Caramon's eyes narrowed. "What about your money? Your journey to Haven?"
"Haven will still be there when we get back," she said, walking toward them. "And the centaurs will watch my reward while we're gone. Can the Circle spare another warrior, so we can all ride?"
Trephas grinned. "I'm sure we can arrange something."
Leodippos looked up from his maps, saw the runner approaching, and cursed. He glanced back at the parchments-useless, since none had helped him find the centaurs' sanctuary--then rolled them up and thrust them at a servant as the messenger came near.
He felt more than a little dread at the runner's approach. He'd already ruined one good spear today, slaying a messenger who'd brought him bad tidings at dawn. A hundred centaurs, led by Nemeredes's elder son, Gyrtomon, had attacked his largest search party in the night. Nearly half a thousand of his finest warriors had perished.
The loss had been grievous; it would have been worse if he hadn't already sent a runner of his own to Sangelior just yesterday, asking for yet more reinforcements. Lord Chrethon would honor the request, but he knew it would be the last time. There were few warriors left in Sangelior to send.
And now another messenger. He shook his head. How many would be dead this time? Hundreds? A thousand?
"Speak," he bade as the runner bowed before him.
"My lord," said the messenger. "A visitor has come. He says he bears good tidings."
Leodippos leaned forward. "Who?"
"He says his name is Hurach, my lord."
"The satyr?" Leodippos asked, scowling. "What does he want?"
"It's as he said," said a voice. "I bring good news."
Leodippos turned. A dark, silent form emerged from a jagged boulder's shadow and strode toward him on cloven hooves. He saw the broken horn on the satyr's head and nodded: it was Hurach, all right. But there was something else-something in the goat-man's hand… .
He caught his breath, staring in amazement at the axe. Now that it was out of the shadows; its double-bladed head gleamed in the sunlight.
"Is-is that what I think it is?" he asked softly.
Hurach nodded, smiling smugly. "Aye," he said. "I'm taking it to Sangelior. First, though, I thought I should come to you, and tell you where to find what you seek."
“The centaurs' stronghold?" Leodippos breathed. His whole body tensed at the thought. So much fruitless searching, and now, to have the key to victory delivered to him… .
"Where is it?" he asked.
The satyr described everything, from the terrain around Lysandon to its defenses. Leodippos listened, a bloodthirsty smile on his horse-like face, then clapped the goat-man on the shoulder, laughing.
"This is glorious!" he rejoiced. "Now we can finish the Circle at last!"
Hurach nodded, hefting Soulsplitter in his thick-fingered hands. "Aye," he said. "And now I must go. I still have a long journey ahead of me."
Leodippos raised an eyebrow. "I could send a runner instead," he said.
"So you could tell Chrethon that you recovered the axe instead of me, no doubt," the satyr remarked with a cunning smile. "No, lord. I will go myself. With your leave, of course."
Shrugging, Leodippos waved his hand. Hurach turned and strode away, vanishing into the shadows.
Leodippos paid the satyr little mind. Whirling, he beckoned to the runner who'd heralded Hurach's arrival. The messenger approached, its face eager.
"Put the word out among thy fellows," Leodippos said. "Have them go to all the warbands, and have them report to me at once."
The runner galloped away, its long-striding legs devouring the ground. Leodippos turned, smiling to himself, and gestured for the servant to bring his maps.
36
Sarken Wood had grown worse, the daemon tree's corruption spreading farther west. The companions rode with weapons in hand, watching the shadows, and imagining ail sorts of nameless horrors lurking within the gloom.
Despite their fears, however, the forest was empty. Except for the occasional crow or scuttling beetle, the birds and beasts were either dead or had fled into the highlands. There was no sign of the Skorenoi, either. They were all in the hills, searching for Lysandon.
The deeper they went, the worse the woods became. The earth beneath the unclean, eddying haze grew treacherous. For a while it was a spongy morass, then it became barren, choked with sharp stones. The centaurs struggled through it all, moving ever eastward.
Night fell over the forest, but they didn't stop. The humans raised guttering torches to light their way, letting the centaurs keep both hands free to hold their bows. The brands' flickering glow seemed horribly weak in the vast, befouled forest. They rode on through the darkness, the leaves whispering madly above.
Finally, as the sky began to brighten again, the party drew to a halt. "We're here," Trephas said.
Pallidice's grove was even more blighted than when they'd left it nearly a week ago. Some of the oaks had burst open, scattering shreds of rotten wood upon the ground. Others stood like gray skeletons, seemingly devoid of life. Only a few withered, brown leaves still clung to the branches of Pallidice's tree, rattling in the chill wind. Its bark was cracked and pitted, the color of bone. It might have been dead, but for the dark, thick sap that trickled in bubbling rivulets down its trunk.
“Gods," Caramon murmured, his voice choked with horror. He swung down from his mount's back, staring at the oak. "How can Pallidice live inside that?"
"She has no choice," Trephas replied as Dezra and Borlos both dismounted as well. "Her soul is one with the tree. I only pray she survives."
"There's only one way to find out," Dezra said. She pointed toward the tree with her sword-the centaurs had given her a new blade, as well as a dagger to replace the one that had killed Thenidor. "Go on, Bor."
The bard's eyes widened. "Me?"
"You're the one she knows best," Caramon said. "If anyone can bring her out of the tree, it's you."
Borlos glanced at Trephas, who nodded. "She'll remember thee. Just put thy hand on the trunk, and speak her name."
Bowing his head, Borlos let out a long, slow sigh. Hesitantly, he stepped toward the tree. He raised his hand and touched the bark. The sap that coated it was warm and sticky.
"P-Pallidice?" he stuttered. He took a deep breath. "Can you hear me? It's me, Borlos."
For a long moment, all was silent. Then, slowly, the oak split open and a pale, withered shape emerged. Borlos stumbled back, crying out at the sight of the dryad.
Pallidice was gnarled and bent, her skin the color of parchment, mottled with crimson welts. Her once-thick hair clung in brown wisps to her scalp. She stared at Borlos, one of her eyes milky-blind, and smiled. Most of her teeth had fallen out. "My love," she breathed, her voice raspy and thin. She reached out with a shriveled hand, tipped with cracked, yellow nails. "You've returned to me after all… ."
Borlos stepped back, his face stricken with pity and disgust.
"Pallidice," Trephas said. "We need your aid."
The dryad glanced at the centaur, then at the others, seeing them for the first time. "No!" she exclaimed. "You promised you wouldn't ask me for help again. I cannot-"
"The Skorenoi have Soulsplitter, Pallidice," Trephas interrupted. "Even now, one of Chrethon's minions takes it to Sangelior."
Pallidice stared, horrified. "How did this happen?"
"That isn't important now," Dezra interjected. "If you don't take us to Grimbough's grove, your tree will die, slowly and painfully-and you with it."
The dryad blanched, hesitating. She bowed her head a moment, trembling, then nodded. "Very well," she said. "I'll find my sisters, and we'll do as you say. I can only take the four of you-not those two," she added, pointing at other centaurs, standing behind Trephas. "I lack the strength to open a passage large enough for them as well as you."