"Let me tell you something," she whispered to Gan. "But you can't let anyone else know."
The hobgoblin nodded.
"We know that Leng has been scheming to overthrow Geildarr," said Ardeth. "He wants to become mayor of Llorkh, and he's willing to kill Geildarr to achieve this."
Gan's face showed almost no reaction. With as much calm as he could muster, Gan said, "We must kill him."
"It's not as easy as that," said Ardeth. "This isn't a hobgoblin tribe-we can't openly murder our enemies. But if we give our enemies enough time and a little help, they may just take care of the job on their own. I have a plan, and I could use your help."
Before she could say more, a loud crashing came from the woods. The trees parted like waves, drawing away as a great treant stepped into the clearing. Propelled by its long roots, it reached the tents with frightening speed. Its heavy, gnarled arm reached out and released water that drizzled onto the campfire embers, eliminating all its heat and light with a hiss.
The Antiquarians crawled free of their tents, and Mythkar Leng, dressed in simple brown robes that concealed his identity and power, did the same.
"You dare make fire in our wood!" the walking tree declared.
Royce took the lead. "Grant us your pardon, woodlord," he said. "The night was chill and we burned only dead wood we collected as we passed through your forest."
Huge green eyes studied him intensely. "Fire cannot be permitted," the treant said. "What business do you have among these trees?"
"We seek the Star Mounts," said Royce. "We want nothing but safe passage to them."
"A dangerous destination. I've seen many outsiders pass this way bound for those peaks, but they seldom return." He stared down each member of the group. "I've never seen a party as this. A hobgoblin in your midst, and clutching such an axe-what am I to think?"
"You can think whatever you will, treant," Leng hissed. "So long as you let us pass."
A wave of dismay passed through the Antiquarians. They had hoped to talk their way past the forest giant without incident. Leng spoke without fear or respect to a creature so much larger than they, and so imposing. He destroyed the image that he was an ordinary traveler.
The treant thought for a long time. An eternity seemed to pass as its oaken features remained still. Any onlooker would have mistaken it for an ordinary tree. Then it said, "You may pass, so long as you give that axe over to me."
Gan clutched the battle-axe tightly and brandished it over his head in challenge. But a clever root crept around and yanked it from his hands. The Antiquarians drew their weapons, and Ardeth pulled her slender sword from her belt.
The axe swiftly vanished among the treant's higher branches.
"That was not an axe for cutting wood," Royce protested. "We need it returned."
"Leave my forest and it shall be yours again," the treant threatened.
"Do you believe you can make threats?" asked Leng. "We could make kindling of you. I understand that in Thay, the Red Wizards have devised a way to corrupt your kind into twisted trees in their service. If only I knew how to do that."
The treant let out a low, reverberating war cry. Its roots snaked out toward its foes, who slashed at them with their weapons. Leng surreptitiously slipped backward. Vonelh unleashed a spinning, whirring collection of magical blades that cut into the treant's trunk. Bessick held a root in place with his raw strength, while Ardeth sliced at it with her sword. Nithinial and Royce readied their crossbows and launched their steel quarrels at the treant's face, but then they heard Leng behind them mutter, "If we are not permitted fire…"
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.