Tasslehoff slipped the emerald into a pocket.
The Forest of Wayreth seemed as dead and desolate as the rest of the world around them. But, to Caramon, it was alive with memories. Nervously he stared at the strange trees, their wet trunks and decaying limbs seeming to glisten with blood in Lunitari’s light.
“I was frightened the first time I came here,” Caramon said to himself, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I wouldn’t have gone in at all if it hadn’t been for Raistlin. I was even more frightened the second time, when we brought Lady Crysania here to try to find help for her. I wouldn’t have gone in then for any reason except those birds lured me with their sweet song.” He smiled grimly.
“‘Easeful the forest. Easeful the mansions perfected. Where we grow and decay no longer’, they sang. I thought they promised help. I thought they promised me all the answers. But I see now what the song meant. Death, that is the only perfect mansion, the only dwelling place where we grow and decay no longer!”
Staring into the woods, Caramon shivered, despite the oppressive heat of the night air. “I’m more frightened of it this time than ever before,” he muttered. “Something’s wrong in there.” A brilliant flash lit up sky and ground with the brightness of day, followed by a dull boom and the splash of rain upon his cheek. “But at least it’s still standing,” he said. “Its magic must be strong—to survive the storm.” His stomach wrenched painfully. Reminded of his thirst, he licked his dry, parched lips. “‘Easeful the forest,’” he muttered.
“What did you say?” asked Tas, coming up beside him. “I said as good one death as another,”
Caramon answered, shrugging.
“You know, I’ve died three times,” said Tas solemnly. “The first was in Tarsis, where the dragons knocked a building down on top of me. The second was in Neraka, where I was poisoned by a trap and Raistlin saved me. And the last was when the gods dropped a fiery mountain on me.
And, all in all”—he pondered a moment “I think I could say that was a fair statement. One death is just about the same as another. You see, the poison hurt a great deal, but it was over pretty quickly. While the building, on the other hand—”
“C’mon”—Caramon grinned wearily—“save it to tell Flint.” He drew his sword. “Ready?”
—Ready,” answered Tas stoutly. “‘Always save the best for last, my father used to say. Although”—the kender paused “I think he meant that in reference to dinner, not to dying. But perhaps it has the same significance.”
Drawing his own small knife, Tas followed Caramon into the enchanted Forest of Wayreth.
5
The darkness swallowed them. Light from neither moon nor stars could penetrate the night of the Forest of Wayreth. Even the brilliance of the deadly, magical lightning was lost here. And though the booming of the thunder could be heard, it seemed nothing but a distant echo of itself. Behind them, Caramon could hear, too, the drumming of the rain and the pelting of the hail. In the Forest, it was dry. Only the trees that stood on the outer fringes were affected by the rain.
“Well, this is a relief!” said Tasslehoff cheerfully. “Now, if we just had some light. I—”
His voice was cut off with a choking gurgle. Caramon heard a thud and creaking wood and a sound like something being dragged along the ground.
“Tas?” he called.
“Caramon!” Tas cried. “It’s a tree! A tree’s got me! Help, Caramon! Help!”
“Is this a joke, Tas?” Caramon asked sternly. “Because it’s not funny—”
“No!” Tas screamed. “It’s got me and it’s dragging me off somewhere!”
“What... where?” Caramon yelled. “I cant see in this damn darkness? Tas?”
“Here! Here!” Tas screamed wildly. “It’s got hold of my foot and it’s trying to tear me in two!”
“Keep yelling, Tas!” Caramon cried, stumbling about in the rustling blackness. “I think I’m close—”
A huge tree limb bashed Caramon in the chest, knocking him to the ground and slamming his breath from his body. He lay there, trying to draw in air, when he heard a creaking to his right. As he slashed at it blindly with his sword, he rolled away. Something heavy crashed right where he’d been lying. He staggered to his feet, but another limb struck him in the small of his back, sending him sprawling face first onto the barren floor of the Forest.
The blow to the back caught him in the kidneys, making him gasp in pain. He tried to struggle back up, but his knee throbbed painfully, his head spun. He couldn’t hear Tas anymore. He couldn’t hear anything except the creaking, rustling sounds of the trees closing in on him.
Something scraped along his arm. Caramon flinched and crawled out of its reach, only to feel something grab his foot. Desperately he hacked at it with his sword. Flying wood chips stung his leg, but apparently did no harm to his attacker.
The strength of centuries was in the tree’s massive limbs. Magic gave it thought and purpose.
Caramon had trespassed on land it guarded, land forbidden to the uninvited. It was going to kill him, he knew.
Another tree limb caught hold of Caramon’s thick thigh. Branches clutched at his arms, seeking a firm grip. Within seconds, he would be ripped apart... He heard Tas cry out in pain...
Raising his voice, Caramon shouted desperately, “I am Caramon Majere, brother of Raistlin Majere! I must speak to Par-Salian or whoever is Master of the Tower now!”
There was a moment’s silence, a moment’s hesitation. Caramon felt the will of the trees waver, the branches loosen their grip ever so slightly.
“Par-Salian, are you there? Par-Salian, you know me! I am his twin. I am your only hope!”
“Caramon?” came a quavering voice. “Hush, Tas!” Caramon hissed.
The silence was as thick as the darkness. And then, slowly, he felt the branches release him. He heard the creaking and rustling sounds again, only this time they were moving slowly away from him. Gasping in relief, weak from fear and the pain and the growing sickness inside him, Caramon lay his head on his arm, trying to catch his breath.
“Tas, are you all right?” he managed to call out.
“Yes, Caramon,” came the kender’s voice beside him. Reaching out his hand, Caramon caught hold of the kender and pulled him close.
Though he heard the sounds of movement in the darkness and knew the trees were withdrawing, he also had the feeling the trees were watching his every move, listening to every word. Slowly and cautiously, he sheathed his sword.
“I am truly thankful you thought of telling Par-Salian who you are, Caramon,” Tas said, panting for breath. “I was just imagining trying to explain to Flint how I’d been murdered by a tree. I’m not certain whether or not you’re allowed to laugh in the Afterlife, but I’ll bet he would have roared—”
“Shhhh,” Caramon said weakly.
Tas paused, then whispered, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, just let me catch my breath. I’ve lost my crutch.”
“It’s over here. I fell over it.” Tas crawled off and returned moments later, dragging the padded tree branch. “Here.” He helped Caramon stagger to his feet.
“Caramon,” he asked after a moment, “how long do you think it will take us to get to the Tower? I—I’m awfully thirsty and, while my insides are a little better since I was sick a while back, I still get queer squirmy feelings in my stomach sometimes.”
“I don’t know, Tas,” Caramon sighed. “I can’t see a damn thing in this darkness. I don’t know where we’re going or what’s the right way or how we’re going to manage to walk without running smack into something—”
The rustling sounds suddenly started again, as though a storm wind were tossing the branches of the trees. Caramon tensed and even Tas stiffened in alarm as they heard the trees start to close in around them once more. Tas and Caramon stood helpless in the darkness as the trees came nearer and nearer. Branches touched their skin and dead leaves brushed their hair, whispering strange words in their ears. Caramon s shaking hand closed over his sword hilt, though he knew it would do little good. But then, when the trees were pressed close around them, the movement and the whispering ceased. The trees were silent once more.