“But what about your families?” Brenna brushed against the centaur to avoid another thorn bush. There seemed to be a growing number of the annoying plants. She noticed that while the trees remained thick, blotting out some of the sun, the ground cover seemed to be increasing.
Wynter smiled ruefully. “Galvin and I have no families. My relatives are in Thay. I haven’t seen them since I was a child. As for Galvin, his parents were killed when he was young. He’s been on his own—and alone—since then.”
“How did his parents die?” she persisted, puffing to keep up and hopping to avoid rocks and thorns.
“It was … an accident,” he said, continuing to plod forward, staring at the horizon. Through an opening in the vine-covered trees, he thought he caught a glimpse of the First Escarpment. Galvin had told Wynter about his parents stealing something from an ambassador—a Thayvian ambassador. Even though the stolen items were returned, the ambassador demanded their deaths and their property. The ambassador’s wishes were fulfilled, and Galvin grew up hating Thay and civilization in general.
“So he’s not married,” Brenna mused. “But he’s got the Harpers.”
“He has some friends in the Harpers,” Wynter admitted, “But few of them are really close. Basically he’s a loner.”
“What if I wanted to join the Harpers?” Brenna asked. Her voice was somewhat muffled, since her head was directed at the ground to avoid obstacles.
“That depends on you,” Wynter replied, speeding up his pace. “It depends on how much time and effort you’re willing to sacrifice. It depends on whether you’re willing to put your life on hold and on the line for whatever cause might come up.”
“Are there any politicians in the Harpers?”
“Sure.”
“Who? Name some,” she encouraged.
“I can’t do that,” Wynter stated flatly. “We’re a secret organization, remember. Part of our strength lies in our anonymity.”
For the next hour, the pair fell into silence, and the gap widened between Brenna and Wynter and Galvin, who was several hundred yards ahead of them. At times they lost sight of Galvin in the trees, and the sorceress struggled to close the distance, knowing the centaur was lagging behind with her out of courtesy. Her feet burned, and it took considerable effort to keep going. She yearned to stop to rest and tend to the blisters on her feet.
Eventually she and Wynter lost sight of Galvin altogether, and she was worried they had become lost. However, the centaur concentrated on the ground, spotting signs of the druid’s passage here and there and assuring her they were on course. The centaur tried to increase the pace, but Brenna could move no faster.
“He won’t let himself get too far ahead of us,” Wynter offered.
“Shhh! Listen,” Brenna whispered.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s just it,” she said, her voice barely audible. “No birds … nothing.”
The flora had remained as lush as when they first entered the woods many hours ago, but now there were no parrots, chipmunks, or other signs of life. Only a few miles ago there had been so many colorful birds that they looked like flowers on the trees. Straining her eyes, she couldn’t spot even one.
Ahead, she and Wynter saw Galvin step out from behind a tree and motion them to stop. The druid placed his palms against the trunk of a willow and closed his eyes. He laid the side of his head against the bark.
“What’s he doing?” Brenna asked, puzzled.
“He’s talking to the tree,” Wynter explained.
“Yeah, sure he is,” the enchantress retorted sarcastically. But she was glad for the opportunity to stay put. Her side was aching from hiking so long, her feet felt as if they were on fire, and she welcomed the rest.
After several minutes, the druid stepped back from the tree, opened his eyes, and started back toward the centaur and Brenna. He appeared drained, Brenna noted, while a short time ago he had seemed reasonably fresh and energetic.
“We’ll camp over there,” he said, pointing at a patch of ground near the willow. Thorn bushes were still plentiful, but there was enough space between them to accommodate the three travelers.
A rush of relief washed over Brenna. She prayed the trip tomorrow wouldn’t be as long; if it was, she’d never be able to make it. She didn’t believe she could take another step without shoes. As she looked for a spot relatively free of thorn bushes, she listened to Galvin and Wynter.
“Mushrooms and nuts—for dinner?” the centaur complained.
“There aren’t many animals around here.”
Wynter grumbled. “Even the animals know it’s not safe this near Thay, eh?”
Wynter glanced at Brenna and dropped her rolled-up tent and bag at her feet. She considered the tent, and for a moment she thought about unrolling it, setting it up, and crawling inside. But only for a moment. Instead, she dropped to all fours, slumped to her stomach, placed her head on the canvas, and immediately fell fast asleep.
Brenna woke shortly after dawn to the smell of something cooking. The land was bathed in a thick fog, and through it, she saw Wynter standing before a small fire turning on a makeshift spit what looked like the leg of a deer. Nearby, Galvin was rubbing something into a piece of hide. The young councilwoman struggled to a sitting position. Her legs ached and felt like lead, and her neck was stiff from sleeping at such an awkward angle.
However, she refused to appear beaten. Standing and smiling weakly, she greeted her companions good morning, grabbed the smaller of her bags, and looked around. It was so foggy she had to ask the druid directions to the river, which she was surprised to hear was only a few yards away. She returned about half an hour later, feeling her way through the fog and wearing a new dress, which was beige and decorated with tiny pink flowers. It was no more practical than the ruined blue one she tossed on top of her tent.
“Well, shall we be moving on?” she inquired, feigning being chipper, rested, and ready to go. It was a good performance, she decided. Actually she felt like curling up in a ball and sleeping for a month. Still carrying her bag, she cocked her head in the direction of the First Escarpment.
“Put these on first,” Galvin instructed, tossing a pair of hide moccasins in her direction—the hide he had been working on. “Antelope skin. It’s thick enough to be comfortable and provide some protection.”
The sorceress dropped to the ground and gratefully pulled on the moccasins. She cast a glance in the druid’s direction, wondering if he had killed the antelope in order to make the moccasins.
The druid kicked dirt over the flames to douse them while the centaur packed a large chunk of roast antelope into his bag. Then Galvin started toward the escarpment, and Wynter bent to pick up Brenna’s tent and larger bag.
“Just the bag,” she said, not wanting to bother the centaur with something she wouldn’t have the energy to unwrap. “Leave the tent behind. Sleeping under the stars is just fine.”
The morning fog hung low to the ground and extended upward about fifteen feet. The thick haze looked ghostlike, giving the woods a haunted appearance. Even Galvin had difficulty moving through it, since it cut visibility to only a few feet. The druid wended his way slowly through the trees with one arm extended in front of him and the other off to the side. He looked like a blind man feeling for obstacles. The thorn bushes tore at his leggings, and he tried to push the treacherous branches aside so they wouldn’t prick Wynter and Brenna.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, it burned off most of the fog, revealing the brilliant jade and emerald hues of the large-leafed trees that dominated this section of the woods.
Pressing closer toward the escarpment, they heard the pounding rush of water. Emerging from the edge of the woods shortly after noon, they saw the magnificent falls that cascaded nearly three hundred feet down the First Escarpment and roared into the river. The moisture at the base of the falls looked iridescent, creating a miniature rainbow.