The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (30 page)

“If the monks are truly messengers of the gods, then we must take their test.” The king’s voice hardened. “But it will not be a test of loyalty. I’ll not let the monks impugn our honor.” He rubbed his forehead in thought. “We’ll make it a dedication to the Light, a blessing against the threat of the red comet, a talisman for safe-keeping. Anything but a test for traitors. Hell, it might even improve morale, an antidote to the red comet.” The king stood. “Meantime, we gird for war.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I can feel it in my bones, Osbourne. If it comes to war, it will be like none we’ve yet seen. A war that eats men like a ravenous beast.”

The marshal nodded. “I feel it too, sire. Even the young ones look at the comet and know that time is running thin.”

“The monks know it too. The threat must be dire to chase them down out of their mountains.” The king gave the marshal a knowing look. “No man wishes for war…but,” a fire burned in the king’s steel-green gaze, “we’ll have one more chance, Osbourne. Instead of fading into old age, we’ll have one more chance at honor and glory.”

The marshal saluted his king who was also his friend. “You have my sword, sire. Lead the way and we will sweep our enemies before us.”

The king nodded. “Like the battle of
Raven
Pass
, when a few stood against many and won.” He raised his goblet in salute. “To honor and the Octagon…and whatever the gods throw our way.”
 

Yellow cat-slit eyes stared back at Kath.
Eyes of the forest
, full of knowledge and wisdom and warning. Kath struggled against the golden scrutiny, but she could not move, caught by a power she did not understand. The yellow eyes peered down at her, close enough to touch, close enough to strike. Startled, Kath woke to find a cat-eyed archer looming over her. She reached for her sword…but there was none to grasp. Fighting off sleep, she stared up at his golden gaze, trying to separate dreams from reality.

“Don’t be afraid.” The words were a whisper.

Putting a name to the bearded face, she recognized Jenks, the captain of the cat-eyed archers. “What do you want?”

He sat back on his haunches, studying her. His eyes glowed like lamps in the firelight, making him seem otherworldly. “You must all rise and bring your belongings. You are summoned to meet with the Treespeaker.”

Kath heard awe in the archer’s voice. “But we only got here late yesterday.”

A knowing smile spread across his face. “The summons came before Cenric had a chance to send a message bird.”

Kath shivered, remembering the mysterious power that invaded her dreams.

The archer nodded. “The Treespeaker is one with the forest. Now wake the others, there is no time to waste.” The archer rose with a lithe grace and moved toward the open doorway. He glanced back at her, a flash of golden eyes in the dawn light, and then he was gone.

Kath roused her friends, explaining the summons. With a bit of coaxing, Danya woke as well. Pale-faced and haggard, the girl seemed well enough to walk, but the pain in her eyes held the companions at bay. The young woman paid a great price for her magic, grieving for her wolf.

No one mentioned
Duncan
.

Kath kept her hope to herself.

The five companions ate as they worked, stuffing belongings into saddlebags and binding up bedrolls. Kath’s mind raced, caught off-guard by the sudden summons. Needing to know more, she sidled close to the monk, keeping her voice to a whisper. “Who is this Treespeaker and why do we want an audience with him?”

An ironic smile creased his face. “
Her
not him, the Treespeaker is a woman, a very old woman, steeped in ancient power.” Zith tugged on his silver beard, his face apologetic. “My knowledge of the Deep Green is limited. It was never one of my areas of study.” His voice took on the pedantic tone. “The Deep Green is in many ways a riddle. It is both an old and a new power, one that arose with renewed vigor from the ashes of the War of Wizards. Some say it is something more than mere magic, almost a god. As the Order understands it, the Treespeaker is the mortal manifestation of that power. A priestess, a witch, a seer of sorts, she is revered by the Children of the Green. Her word is law within the forest.”

“So why did you ask to meet with her?”

“Aside from avoiding bloodshed at the forest’s edge?”

Kath had the grace to blush.

“You flatlanders are always quick to violence.” Zith sighed. “Before we left the monastery, the Grand Master spoke of the Deep Green. He said that if we found ourselves within the forest’s boundaries, we should ask for an audience with the Treespeaker.”

“So what are we meant to do at this audience?”

“Seek and offer aid.”

Kath rocked back on her heels, surprised by the answer. “But what aid can we offer the Treespeaker?”

“Knowledge is a sharp sword in the right hands.”

She stared at him waiting for an explanation.

“Perhaps we are meant to warn the Treespeaker of the Mordant’s return.”

Kath considered his words. “So the Grand Master foresaw this? He expected us to come to the Deep Green?”

“Expected, no. A possibility, yes.” Zith buckled his saddlebag and said, “The bearers of the crystal dagger always choose their own path. You charged down the ridge and we followed in your wake. Did you lead us here or was it chance that brought us this way? The hands of the gods are often cloaked in chance and happenstance. Perhaps we were meant to come here.”

His words sparked anger within her. “Not at the cost of
Duncan
’s life!”

Zith dropped his gaze, crushed once more by a mantle of sorrow.

Too late, Kath remembered the monk’s son.

Sir Tyrone intervened. “There are always risks and always sacrifices, especially in war. It is the duty of the living to turn the sacrifices of those we love into advantages for the Light.” Shouldering his bedroll, the black knight added, “We should join the villagers. I, for one, am curious to meet this Treespeaker. Let’s see what we can gain from this meeting, chance met or otherwise.”

The black knight’s words set Kath to thinking, stoking her curiosity.

Gathering up their saddlebags and bedrolls, the companions abandoned the marble tomb, their guards trailing behind. The village roiled like a kicked anthill. Banked cook fires sent wisps of smoke into the canopy. Men shouldered bows and large packs while women groomed children in their best clothes. It seemed the entire clan scrambled to answer the summons. Kath took the presence of children as a reassuring sign. She hoped the Treespeaker would be more benevolent than the eyes staring in her dreams.

They found Cenric at the heart of the village, a commanding presence in his long cape of emerald-green feathers. His cloak shimmered in the dawn light, the feathered-eyes dancing with every movement, making him appear like some mystical lord of the forest. Cenric acknowledged them with a nod. “The Treespeaker has granted your request for an audience…an honor rarely given to white-eyes.”

Kath gave the clan leader a half bow. “We look forward to the meeting.”

Cenric studied her with his golden gaze. “One wonders at the urgency of the summons. It is almost as if you were expected.”

Kath kept her face neutral, unsure how to reply.

Cenric’s stare narrowed. “You and your companions are to march at the front of the line with an escort of archers.”

“Are they escorts or guards?”

“That depends on the Treespeaker.”

Prisoners or guests,
Kath felt naked without her weapons, but there was nothing to do but comply. The bearded captain, Jenks, approached and directed Kath and her companions toward the front. They took their place, surrounded by a dozen leather-clad archers.

The swirling chaos quickly resolved into a long line of people, women and children, young and old, each with a pack on their back, many with strung bows in their hands.
 
Cenric strode to the head of the procession. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he made a bird-like trill that echoed against the canopy. Waving a carved staff, Cenric led his people into the forest.

They left the clearing, heading east toward the rising sun. The forest crowded in around them, the thick underbrush narrowing the trail. The brush was dense despite the dappled shade, massive trees supporting a soaring ceiling of green. Branches and leaves rustled overhead, giving the impression of whispered words. Kath gripped her gargoyle and stretched her senses, straining to listen but the green language eluded her.

Golden eyes stared into her mind.

Shocked, Kath staggered backwards, releasing her gargoyle. Sir Tyrone put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” Kath tucked her gargoyle beneath her jerkin, deciding not to pry.
 

They walked in twos down a well-worn trail, all talking left behind. The dawn-song of woodland birds rose to fill the forest. The floodtide of song surprised Kath. A hundred villagers marched along the trail yet their passage did not disturb the birdsong. Listening for the sounds of marching, she realized even the babes in arms were quiet. The extreme stealth amazed Kath until she puzzled out the underlying message. The cat-eyed people were used to being hunted. Stealth in the forest was their protection. The understanding made Kath more forgiving of their hostility, but she still felt naked without her weapons.

The path wound through the forest, threading through a maze of green. Kath tried to keep track of the twists and turns but there were no clear landmarks, just endless trees. She kept glancing backwards, hoping
Duncan
followed. Scuffing her boots as she walked, she held to the belief that the archer still lived…and somehow he’d find her.

The path seemed endless. They walked for the better part of the morning, always heading east. Sunbeams pierced the canopy, sending shafts of light slanting to the forest floor. Birdsong trilled from the upper branches, flashes of bright colors flitting among the dense green. The underbrush thickened and the girth of the grandfather trees spread to immense proportions. Kath saw several trees wide enough to hide a horse. She marveled at the lushness of the forest and the gigantic scale of the trees. Dwarfed beneath the towering green, the lives of men seemed insignificant. Humbled by the trees, Kath appreciated the cat-people’s reverence for their forest home.

The trail turned steep, winding up the side of a rocky ridge, sword ferns sprouting among the rocks. Cenric maintained a brisk pace, his feathered cape flashing like an emerald beacon, a lord of the green at home in the forest.

By the time they reached the ridge top the sunbeams had turned vertical. Cresting the summit, Kath paused, stunned by the view. The far side fell away to an open crescent of tiered seats, a green amphitheater carved into the ridge, everything covered in vines and ivy. The sloping gallery of tiered benches formed an elegant crescent-shaped symmetry unexpected in the forest depths. Despite the perfect evenness of the steps, Kath saw no stone, only a lush carpet of green. Even more impressive, was the tree. A massive redwood claimed the heart of the amphitheater, sheltering the entire gallery under the shade of its branches. Soaring out of sight, the redwood made all the other grandfather trees seem like mere saplings. The great tree had a majestic presence, evoking the image of a green god. Kath gave the tree a half-bow, honoring the god of the forest.

A cat-eyed archer, one of their escorts, stepped close behind Kath, his words a whisper laden with venom. “Your face betrays your surprise, white-eye. You thought we were just a simple forest folk, nothing but savages.” His voice became a sneer. “Few white-eyes have ever lived to see this. Appreciate what little time you have left.”

The threat jerked Kath back to vigilance. An audience with an unknown power could easily turn into a trial…or an execution. Tightening her grip on the crystal dagger, she quickened her steps, descending the ivy-cloaked stairs.

Movement caught her eye. Other clans emerged along the ridgeline, descending to fill the crescent-shaped gallery. Bright feather-cloaks in all the shades of the rainbow marked the other clan leaders. Kath counted more than two score cloaks. The presence of so many clans was unexpected…and slightly ominous, boding for something far more than a mere audience.

Kath followed Cenric down the steps, guessing the amphitheater could hold several thousand people. If things turned ugly their only hope would be to flee.
 

The steps were steep but surprisingly even, made by man not nature. Kath sensed a riddle beneath the ivy.

Cenric led them to the heart of the amphitheater, gesturing to seats in the first tier, close to the great tree. Kath sat next to Zith, Sir Tyrone on her left.
Blaine
stayed close to Danya, keeping a steadying hand on the dazed wolf-girl. Guards were stationed behind the five companions, an open threat.

Kath’s stare roved the gallery while her fingers explored the ivy growing across the bench. Parting the leaves, she discovered white marble beneath the living green. A shiver ran through her. The forest grew across the bones of some ancient civilization.

Zith noticed her interest, keeping his voice to a whisper, “A great city once stood here, destroyed by the War of Wizards.”

Intrigued, she wanted to hear more, but a warning hiss from Cenric silenced her. She glanced back up at the filling gallery. A sea of golden cat-slit eyes stared down at her, a wave of hostility waiting to break.

A horn sounded from the heart of the amphitheater, a high clear note that echoed in the gallery. A young cat-eyed man, clad in a long robe of leaf-green, stood beneath the tree holding a curved antler-horn to his lips. Three times the horn sounded, stilling the murmurs of the crowd.

Overhead, the massive boughs of the great redwood rustled, adding a subtle voice to the horn’s call.

Kath shivered, feeling the power of the forest.

A tall and stately woman stepped from behind the redwood, a carved staff in her ringed hands. Her long silver hair was bound by a wooden circlet, an emerald diadem set at her brow. A magnificent cloak of snow-white feathers cascaded from her shoulders to the ground, shimmering as she walked. Her face was serene and unlined, making her age difficult to guess, but her most striking feature was her eyes. Her eyes were pure gold, unmarred by any pupil. She should have been blind, but she moved with the grace and confidence of the sighted, radiating a sense of power and dignity. There was no doubt in Kath’s mind that this was the Treespeaker.

The Treespeaker stood before her people and opened her arms wide in a maternal gesture of welcome. “We greet you in the name of the
Forest
!” Her voice had a rich, smoky timbre that carried through the amphitheater.