issued flames as red as blood, the tongues of fire writhing and licking up his right arm as though eerily alive yet without burning his flesh. His features were hidden behind a mask of obsidian. And when he spoke, it was in tones that boomed and crashed around the Sacred Grove.

“Greetings, pitiful creatures
!” he boomed. “I am the Dark Apprentice, disciple of Ozark, styled the Dark by those he conquered in seasons past!”

Zephyr gasped an involuntary whinny of dread. Several of the Dryads fainted.

Kevin fumbled for the flask at his belt. Snatcher had dropped his toad oil earlier.

“I have come that you might have fair warning, and a foretaste of the wrath to come!”
The Dark Apprentice swept his arm to include all present, making his cloak billow behind him like a black wave. “I declare to you this lighttime that a new star is risen! I am the son of the dawn! All the dark powers of mayhem and destruction that ever were claimed by Ozark the Dark, these and more now fill my wizard’s armoury. I am
Kidräl-Lukan
, your new master! They call me
Drakûr Mägil,
the Great Dragon, lord of the ancient ones and master of the seven scrolls of wizardry. Flee, you unfortunate ones. Flee back to your homes and hollows and dens! For the Trolls of the pit and the Men of the north are rising, and soon the Seventy-Seven Hills and all Driadorn will face the sword of the avenger. Flee, you luckless, childless rabble!”

And he mocked them with peals of maniacal laughter. “How your darkest
visions have unfolded, creatures of the Forest! You have tested and approved my handiwork, for already the Blight I wrought strikes to the heart of Elliadora’s Well. Soon the iron-shod heel of my armies will crush your insignificant resistance, and enslave your kindred and offspring for time and eternity. I’ll grind you into the dust. I’ll rule over you! The Dark Apprentice will rule every living, breathing creature from the Old Forest to the Great Sea. And you’ll rue the day that you were whelped in pain and sorrow.”