Leaves of Flame (43 page)

A sudden flurry of gasps and whispers spread through the shamans on all sides. A few of them bowed their heads as well, all of the hostility suddenly gone.

“I need to touch the Summer Tree, Keeper. I fear that what is causing the dwarren to Gather has something to do with the Seasonal Trees.”

The leader lifted his head. “We have not noticed anything in our ministrations to the Tree. If there is something that we have done wrong—­”

“I don’t believe the dwarren have had anything to do with it, Keeper, if there is even anything amiss. But I will not be certain until I have spoken to the Tree.”

The Keeper’s eyebrows rose, although he was clearly still worried. “What can we do to aid you?”

“Nothing. Except make certain that I am not disturbed.”

“That we can arrange.”

Colin turned toward Eraeth and Siobhaen. “Stay here. I won’t be long.”

“You intend to go on alone?” Siobhaen asked, frowning around at the younger Keepers. “They weren’t all that friendly when we approached. You should have one of us with you.”

“I’ll stay within sight. I only need to touch the Tree.”

“But you will be vulnerable while you speak to it,” Siobhaen muttered. “You forget that I was there when you touched the Winter Tree in Caercaern.”

Colin frowned as he glanced back over the Keepers. They had begun to spread out around the Summer Tree, forming a rough perimeter, others stepping up through the tangled roots and broken stone to those who were still meditating, gently touching shoulders and drawing them down away from the bole of the Tree.

“We need to trust them,” Colin said, “especially if what I believe I will find is true. We’re going to need them.”

Her jaw clenched in disagreement, but she said nothing as he turned away and stared up at the tangle of roots and the Tree overhead. Gathering himself, he sighed once and then struck out, passing the dwarren Keepers, their eyes following him as he climbed the massive root system as he’d done in Caercaern for the Winter Tree. Unlike the ­Alvritshai Warders though, the dwarren had built paths through the roots, stairs and bridges of stone and wood winding among them, lanterns on tall poles at irregular intervals.

When one of the paths veered near enough to the base of the Tree that he could reach out and touch its bark, he halted. He planted his hand against its side and closed his eyes.

The Tree sensed him instantly and drew him into its heart, the pulse of its sap enfolding him. Like that of the heart of the forest in the Ostraell, he felt the Tree welcome him, recognize him as a part of its creation, but the Tree was more sentient than the forest. As soon as he’d accustomed himself to its soft summer taste and smell—­like honey and sweet corn—­he felt the shuddering discord at its edges.

Something was definitely wrong.

He surged out along the Tree’s roots, down toward the Rose, where it drew strength from the healing waters deep below, and then he spread outward over the Tree’s field of influence, as he’d done in Caercaern with the Winter Tree so many months before, searching for damage, for the source of the malignancy that he could feel at the heart of the Tree.
The farther from the Confluence he moved, the weaker the Tree became, but that was normal. Nothing appeared to be wrong—­

Until he hit an obstruction to the east and south.

He shifted his focus, drew himself back from the north and west and concentrated his attentions eastward. Something hindered the protection of the Summer Tree there. Something had pushed that protection back, was eating away at the boundaries of the Tree that should have extended all the way to the edges of the Thalloran Wastelands. Instead, the Tree’s protective barrier had been shoved onto the plains, the force weakening that protection on all sides. The grasslands that formed the largest portion of Painted Sands lands were now exposed, no longer under the influence of the Summer Tree. And the degradation of the barrier grew worse the farther south Colin traveled. He felt his heart shudder at the extent of the damage already done as he skirted the barrier and tested its edge, traveling farther and farther southward. But even as he did so, he could taste that source—­like snow and loam and leaves.

The Lifeblood. The force pushing against the protection of the Trees, the force slowly breaking that protection down, was the Lifeblood.

Eraeth had been right. The Wraiths and Shadows were using the newly awakened Well to compromise the Seasonal Trees.

He hesitated, his essence hovering along the invisible boundary between the Source and the Tree. He could feel the two forces battling against each other, a subtle ebb and flow as the barrier shifted and gave. The power behind the conflict was immense, the friction sending waves of residual energy across the plains in all directions. He could feel those stresses building, knew that they would find release in the unnatural storms that battered the grasses and the occumaen that riddled the lands to the west. Even now, purplish
lightning flared to the far north along the barrier’s edge. As he watched it etch a jagged line across the sky, black storm clouds building at an impossible rate, the truth of what he was seeing struck him.

The Seasonal Trees were failing.

A wave of despair and hopelessness washed over Colin, stultifying in its depth. He staggered back from the barrier, began retreating back toward the Confluence and his own body, but then forced himself to stop, to draw deep breaths to control his stampeding heart, to steady the trembling that coursed through his body even though it was hundreds of miles distant.

The Trees were failing, but he’d known they would not hold forever. He’d simply assumed they would last longer than this, hundreds of years longer. He had not anticipated that Walter or the Wraiths would find a way to circumvent or destroy them. Not so soon.

But they had. And now he and the rest of the three races would have to deal with it.

Pulling himself together, he glanced toward the gathering storm, more lightning seething across the skies in a spider’s web of raw energy, then turned his attention southward. He needed to know how badly the Trees had been compromised. He had felt nothing wrong when he touched the Winter Tree in Caercaern, but the Wraiths had had months since then to wreak havoc here in the east. The Summer Tree was under attack, but what of the Autumn Tree in Temeritt? He needed to check both it and the Winter Tree again.

He sped southward, blazing along the barrier between the Summer Tree and the Well to the east, feeling the fluctuations, taking note of how far the Summer Tree’s influence had decayed. As he came to where the Andagua River broke apart, the massive system of tunnels and ancient buildings that the dwarren used here shattered by a
­cataclysm in ages past, he slowed. The dwarren called the region Broken Waters, the river collapsing into thousands of smaller streams and cascades that spread through the chunks of stone and seeped out onto the plains and the region beyond called the Flats, but this was also where the Summer Tree’s influence ended and the Autumn Tree’s began.

Except he couldn’t sense the Autumn Tree at all.

Nausea rolled through his stomach. Where the Autumn Tree and the Summer Tree were supposed to merge, he sensed only the intruding presence of the Source. It cut into the area where the two Trees had mingled.

Colin followed the edge south and west, shuddered with relief when he finally sensed the Autumn Tree merging with the Summer Tree. The two had not been separated and torn apart completely. Walter and the Wraiths had merely used the Source to drive a wedge between the two.

But what he sensed from the Autumn Tree, even weakened by the distance from the Confluence, left the taste of ash in his mouth.

He lingered long enough to verify that what he’d felt was true, and then he turned to speed toward the Confluence and the Gathering of the dwarren. He thought he knew now why they had Gathered.

And he needed to warn them of what they faced.

“Is the Tree safe?” the leader of the Keepers asked anxiously as soon as he came within twenty paces. They had all watched him as he descended from the bole of the Tree, had already seen the serious cast to his face, the numerous shamans collecting near their leader, surrounding Eraeth, Siobhaen, and Quotl.

“The Tree has been compromised,” Colin said, turning his attention to Quotl as the rest of the Keepers gasped.
“The Wraiths are using their newfound power to attack the protection that the Tree offers. There is nothing that the Keepers can do here to salvage the situation, except to bolster and support the Tree as much as they can. They may be able to hold off the destruction for a time, but they cannot hold it off forever unless someone seizes control of the newly awakened Well.

“And there’s more—­”

Before he could continue, a sudden flurry of drums resounded throughout the chamber, all of the dwarren turning.

“The Broken Waters Clan is arriving,” Quotl murmured.

Even as he spoke, a column of dwarren emerged from one of the widest tunnels leading to the southeast. Colin estimated at least two thousand Riders poured forth, spilling across the stone floor, spreading out as they emerged into the massive chamber. A roar rose among the dwarren, voices raised and weapons clattering against stone and chests.

Quotl turned to Colin. “The Gathering will be called immediately. We must return.”

“What can we do for the Summer Tree?” the Keeper asked. His eyes were still wide with shock.

“Lend it your strength,” Colin said, glancing around at all of the dwarren shamans. “The Summer Tree still holds, and the longer it holds, the greater the chance that we can find a way to defeat the Wraiths.”

“Shadowed One!” Quotl called. The head shaman of Thousand Springs had already climbed down from the edge of the Summer Tree’s roots. He motioned toward the milling group of dwarren who had just entered the chamber. “Come!”

Colin nodded toward the Keepers, then urged Eraeth and Siobhaen after Quotl.

“You said there is more?” Eraeth said as they moved
around the Confluence, the background roar of the turbulent water to one side.

“It’s far worse than I thought possible in such a short amount of time,” Colin said in answer. “But I’ll explain it all at the Gathering.”

They reached the chaos created by the arrival of the Broken Waters Clan and forced their way through the group to the forefront, where Oraju and Kimannen were greeting the clan chief. The Archon shot Colin and Quotl a dark look but said nothing.

“—­unusual activity to the south,” Clan Chief Asazi was growling as they approached, “on the Flats. I sent out scouts to determine who and what it was, but they did not return. We only have the word of one of our trettarus, and they say that the group was headed southward, not toward dwarren lands.”

Oraju raised a hand to forestall him. “Save the report for the Gathering. Is the keeva prepared, Archon?”

Kimannen nodded. “All is ready. The fires have been lit and the yetope prepared. The blessings have all been spoken. Ilacqua has been called to give us counsel.”

“Then we will begin immediately. Summon the rest of the clan chiefs and the head shamans.”

“And the Shadowed One?” the Archon asked with a glare.

“Ilacqua has seen fit to bring him to us at this time. He must attend as well.”

The Archon grunted, but Colin ignored him. “My two Alvritshai companions should be part of the Gathering as well,” he said. “As we will see, there is more at stake here than dwarren lands and dwarren interests.”

The Cochen frowned, eyes raking the two Alvritshai before he nodded in reluctant agreement. “Bring them.”

The entire group turned and followed the Archon up into the myriad stairs and walkways of the cliff dwellings
carved into the side of the chamber. As they ascended, Eraeth tugged on Colin’s sleeve.

“Why did you want us as part of the Gathering?”

“Because what I said is true. You will both be there to represent the Alvritshai’s interests. You will represent the Lords of the Evant, and Siobhaen the Order of Aielan.”

“But we have no standing in the Evant,” Siobhaen pointed out. “And I have little in the Order. Besides, I don’t understand dwarren!”

“That does not matter. The Alvritshai need to be seen here, or they will be forgotten.”

They reached a wide opening, rounded like an egg, where three of the head shamans of the clans waited, chanting quietly. They bowed to the Cochen and Archon, the chants never ceasing, and motioned with their scepters, the snakes’ tails tied to them rattling as they shook them. The Archon bowed in return and ushered the Cochen into the chamber, the rest following. Inside, embers pulsed red in a pit dug out in the center of the floor, yetope smoke already rising from the dried weeds tossed on it. Like the keeva at the Thousand Springs Clan, natural worn seats surrounded the central pit. The Archon and Cochen took up positions against the far wall, the rest spreading out around both sides. As Colin settled down, Eraeth and Siobhaen to his right, he glanced toward the rest of the clan chiefs and their shamans. Tarramic and Quotl were seated across from him, Quotl removing his pipe and packing dried leaves into its bowl. He placed the end of a stick into the coals of the fire pit and lit his pipe with a few puffs of smoke, a contented smile entering his eyes.