Caramon got to him first, sword flashing; he hacked through one of the roots, then the other, then cut off yet another branch that lashed downward, toward his head. He held the blade high, watching for more attacks, as Dezra grabbed Borlos's arm and helped him rise. They turned toward Trephas. The centaur had put his lance back in his harness, and had drawn a shortsword to defend himself; he slashed high and low as more branches and roots assailed him.
"We've got to keep moving!" Dezra shouted, driving her own blade point-first into a snaking tendril. "Bor, can you run?"
The bard stood unsteadily, wincing with every breath. He ducked as a branch swept overhead-a leaf slapped his face, leaving a red mark-then started stumbling forward. "Guess I've got to, eh?" he said.
Together, they plunged deeper into the grove, the oaks stirring around them.
It was hard to extricate the Forestmaster from the brambles. The wicked thorns had dug deep into the unicorn's body, refusing to let go. Finally, though, Chrethon coaxed even the stubbornest brambles into releasing her, then seized her by the horn and hauled her wasted form out of the bushes.
He'd thought she might fight once she was free of the thicket, but she didn't. Enervated by pain and hunger, she no longer had the strength to struggle. He dragged her wasted body through the grove, to the sward where Grimbough stood. The daemon tree rumbled with pleasure as Chrethon threw the unicorn's bedraggled form to the grassy ground. Grimbough's leaves echoed its joy with a delighted hiss.
The daemon tree's gnarled trunk swelled, beating like a dark, mossy heart. Its branches writhed, twigs scratching together like old bones. Lightning flared above, lighting the grove as bright as day. Thunder shook the air.
Chrethon stood above the haggard, motionless unicorn, Soulsplitter in his hand. "Now, Grimbough!" he shouted. "Let me finish her!"
"Not yet," the tree rumbled. "I must be ready when you strike her down."
…down, murmured the leaves.
Chrethon seethed impatiently, but he waited nonetheless, staring hungrily at the wasted unicorn.
The earth around the Forestmaster tore open. Thick, fibrous roots rose from the ground. They waved in the air, then reached toward the unicorn and wrapped about her legs and neck. They held her tight, pulling her down so she lay flat against the damp, fetid ground. Finally, all fell still. Grimbough stopped moving, save for the slow pulse of its trunk. Low and growling, it spoke.
"It is time."
…time…
Chrethon smiled, hefting Soulsplitter in both hands. "Close thy eyes, lady," he murmured. "I will be swift."
But she didn't close her eyes; instead, she looked directly at him. In her liquid gaze, Lord Chrethon saw many things: disappointment, defiance, regret. Mostly, though, there was profound sorrow.
With a victorious shout, he brought the axe down.
The crash was deafening. Soulsplitter buried itself in the earth. Chrethon let go of the weapon and stepped back, laughing triumphantly.
His laughter died quickly. The horn remained attached to the Forestmaster's head.
"What?" he cried, aghast.
At first he thought he'd missed, but he realized that wasn't so: the axe had struck the horn full on, then glanced off and cleaved through the wet soil. His eyes narrowed as he peered at the horn… then he saw something, and his spirits rose anew.
It was a tiny mark, almost invisible, but it was there, white against the gleaming silver of the horn.
Laughing softly, he prized Soulsplitter from the ground and raised it again. "It seems, my lady," he said, "that this will not be so swift after all."
The sound of the axe falling rang out across the vale, echoing among the trees. Trephas cried out in anguish. "No," he moaned, tearing at his mane. "Merciful Chislev, we're too late! The Forestmaster-"
"Look out!" Dezra snapped, her sword lashing out. She struck a branch that would have broken the centaur's back, shearing it in two. "Damn it, will you keep moving?"
But Trephas shook his head. "What difference can it make?" he whimpered. "She's dead, the Forestmaster is dead, and all this has come to nothing… ."
Then, as loud as the first, a second crash sounded above the thunder and wind.
"Maybe not," Borlos said in the stunned silence that followed. "Unless she has two horns, that is."
Suddenly, Trephas came to himself again, his despair cast aside. "Quickly!" he bade, starting forward once more. "Mayhap we can still reach her before Chrethon finishes."
The forest, however, wasn't so accommodating. They were near the daemon tree now-the muttering of its leaves was very loud, and the clamor Soulsplitter made as it struck the unicorn's horn again made their ears ring-but the forest continued to thicken, its trees forming a wall. Branches swung and roots coiled, seeking to push them back.
They tried to cut through with their swords, but the oaks wouldn't yield. Frustrated, they followed the wall, searching for a way through. The axe smashed down again, and again. Trephas wept in frustration, swinging his blade blindly to keep the clutching trees away.
The axe fell three more times before they finally found a gap in the wall. It was narrow, and to either side the trees groped and grabbed, showering leaves and acorns. Trephas and the others hurried toward it, hacking with their blades to clear a path. Beyond, Soulsplitter came down another time. The hiss of Grimbough's leaves rose even louder.
Trephas cut away a last, fumbling bough, then stood before the gap, his flanks heaving with exertion. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, toward the shadows beyond the trees-then fell back again with a shout as those very shadows came alive.
They boiled out of the darkness-five of them, their bodies black and shaggy, with the horns, legs and cloven hooves of goats. They made no sound, raising wicked, curving knives that glinted in the levin-light.
"Satyrs!" Trephas shouted, swinging his shortsword at the shadowy creatures. The blade bit into a goat-man's chest, and the weapon snapped as the abomination collapsed.
A moment later, Borlos shrieked in pain, a satyr's knife laying open the back of his hand. His cudgel dropped from his fingers. He stumbled back and sprawled on the ground as the goat-man slashed again. Its dagger whistled through the air.
Caramon slew a second goat-man with a blow so mighty that his sword cleaved halfway through its body. Steel splintered with a horrible shriek, leaving him with a foot of jagged metal where his weapon's blade had been. He held onto the ruined sword, swinging it at the satyr who'd attacked Borlos. Beside him, Dezra spun her blade, pushing back a third goat-man who faced her. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the single horn on his shaggy head, recognizing it as the creature who'd stolen Soulsplitter from Lysandon.
Another satyr lunged at Trephas, drawing a line of blood across the spot where his human and horse halves met. The centaur's war harness snagged the blade, pulling it out of the goat-man's hand. The satyr fell back, its black eyes widening, and Trephas reared, kicking it with both forehooves and flattening it to the ground. It bleated wretchedly, struggling to rise.
Trephas never gave it the chance. Bending down, he grabbed one of the branches he and the others had cut from the trees. Without hesitating, he brought the bough down on the satyr. He struck again and again, until the goat-man stopped moving and the branch splintered. Dropping the limb, he started toward the gap in the trees.
Then he stopped, looking back. Dezra and Caramon fought furiously against the two remaining satyrs. Borlos was on his knees, fumbling for a weapon. Trephas hesitated, torn, then took a step toward the humans.
"What do you think you're doing?" Dezra snapped, parrying Hurach's knife with her sword. She waved toward the gap with her free hand. "Go on! Don't wait for us!"