"True," Kaleb said. "But Corvis Rebaine was one of them."
Jassion scowled and stalked toward the trees, the smirking sorcerer trailing in his wake. CAREFULLY THEY WORMED THROUGH THE BOLES, pushing and occasionally chopping branches out of their way: Jassion with Talon, Kaleb with a broad-tipped falchion he drew from gods-knew-where. But after fewer than a dozen paces, their progress stalled. The briars and the foliage grew too thick for Kaleb's blade, and while the Kholben Shiar was not so easily ensnarled, the close press of the branches provided Jassion inadequate room to swing.
Branches twisted, contrary to any breeze, to block their path, scraping and tearing at exposed flesh. Thorns pierced leather and wool and even, at times, between links of chain, seeking blood. The air grew thick with pollen and the scents of growing things, cloying and disorienting. Somehow, though they could see the gleaming sunlight behind them, its illumination failed to reach them. They stood surrounded in a pall of darkness as heavy as the plant life.
A distant wolf howled, swiftly drowned out by the flapping of a hundred wings and the chittering of unseen rodents. And when that faded away, replaced by dozens of tiny chewing mouths and the whimpering of predator turned prey, even the jaded Jassion blanched, glad now for the shadows that hid his weakness from his companion.
"We should never have come." The baron was shocked to recognize his own voice in that whisper, to feel his lips moving, driven by a fear growing stronger than his will. "Oh, gods…"
Kaleb's own face remained as wooden as the trees, and if the same soul-deep terror churned through him, it would have required more than a brighter light to see it. With two fingers, he pushed against the nearest branch, watched as it swiftly sprang back to block his way. He pushed it again, then sniffed carefully at his fingers, apparently oblivious to the panicked whimpering beside him.
He slid the falchion beneath his cloak, back to wherever he'd kept it hidden, and raised both hands before him. He spoke, and though his voice barely rose above a whisper, his words were clearly intended for ears other than Jassion's.
"You brought this on yourself."
From upraised palms poured a sheet of incandescent flame, a torrent of obliteration. It burned a furious blue at its core, leaving spots dancing before Jassion's eyes, but at its edge, where it licked hungrily at tree and leaf and grass, its all-consuming fury was an angry red. On it came, a geyser of fire that seemed to draw strength from the pits of hell itself. And perhaps there was something unholy in Kaleb's spell, for the smoke that snaked upward, curled around the trees like a lover's caress, smelled overwhelmingly of brimstone.
Still it continued, until Jassion could see only the blinding light, hear only the furious crackling of the fire. He fell to his knees, hands clasped over his ears, rocking back and forth and praying for it to end. He felt the heat wash back over him, singeing the hairs on his hands, and wondered if his supposed ally were mad enough to incinerate them both.
So overpowering were the reverberations in Jassion's ears, indeed in his mind, that when the torrent finally ceased, he took a moment to notice.
Small embers flickered, marking the edges of the clearing that Kaleb had burned into the flesh of Theaghl-gohlatch, though already they were beginning to fade, overwhelmed by the wood's unnatural darkness. Layers of ash coated the soil, and more fell in gentle flurries. Animals wailed from all directions, cries of agony and endless rage, and Jassion was certain he heard words-subtle, alien, unintelligible-intertwined within those calls.
Hands still limned in a cerulean aura, smoke leaking from beneath his nails, Kaleb stepped into the path his fires had gouged. "I can do it again!" he called, and his voice carried far into the forest, passing through the thickest copses without hint of distortion or echo. "And again, and again still! I am no mere traveler for you to consume, and if need be I will burn my entire path, step by step! You cannot halt us, not like this."
And before Jassion's unbelieving gaze, Theaghl-gohlatch replied! Shadows danced at the limits of sight, shadows that should not, could not exist in the muted light of the dying flames. Wood and bark creaked in the darkness, accompanied by a low moan that was most assuredly not the wind, and Jassion somehow knew that he and Kaleb now stood upon a path that led directly to the heart of this godsforsaken nightmare.
Kaleb gestured for Jassion to rise. The flames around his hands flickered once and were gone, but were swiftly replaced by a steady golden glow hovering in the air just above his head. It wasn't a lot of light, but more than enough to illuminate the path before them.
"How mighty a sorcerer are you?" the baron rasped as he rose shakily to his feet, leaning briefly on Talon as though drawing strength from the demonic weapon.
"Enough," Kaleb said simply. "I suggest we move. Theaghl-gohlatch is home to more than just the trees, and not everything is so easily intimidated."
"You find trees easy to intimidate, do you?" Jassion asked wryly as he fell into step beside his companion, and then cursed himself bitterly for providing Kaleb the opening when the man replied with a jaunty "My bite is far worse than their bark."
"This is not the time for jokes, Kaleb!"
"Sure it is. I mean, if I wait until after this place kills us horribly, it'll pretty much be too late, won't it?"
It felt strange, striding through that haunted wood, and not merely in a spiritual sense. Beneath the coating of ash, the soil was thick, even spongy. It seemed greedy, reluctant to release their boots, making each step a struggle. Though the trees had apparently cleared their way-Jassion's mind shied away from thinking too long about the implications of that-many a branch and root jutted into the path, tripping them, forcing them to duck and edge ahead at awkward angles. They walked within a pocket of sanity that reached only as far as Kaleb's light; beyond, in the dark, lurked trees nourished not on water and sunlight but a palpable, undying hate.
The baron knew, in that moment, that everything he'd ever heard of Theaghl-gohlatch was undeniably, horribly real. And he wondered how anyone, no matter how vile, could stand to make this place their home.
Chirping split the dark beyond, a sound very much like a nattering sparrow, and for an instant Jassion began to relax. But the sound continued, never wavering, until the baron felt his muscles quivering, the hair on his neck standing straight-and only then did the woodland song rise to a shrieking laugh. It was a sound no animal, nor any sane man, could have produced, vacillating between a little girl's delight in some new toy, and the gibbering of an old man toying with a new little girl.
Jassion wiped the sweat from his brow with one hand, kept the other firmly wrapped about Talon's hilt-if only to keep it from trembling. He felt a weight pressing on his chest, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. For a single heartbeat, he was back in the stone cellar of Denathere's great hall, a boy feeling himself slowly crushed beneath a dozen bleeding corpses…
No! No, I will not have it! I am the Baron Jassion of Braetlyn! I have faced the worst monster history has ever birthed, and I have proved him nothing more than a man! He shoved past Kaleb, staring into the looming dark, shouting aloud, now, though he never realized he had spoken. "I did not yield to him! I will not yield to you!"
Perhaps, just perhaps it was that cry of defiance that saved him, for had Jassion remained behind his ally, his attention locked on his inner struggle, he'd never have seen the shadows gathering, moving against Kaleb's light, reaching toward them like questing fingers.
But because he had, when the attack came, Jassion stood ready to meet it.
Rustling, there, in the trees; an explosion of shattering sticks in the foliage beyond. Jassion saw nothing of his assailant, but he felt a gust of movement from the left and dropped into a defensive crouch, taking a blow against his hauberk that would otherwise have gashed open his unprotected hip. A piercing shriek stung his ears as something razor-edged raked across the mail, and though the chain kept his flesh unscarred, the force alone staggered him. Branches and leaves bent inward behind him, the only visible sign of his attacker's passage.