A heavy silence settled. Chrethon drew himself erect.
"Aye," he said. "I do." He flung out his arms. "Look around, Menelachos! None have seen the Forestmaster since that night! Where is she now, with darkness and war at our forest's edge?"
"She is here."
The centaurs started. Chrethon's eyes widened, rising toward the source of the deep voice. Menelachos and the others turned to follow his gaze, and gasped in wonder.
The unicorn stood atop the sacred outcropping, silhouetted against the dying light. The sun tinted her silvery coat brilliant gold; her ivory horn shone brightly. Such was her beauty that the horsefolk averted their eyes and knelt-all save Chrethon. The white centaur regarded the Forestmaster scornfully.
"Are you truly so sore at me, my child?" the Forestmaster asked, her voice at once stem and kind.
"I will not bow to thee, mistress," Chrethon replied.
The unicorn bobbed her graceful head. "I understand," she said sorrowfully. "You see evil all around, and yearn to fight. But that is precisely what we mustn't do."
"What should we do, then?" Chrethon demanded. "Surrender?"
"If we must."
The other chieftains looked up. Chrethon recoiled as if the Forestmaster had struck him.
"Mistress…" Menelachos began, astonished.
"I cannot explain," the Forestmaster interrupted. "It is Chislev's will. I can only tell you that in this war, darkness must triumph."
The centaurs were silent. The trees creaked mournfully in the wind.
"Then I have no choice, Forestmaster," Chrethon declared. "I forsake thee."
The unicorn drew back, her hooves scraping the stone. "What did you say?"
"I forsake thee!" Chrethon bellowed, his voice ringing across the glade. "If thou wilt not fight the evil, I shall do it alone- and to the Abyss with thee."
The Forestmaster lowered her head. Her horn flashed as she swept her gaze over the other chieftains. "I see doubt in your eyes, also," she told them. "I don't blame you, but I beg for your trust. Will you follow me?"
"I will," said Nemeredes quickly. "Though it pains me, I shall keep the pact. My honor and love for thee demand it, mistress."
The other centaurs murmured as he knelt before the sacred stone. After a moment, Thymmiar and Pleuron followed, then, reluctantly, Leodippos and Eucleia. When the unicorn's gaze turned to the High Chief, only he and Chrethon remained standing.
"And you, Menelachos?" the Forestmaster asked. "Have I your loyalty?"
Wordlessly, he bent down, bowing so deeply that his forehead touched the grassy earth.
The Forestmaster tossed her head, her mane flying. "Chrethon, will you reconsider?"
"No," he answered firmly. "I will not endanger my own people in thy name."
"Very well." The unicorn's voice was a well of sadness. "The Circle of Seven is no more: the Circle of Six shall reign in its place. As for Lord Chrethon-" She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to Menelachos. "Do with him as you will."
Then she was gone, wheeling about and vanishing in a silvery blur. The horsefolk stared at the outcropping, none willing to break the silence. At last, however, Menelachos turned back to Chrethon. "This is a heavy thing thou hast brought upon thyself," he proclaimed sternly. "Never in our history has the Circle been broken. And now, this treason-"
"Don't call it that, Menelachos," Chrethon snapped. "I only want to protect the Wood from those who would harm it."
Menelachos pursed his lips. "That may well be. But treason is treason, no matter how noble the motive. We cannot be blinded by thy good intentions."
Chrethon's eyes flared. His guards tensed, hands twisting about their lances. After a long moment, however, he bowed his head.
"So be it," he murmured. "Do what thou must."
Menelachos nodded slowly. "We must discuss this," he said to the other chieftains, then waved to Chrethon's guards. "Take him hence, so we may confer. When we're ready, we shall call for him."
The guards bowed, then turned and trotted back toward the glade's edge. Chrethon stood still, staring balefully at the sacred stone. If a man's gaze could split rock, the outcropping would have crumbled. Then his chains tautened, and he wheeled quickly as his captors dragged him away.
Chrethon and his guards waited for more than an hour as the Circle discussed his fate. Several of the warriors fell into a game of dice, arguing and laughing between casts. The others stayed close, keeping a tight rein on his chains as he strained to hear what was being said in the holy glade.
"… cannot allow this to happen again!" Nemeredes thundered. "We must send a message that we will not tolerate-"
"What message would that be?" Eucleia shot back. "We weaken ourselves if we're unduly harsh toward Chrethon's followers, not to mention…"
Chrethon strained, but couldn't make out any more. Eucleia's voice had dropped back below his hearing. He glanced around. The dicers were engrossed in their game- the stakes had risen, one player putting up five goats against his opponent's silver arm-bands. What was more, Rhedogar wasn't around: the silver centaur had gone off into the woods, probably to piss. Only three warriors watched him: the two holding his chains, and a young bay who regarded him intently.
Three-the odds were bad, but he had a chance. The bay might be a problem, but Chrethon doubted he'd have a better opportunity to escape.
Resolved, Chrethon took a deep breath and tensed to run. At that moment, however, the bay glanced about, then started striding his way. Chrethon held his breath, not sure what to expect.
"My lord?" ventured the bay in a hushed voice. "Is it true? Thou fought the Knights of Takhisis?"
"Aye," Chrethon replied warily. "What of it?"
"How did it happen?"
Chrethon looked around uncertainly. The guards holding his chains didn't seem to be listening; as for the bay, he looked honestly curious. Chrethon shrugged.
"We attacked them by surprise," he said softly, "while they slept in their camp. Our archers slew their guards-all but one, who raised the alarm before a lancer finished him. But it was too late for them by then. They were fewer than us, and unprepared. We killed them all, every last one. It was glorious."
"And they're going to punish thee for that?"
"Thou heard the Forestmaster," Chrethon declared. "She wants us out of this war."
The bay opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again to speak. The words came out in a rush. "Then I think thou wert right to forsake her."
Chrethon was silent a moment, pondering. "What is thy name, lad?"
"Thenidor, my lord," the bay replied.
Chrethon frowned, thinking quickly. "And dost thou think thy friends might feel the same way?"
"Aye, lord," Thenidor said eagerly. "I'm sure of it."
"Good." Chrethon smiled. "When thou returnest to thy home, then, tell them what I did, and what the Circle did to me for it. Wilt thou do that?"
"Aye, my lord."
"What's this?" demanded a gruff voice. Thenidor started guiltily. Old Rhedogar was striding swiftly toward him. "Get away from the prisoner, lackwit! And quit that accursed game! If Lord Menelachos saw thee, he'd have my head!"
The guards scrambled, the dicers hurriedly scooping up their winnings. Thenidor glanced at Chrethon as he hastened away, and nodded. Yes, the gesture said. I will remember.
The voices in the grove had stilled. Chrethon clenched his fists impotently. For nearly a minute, there was no sound but the creaking of the boughs overhead. Then came Menelachos's voice, raised in a shout:
"Bring the prisoner!"
It was, in fact, Chrethon who brought the guards. He moved so quickly, they had to pull on the chains to keep him in line. When he entered the glade, however, and saw the Six arrayed before the outcropping, he stopped short.
"Come, Chrethon," bade Menelachos, beckoning. "It's time to face thy fate."