"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.
23
"Gnats and midges!" swore the lilting voice. "His snoring's so loud, it's like the world's coming to an end!"
Caramon groaned. He tried to fight it, but slowly, inevitably, consciousness was returning.
"Quiet, ye twit!" snapped a second voice-a woman's, with the same strange, trilling accent as the first. It was very close. "And for Branchala's sake, stay away from his mouth. Ye want to get sucked in?"
"G'way," Caramon mumbled, rolling on his side.
The voices fell silent. There was a peculiar fluttering sound, moving swiftly away. Caramon snorted, broke wind, and continued his ascent from sleep. The fluttering came close again. A breeze touched his cheek.
"Now ye've done it, Fanuin," scolded the woman. "I told meself, he's gonna wake the giant-"
"Bah!" replied the man. "You brushed his nose, Ellianthe. It's a wonder he didn't sneeze and kill us both-"
Caramon's patience snapped. "Shut up, both of you!" he growled, squinching his eyes shut.
Desperately, he clutched at the pleasant dream he'd been having-it had involved Tika and roast mutton-but to no avail. Giving up, he opened his eyes, and found himself staring at two small, curious faces. Hovering an arm's length from his nose were two tiny people, each about two feet tall. Their bodies were reed-slim, their elfin features framed by curly, copper-red hair. They were brightly garbed-him in gold and green, her in scarlet and sky-blue-and both wore tiny poniards on their belts. Silvery moth wings fluttered on their backs.
Winged kender? Caramon thought. Merciful vanished gods, please let this be a nightmare.
"Good morrow!" beamed the male, swooping toward Caramon's face. "I hight Fanuin. Glad to meet-"
Caramon shrank back with a yelp, waving at the air. The winged folk cried out, flitted about, then darted away, wings buzzing. Caramon lay stunned.
"Confounded way to wake up," he grumbled. Stiffly, joints popping, he sat up and peered about. He was alone, in a small cavern of gray stone. His daughter and the others weren't with him. His heart thudded-what had become of them?
He relaxed somewhat when he saw the cavern had a door: a low, narrow portal of bronze-girded oak. The cave was spartan, brightly lit by bug-lamps. The bed he sat upon was woven of reeds and cedar branches. A few small jars and a basin of gleaming water, sat nearby. The rough walls and vaulted ceiling were unadorned. Whoever had brought him here had even less regard for furniture than the centaurs did. They'd left him his gear, he soon saw: his packs and shield, even his sword, lay piled by the wall. So did his armor and clothes-he realized, belatedly, that he was naked.
He pushed himself to his feet. The ceiling was low, and he stooped to make himself fit. He shuffled over and grabbed his clothes. They were clean, and had even been mended. Wiping sleepglue from his eyes, he donned his breechcloth and pants. He dragged his tunic over his head, then took it off and put it on the right way around. He opened one of the jugs, and was pleased to discover it was full of water instead of wine. He took a long drink, then stopped, feeling an uncomfortable pressure on his bladder. Setting the jug down again, he searched for something to use for a chamber pot. Finding none, he stumbled to the door and opened it.