Feynard (54 page)

Kevin
, hope of the Unicorns? Ha.

Well, he hadn’t done
so badly on the Blight so far, had he?

“A
ripe haridol fruit for your thoughts, good Kevin?”

He startled
, taking the proffered fruit automatically. It reminded him of apricot, only larger and sweeter. “Oh, Alliathiune, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I called your name twice!”

“Oh. Gosh, I guess I was deep in thought …”

“Were you thinking about Zephyr?”

“How did you know?”

Alliathiune took his arm in the Dryad way. “You silly man, you have been twiddling his horn in yo
ur fingers for the last turn. I’ve been watching.”

Kevin
had recently discovered that he could forgive her any amount of teasing when she took his arm in just that way. He said, “You are far too intuitive for your own good, ‘Thooney. Here, it’s your turn.”

She stiffened
, but took Zephyr’s horn nevertheless. “Humph. That’s what you called me at the Well!”

“Did I?”

An arch of her eyebrow spoke eloquently. The rest of her was sodden, her hair lying in flat hanks on her forehead and down her back, but the Dryad seemed unaffected by the rain. Kevin knew he looked like a half-drowned rat, but Akê-Akê had shown him how to wrap his effects in a waterproof selidish cloth, a Unicorn invention–at least his tome on wizardry would keep dry.

“I shall repent in sackcloth and ashes for a space of seven moons,” he groaned. “Please,
I’ve shed enough tears of anguish over my stupidity to fill the Well several times over. You may rest assured that I harbour not a single licentious purpose regarding your person.”

Great Scott, and now he had fallen to telling casual untruths? Besotted, smitten, and hopeless as he was!

“Oh.” The Dryad tucked a damp hank of hair behind her ears. Kevin had the distinct impression he had disappointed her. “Good Kevin,
why
are you studying magic with the Faun Loremaster?”

“And with the Druid, and Snatcher–and you, if you’d allow,” he replied. “But not the Witch, And you can just wipe that incredulous expression off your face. I have my reasons–lofty High Wizard reasons, my dear Dryad.”

“Good outlander, I am not your dear–”

“I’ll be the judge of my heart
!” Kevin burst out, and then clamped his jaw shut in horror. Alliathiune bit her lip and looked into the surrounding vegetation, where a grey mole-rat the size of large dog was industriously digging up a tuber. “And I am Kevin,” he growled, “not some bizarre carrot-haired outlander from Earth. Agreed? You ought to know me well enough by now.”

Alliathiune
laughed, squeezing his arm, “By the Hills, I like this Kevin! He who burbles in Lurkish, and fears not to sup with demon-conjuring Faun Loremasters.”

“I refuse to take your bait.”

“But why, Kevin? Isn’t one branch of magic enough to struggle with, rather than examining a whole Forest? You’ve been at this ever since we left the Dragon-Magus’ lair.”

“Because apparently, my power
depends on the magic of others,” he replied. Yes, he was ‘struggling’ and should not bristle at the truth! “If I don’t understand what they’re doing, I fail and end up with a blue hand, for example. My nature is to synthesize knowledge from many domains–and did you realise how intimately magic is associated with language? Each magic-capable race uses their own language, which is the unique carrier of meaning, and uniquely expressed with all sort of additional context. Language describes culture and thinking patterns and how a creature even defines their being, all in one wrapper. Lurkish magic would simply not function in Standard Driadornese. If we are to defeat the Dark Apprentice, I need to know more. Much more.”

“You’re so
intense
sometimes.”

“Says she who can’t stop herself ministering to every plant and animal we pass? Even in the midst of the Utharian wilds, no person for a hundred leagues–”

“Nature doesn’t have to be useful to you Humans, or subjugated by Humans,” Alliathiune said. “It is enough that it is.”

Not only unhappy, Kevin thought, but downright cantankerous. Something was eating her up from the inside.

At last the trail levelled out, so now they were able to walk forward through ankle-deep mud and not slither downward in the steady downpour. Ground-dwelling quails and brilliant limmicks scattered into the thick undergrowth at their passing, and tiny hummingbirds feasted on the plentiful tropical flowers that splashed colour here and there amongst the ubiquitous bushes and ferns. Kevin wondered if these hummingbirds would also feed the Dryad nectar, as he had seen them do back near the Utharian Wet–to his astonishment.

“Are you quite certain you aren’t a Tomalia in disguise?”

“Perfectly,” he grinned.

“But you haven’t asked me to teach you Dryadic.”

“Ahem.
Hooliaa’än Dryaduu-ish-loë
, Alliathiune-
têssi
.”

The Dryad gave a gasp of laughter.
“You crafty man–when did you learn that? And how? Your accent is perfect.”

Kevin bowed
extravagantly. “At the Sacred Grove. My vowels are all wrong, but thank you anyway. Nine vowels plus five tones and a glottal stop? Ridiculous language.”

“Don’t forget there are four different clicks, and seventeen trills,” Alliathiune retorted, smugly.

“Seventeen trills? No wonder you sound like a bunch of chattering sparrows all the time.”

He earned himself a smack for this sally.

He continued, “I was wondering what happens to Unicorns when they ‘take to the horn’, my decorative Forest spirit, for I find it illogical and unjust that so many creatures of their noble race should remain lost, displayed like some grotesque mummery in the Ardüinthäl. I miss him terribly. I’d hate to think Zephyr might end up there one lighttime, forgotten and ignored.” His sigh was loud enough to make Snatcher, striding ahead of them, glance back over his shoulder. “I could not help but wonder in such a vainglorious spate of self-aggrandisement that would make a person sick, that since I enjoyed some small accomplishment in the matter of the Blight I might turn my thoughts to the plight of the lost Unicorns, and thereby … well! I may as well scream into a tornado for all the difference it would make. If the Unicorn scholars cannot raise their kin to life, what hope have I, a stupid barbarian outlander with no appreciation of the Forest?”

“You are hardly that!
Humility is becoming. Verbally bruising yourself is not.”

“But it’s the truth, I tell–”

“Truth is relative, good Kevin, and often subject to one’s perceptions. Maybe you see it as the truth, but I don’t and neither do our companions.”

“Truth is absolute,” he argued, without any real heart for disagreeing with her. “The facts of Zephyr’s condition are incontrovertible. There are natural laws, there is life and death, there are moral imperatives and duties, and–”

“And there is
magic
. Magic has natural laws of its own.”

“Laws which are costly.”

“So bitter? Good Kevin, what sticks in my mind is that you saved all of our lives, there at Elliadora’s Well. I am sorry your hand was damaged, truly I am. But to be defenceless against the Dark Apprentice, even for those short moments, was a terrible thing. He is evil–cold, grasping, and corrupted to the depths of his being. Killing
gratifies
him. Who knows where he may have stopped had you not intervened?”

“Hmm.
You’re right. Had the Elliarana been lost we would be up a creek without a paddle.”

She giggled, “The expressions you use!”

Kevin answered with a mock-severe frown, “Could you please pay attention whilst we discuss these grave issues?”

“You are just too funny. Say, what has Hunter found?” As they hurried towards the beckoning Mancat, she said, “Much as I love the Tomalia, good
Kevin, and noble as your sentiments are, I believe we should first concentrate our efforts on defeating the Dark Apprentice and his pestilent Blight. And to do that, we need the Magisoul.”

“What
is
the power of the Magisoul?”

Alliathiune’s grimace spoke volumes. “None but Zephyr knows, good
Kevin. He made a study of ancient artefacts in seasons past and knows more about it than perhaps any living creature. And, by the Well, what is that stench?”

They rounded a bend in the trail to find the way ahead blocked by what
Kevin initially mistook for a gigantic boulder, but now recognised for a mountain of putrefying flesh blocking the muddy trail. It was taller than his head and perhaps sixty feet wide, at least the parts that he could see, and though the scavengers had been busy there was so much meat that stripping it to the bones would take many lighttimes.

“A
Huropod,” said Hunter.

“What do you think would drive it so far from the river?”

Kevin understood the question. This creature was a dinosaur much like Brontosaurus but perhaps a little smaller. Typically, because of their great mass, these creatures would spend most of their time in or very near a river or swamp where they might be buoyed by immersion. To find one so far from its preferred habitat was strange indeed.

Amadorn looked at Hunter, who was looking at the flattened and trampled foliage. “This is Troll-sign, good Druid. Here, see the bindings on this broken spear point? The pattern marks the tribe and is sealed with
alethi gum. Were Zephyr with us, he could doubtless describe which exact tribe this was.”

“He didn’t know Amberthurn’s doorkeeper,” the Witch pointed out.

“And why would Trolls hunt a Huropod and leave it here?”

“Sport? The pleasure of hunting and killing?”

Amadorn seemed troubled. “It makes no sense,” he said. “Huropods are harmless herbivores, too slow and stupid to make for an interesting quarry.”

“I’d prefer to move on,” said Alliathiune. “The smell sickens me.”

Kevin was only too ready to agree. His innards churned energetically despite having covered his nose with his cloak, and the bushes and ferns heaved with scavengers that had been displaced by their protective spells. No doubt once they passed by the feast would resume.

They filed quickly
through the ferns nearby the carcass and struck the trail once more. Hunter raced ahead at a quick jog-trot, scouting for further sign of the Trolls–but there was none to be seen. And soon the dense foliage closed wetly about them again and the march continued.

Alliathiune said quietly, “The
Magisoul is our only hope, good Kevin. Legend tells that it was the source of power that Elliadora originally used to create our fair realm. As such, it must also surely contain the power to arrest the Blight and heal the Forest, wouldn’t you agree?”

In his heart of hearts,
Kevin could not entirely agree. “I certainly hope so,” was all he could bring himself to say.

*  *  *  *

The evening’s gathering gloom brought the seven companions to the farwood forest, which were a type of hardwood tree similar to sequoia or redwood, which Kevin had only seen in pictures. The overarching farwood trees were so massive that the rain barely filtered down through the dense layers of forest canopy. Here they paused to make a fire of dry needles and fallen branches, and were grateful to dry off by its brisk heat.

“By the morrow we shall be through this forest and down into the lower parts of Broadleaf Valley,” said Amadorn, “and there we shall find the time-worn steps down to Anurmar Gorge, which were laid by the first wizards to mine korialite in this region. But I like not this matter of Trolls, and the signs which Hunter has found.”

“We must keep alert,” hissed the Mancat. “Troll patrols have passed this way within the last eight or nine lighttimes.”

“S
hadowmoon Keep sleeps no longer,” said Kevin.

None of the others dared voice
this conclusion. It was like their curious reluctance to mention Ozark’s name. But if the Trolls had somehow become organised there was only one logical cause–that they had a new master. And he thought he knew who it was, too.

“
You suspect the Dark Apprentice?” The Dryad’s sharp whisper chilled them more deeply than the weather had been able.

“I’m sorry, Alliathiune, but that is the conclusion I have drawn. You see, on Earth the distance from here to the Well would be of little consequence to a person possessing the right resources. The means to travel great distances very quickly is not unknown to me
. The Dark Apprentice models himself on Ozark the Dark, who dwelled here and who also was able to command a war upon Driadorn from this great distance. They must have some sorcerous means of travel. And you had reported that he called himself by the title ‘
Kidräl-Lukan
’, which I have discussed with Snatcher and he agrees that it translates as ‘Lord over the Gorge’, which must be a reference to Anurmar Gorge. Ozark’s libraries were said to be housed at Shadowmoon Keep.”