Gorl was still talking to himself, stroking the vine leaves. “I have cut the branches from the trees that dared to resist my vines,” he mumbled. “I have fed the vines with the bodies of the enemies — man, woman, bird, or beast — who dared to approach them. And I have kept my treasures safe. I have waited long for them to bloom. But surely my time has nearly come.”
Barda lunged forward with a mighty shout. His sword found its mark — the thin, dark gap between the knight’s helmet and body armor — and he pushed it home.
But to Lief’s horror, the knight did not fall. With a low growl, he turned, pulling Barda’s sword from the back of his neck and throwing it aside. And then, as Lief cried out in shock and fear, slashing uselessly at his armor, his metal-clad hand darted out like a striking snake, catching Barda by the neck and forcing him to his knees.
“Die, thief!” he hissed. “Die slowly!” And he plunged his sword into Barda’s chest.
“NO!” Lief shouted. Through a red haze of grief and terror, he saw Gorl pull his sword free and kick Barda to the ground with a grunt of contempt. He saw the big man groaning in agony, his life ebbing away into the roots of the vines. And then he saw Gorl turn to him and felt the iron grip of the knight’s will clamp his very bones.
Frozen to the spot, he waited for death as Gorl raised the bloodstained sword again.
And then …
“GORL! GORL!”
From high above them came the cry — as high and wild as a bird’s.
Gorl’s head jerked backwards as he looked up with a growl of startled fury.
Lief, too, looked up, and with a shock saw that it was Jasmine who was calling. She was swinging from the very top of one of the great trees, peering down at them through the gap in the roof of vines. Kree hovered above her head, his black wings spread over her head as if to protect her.
“You have made good into evil in this place, with your jealousy and spite, Gorl!” Jasmine shouted. “You have bound and enslaved the trees and killed the birds — and all to guard something that is not yours!” With her dagger she began slashing at the vines that covered the clearing. Tattered leaves began to fall like green snow.
With a roar of rage Gorl raised his arms. Lief felt his limbs freed as the knight turned all his power upwards — towards the new intruder.
“Run, Lief!” Jasmine shrieked. “To the center! Now!”
There was a great cracking, tearing sound from above. Lief leapt for safety, flinging himself into the mud at the center of the clearing just as the earth behind him shuddered with a mighty crash that echoed like rolling thunder.
For what seemed a long time he lay still, his eyes tightly closed, his head spinning, his heart hammering in his chest. Then at last he became aware of a soft, pattering on his back, and a feeling of warmth. Gasping, he crawled to his knees and turned.
His eyes, so long accustomed to the dimness, squinted against the bright sunlight that poured into the clearing from the open sky above. The roof of vines had been torn through, and leaves and stems still pattered down like rain. Where he and Gorl had stood together only minutes before lay the reason for the damage — a great fallen branch. And beneath the branch was a mass of crushed golden armor.
Lief stared, unable to believe what had happened so suddenly. The Belt grew hot against his skin. He looked down and saw Gorl’s sword, lying right in front of him. Almost absent-mindedly, he picked it up. The topaz in the hilt shone clear gold. So, he thought dreamily, the first gem to be found was the topaz — the symbol of faithfulness.
Suddenly his mind cleared. His eyes searched for, and then found, the still, pale figure of Barda, lying at the edge of the clearing. He jumped up and ran to him, kneeling down beside him, calling his name.
Barda did not stir. He still breathed, but very weakly. The terrible wound in his chest was still bleeding. Lief opened the jacket and shirt, tried to clean the wound, tried to stop the blood with his cloak. He had to do something. But he knew it was useless. It was too late.
He barely looked up as Jasmine leapt lightly down beside him. “Barda is dying,” he said drearily. There was a terrible pain in his chest. A terrible sense of loss and loneliness and waste.
“Lief!” he heard Jasmine gasp. But still he did not move.
“Lief! Look!” She was pulling at his arm. Reluctantly he raised his head.
Jasmine was staring at the center of the clearing. Her face was filled with awe. Lief spun around to see what she was looking at.
The Lilies of Life were blooming. The golden arrows that were their buds had opened in the sunlight so long denied them. Now they were golden trumpets, their petals spread joyously, drinking in the light. And from the center of the trumpets a rich gold nectar was welling, overflowing, pouring in a sweet-smelling stream down to the black mud.
With a cry, Lief threw down the sword and leapt up. He ran to the patch of mud and thrust his cupped hands under the nectar flow. When they were full to the brim he ran back to Barda, pouring the nectar onto the wound in his chest, smearing what was left on his pale lips.
Then he waited breathlessly. One minute passed. Two —
“Perhaps he has gone too far away already,” Jasmine murmured.
“Barda!” Lief begged. “Come back! Come back!”
The big man’s eyelids fluttered. His eyes opened. They were dazed, as though he had been dreaming. “What — is it?” he mumbled. As color began to steal back into his cheeks, his hand fumbled towards the wound on his chest. He licked his lips. “Hurts,” he said.
“But the cut is healing!” Jasmine hissed in wonder. “See? It is closing of itself! Never have I seen such a thing.”
Overjoyed, Lief saw that indeed the wound was repairing itself. Already it was just a raw, red scar. And as he watched the scar itself began to fade, till it was nothing but a thin white line.
“Barda! You are well!” he shouted.
“Of course I am!” With a grunt, Barda sat up, running his hands through his tangled hair. He stared around, astounded, but quite himself again. “What happened?” he demanded, climbing to his feet. “Did I faint? Where is Gorl?”
Lief pointed wordlessly at the crumpled armor beneath the fallen branch. Barda strode over to the branch, frowning.
“This is his armor,” he said, kicking at it. “But there is no body inside it.”
“I think Gorl’s body crumbled to dust long ago,” Lief said. “All that was left inside that armor shell was darkness and … will. But once the armor was destroyed, even that will could not survive. It could not survive in the light.”
Barda grimaced with distaste. He looked up. “So a tree branch fell and finished him,” he said. “That was a piece of luck.”
“It was not luck!” exclaimed Jasmine indignantly. “I told the tallest tree what must be done, and at last it listened. I promised that it and the others would be rid of the vines, if it did what I asked. The sacrifice of one limb was small in return for freedom.”
Barda’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, but Lief put a warning hand on his arm. “Believe me, what Jasmine says is true,” he said. “She saved both our lives.”
“You saved Barda’s life.” Jasmine objected again. “The sun made the Lilies bloom, and —”
She broke off and turned quickly to look at the Lilies of Life. Lief looked, too, and saw that already they were fading. Only a few drops of nectar still dropped from their wilting petals.
Jasmine rapidly pulled at a chain that hung around her neck, bringing out from under her clothes a tiny white jar capped with silver. She ran to the patch of mud and held the jar under the nectar flow so that the last few golden drops dripped into it. Then she watched as the Lilies bent their heads and slowly collapsed into the mud.