Royce spun backward, leaping toward the priest, but he could not stop Leng from what he was doing. A fiery column burst from the air above and rained down onto the treant as if from heaven itself. It enveloped the treant so that every limb was awash with fire that leaped and coursed along its body, incinerating leaves and burning away bark. The roar of the blaze overwhelmed its screams as its body crumbled away.
Ardeth and the Antiquarians could do nothing but try to jump free of the wave of fire that coursed down the treant's trunk and over its writhing roots. The axe fell from its grasp, crashing atop one of the tents and flattening it.
The treant's instinct to protect nature—especially its woods—was overwhelmed by its agony, and it clambered into the open wood, flames leaping from its branches and igniting neighboring trees on the clearing's edge. Before it could escape the clearing, Bessick swung his heavy spiked chain and snagged the treant along its trunk. A swift yank pulled it backward, tumbling to the ground and sending Gan and Ardeth scrambling as it landed in a crackling inferno of leaping flames and blazing heat. The group darted back to the edge of the clearing, though the quick-spreading flames would soon threaten them again.
"Take cover," called Vonelh, before spreading his arms and muttering a few arcane syllables. The sky exploded in huge hailstones that pelted the clearing and the trees surrounding it. They hissed and sizzled as they struck the roaring flames and melted, and soon the clearing was a mess of soggy ash and wet, burnt debris. The remains of the treant were lost among the charred fragments of inanimate trees. Several of the tents and much of the group's equipment was irretrievably lost.
Royce, leader of the Antiquarians, spun to confront Mythkar Leng. His natural deference to the high priest was forgotten on this occasion, and his face was red from the heat and his anger. "We were close to talking our way out of this. That's what we do—that's how we survive. If you hadn't confronted it..."
Leng smiled smugly, unapologetic. "Would you care to finish that sentence, Hundar?" he asked.
Royce checked himself, but his tone was completely insincere. His shoulders hung, and he let his sword fall to the ground at his side.
"You could have killed us all," Royce said. "You may yet."
Leng could have slain Royce where he stood. He needed no weapon. Leng could merely lay a hand on Royce, and take his life. Royce was practically inviting him to do it. Ardeth prayed that he would, and give her an excuse to sink her sword into the priest's back. Likewise, Nithinial, Gunton, and Bessick all had weapons ready. But Leng's smile vanished.
"We still have a mission, do we not?" he said. "A few crushed and waterlogged rations don't change that. I can create food and drink, with my god's grace. We have our weapons and our wits. The Star Mounts await, and soon we'll find out if Geildarr's Sanctuary is a myth or not." With that, as if nothing had happened, he led the way into the forest.
Behind his back, looks passed between the Antiquarians and Ardeth, while Gan stepped through the muck to reclaim the fallen axe. Inside, Ardeth was beaming. What luck! she thought. With all of them on one side, it would be no trick to finish the priest. The only question was, which form of death would be most appropriate?
CHAPTER 8
Such beautiful music, thought Vell as he woke, but it was only the wind whistling through the trees.
No, he thought. One tree—the tree. He could see it, almost feel it growing.
Half awake, he lay on his back on a carpet of leaves and could not bring himself to look any direction but up. A panoply of shades and tones filled his eyes from the light filtering through the great branches, whose smallest offshoots were themselves the size of trees. Oranges, reds, and golds fluttered and shimmered in those oaken boughs, an ocean of leaves growing crisp and golden—for even this bastion of permanence was subject to nature's cycles.
What beauty! Tears trickled down Vell's cheeks. He felt so humbled under the immensity of it. All of his fears and anger vanished as if they had never mattered and were only faint memories, like the shadow of something that happened long ago. The nagging voice in his breast, the beast inside, fell silent, and for the first time in what felt like so long—perhaps the first time in his life, he mused—he knew complete peace. He would never know if what he was feeling was brought on by the treant's drink, the tree's natural magic, or something within his own mind, but it didn't matter.
No wonder men had spent their lives seeking this place. He knew this to be Grandfather Tree, but he did not dwell on that or any name, including his own. He almost forgot himself, lost himself in heady contemplation. If he had been allowed to lie there, he knew, he might have starved and turned to dust, still looking up at the gnarled trunk that had borne silent witness to the whole of history and more.
Yet he felt no anger when he was roused from his reverie. Thanar came to him and crouched at his side. "They say a great tree structures a goodly part of the cosmos," he said, "and Grandfather Tree is its reflection on Faerun. I don't know if that's true, but I can think of no better symbol for the nobility of all living things."
As he stood and regained something of his wits, Vell's wonder didn't lessen; it only amplified. He surveyed his surroundings. The tree's size was no illusion. Other oaks, themselves mighty and huge, grew underneath its lowest branches, circling it the way the stone menhirs ringed the altar at Morgur's Mound.
"They spent a lifetime seeking it," the druid went on. "They say they would spend a thousand lifetimes now, keeping it safe and secret."
"The Tree Ghosts," Vell said. "Will they help us?"
Thanar smiled. The simplest gesture was so amplified here that the warmth in his smile struck Vell and lit up his spirit. "They have made no promises as yet. But they trust us."
Vell became aware that other people were beneath Grandfather Tree, some so far away that Vell could tell nothing about them. Others were closer and looking on. He recognized some by their dress as the Tree Ghost barbarians, perhaps some of the same he had met on the outside. Many stood guard as well around the tree. There were others: lithe, brown-clad figures whose skins were coppery tones. By Uthgar, Vell realized. These were elves! For all the exotic folk that had come through Grunwald in the old days, he had never laid his eyes on an elf till today.
Finally, he looked toward the others, still asleep, or perhaps unaware, open-eyed and gawking at the majesty of the canopy above. Only Thluna was not among them.
"They roused me first," said Thanar. "Thluna is meeting with the tribal elders in the settlement nearby. I thought it wise to take you there next."
"Why?" asked Vell. He realized that this was the first time he had ever spoken to the druid alone.
"You transformed into a behemoth, did you not?" Thanar said. "I have transformation powers of my own. I surveyed the Wall wearing a mountain goat's form, but what happened to you goes far beyond. There are rare individuals with abilities that surpass those of any common druid. Apparently one is living in the Tree Ghosts' settlement. Perhaps she can help you understand your condition. She is a flighty creature who comes and goes with her whims, but this young elf promises she will help you however she can."
"The Tree Ghosts live among the elves?" Vell asked. The notion amazed him.
"Normally the tree plays host to much stranger forest folk," Thanar told him, "satyrs, korreds, centaurs, and the like. They have taken their leave since we outsiders arrived." This talk of such woodland beings, so remote from his experience, was amazing to Vell.