The changeling's mastery of mimicry did not extend to expressing disappointment. It immediately shifted its groping paw to the bandit leader's shoulder and proceeded to ignore him. It had no interest in Torquil and kept its attention focused obtusely on Colwyn. In addition to inhuman strength it was possessed of inhuman patience. It could wait. The right time would present itself.
It always did.
As they continued onward, the terrain soon changed, revealing a second large lake off to their left. Colwyn was glad to see it, even though its predecessor had disgorged a band of Slayers. They would not be surprised like that again, and water was no trickster like quicksand. At least if they were forced into the lake they would be able to swim. Not like poor Menno.
They did not encounter any more quicksand, however. The ground remained soggy but no boot sank more than an inch into the surface. He thought of asking the seer or Titch how they'd lost the path and stumbled into the quicksand pit, then decided that even a seer could make mistakes. Obviously it had been a long time since the wise man had traveled this country, and swamps can shift themselves about with every change of seasons. It was a wonder they'd not encountered more troubles than they already had.
There was nothing to mark the place as special or chosen when they finally arrived. No monoliths, no graven images, no moss-covered walls. It presented the same aspect as the rest of the Great Swamp, but Titch immediately noticed something Colwyn and the others would have passed by.
'There.' Torquil and the seer-that-was-not moved forward.
'We are in sight of the trees, brother.'
Ahead and slightly to one side three trees emerged from the ground, their trunks pressing tight until they rose mist-ward as a single bole. Unusual but hardly unique, the sight would have gone unnoticed by anyone unfamiliar with its ancient meaning. Certainly Colwyn and Torquil would have marched on past without sparing the awkward growth a second look.
Staying long in one place always made the Cyclops nervous. He liked to keep moving, and it had been some time since his newfound companions had vanished ahead of him, swallowed up by fog and distance. He'd remained behind to guard the rear against nothing but mud, for nothing had appeared that would demand his attention. Besides, there was no telling what new dangers still lay ahead. His friends might need his help again very soon.
So be it, he decided. He would continue to serve as rear scout, but would interpret that order to suit his own nature. Skirting the quicksand pit, he began to follow his friends' footsteps, taking special care to give any body of water larger than a bathtub a close inspection. He saw nothing more dangerous than frogs and newts. There were no more Slayers preparing watery ambush. He strained his ears and heard only swamp sounds.
He was debating whether or not to increase his pace when a faint rushing noise caught his attention. Odd tides caressed the Great Swamp. Probably that was what had confused the seer and Titch. In drier times of year, the quicksand pits might not exist.
As he held his balance and watched, he saw the water draining into some hidden cavern. As it did so, the source of the peculiar slapping noise emerged from the shallows. Behind him, where quicksand had reclaimed dry land, the muddy bridge across the treacherous bog was rising once more. But there was something more, a different noise. Flesh beating against the damp soil.
A limp arm swung over a second time to smack the mud. The cyclops recognized Menno's shirt as the body was thrust clear of the water. Too bad for the man. A rotten way to die.
Then his regrets turned to curiosity and his curiosity quickly became fearful concern.
He hurried toward the newly emerged land bridge, not caring if the earth suddenly chose to turn to quicksand again beneath his boots. He knelt and turned the second body over,
only to find himself staring into the peaceful, silent face of the dead seer. But if the seer lay here by Menno, dead as the throat of an old fire-mountain, then who walked in his guise alongside the boy and the bandit leader? Realization came with terrifying speed.
Like Colwyn, Torquil was searching for signs that this spot represented the end of their search. Like him, he found nothing.
'Are you sure this is the place, old man?'
'The boy will know,' the changeling replied sibilantly.
Titch looked to his master. 'We are in sight of the trees, brother.'
Ynyr frowned as the silence stretched into minutes. He didn't understand his old friend's hesitation. Of course, he had no knowledge of the proper procedure to follow. Perhaps this contemplative pause on the part of the seer was how the enchantment began. Still, something didn't feel right to him. He kept his concern to himself, however. The seer is old. Give him time.
At last he spoke and Ynyr was able to relax.
'He who seeks the knowledge must lead me to the appointed place. No one else may approach. The magic is powerful. Have a care you all stand well back.' Torquil and his men needed no further urging. They stepped several paces farther back from the tri-trunked tree.
Colwyn exchanged places with Torquil, waited until the seer had a comfortable grip on his shoulder. 'How do I lead you, wise one?'
'Toward the trees, and away from your friends. Toward enlightenment, Colwyn of Turold.'
Keeping a tight rein on his growing sense of excitement, Colwyn led the seer toward the trees. There was a faint trembling in the old man's wrist, and Colwyn thought that he too must be excited at what was to come.
Soon they had approached to within touching distance of the gnarled old bark. Colwyn halted. They'd distanced themselves considerably from the others and mist hid them from view.
'What happens now, wise one?'
'As I promised, enlightenment.' The long, dexterous fingers slid gently upward, from shoulder to neck. ''Here is the knowledge you seek.'
The fingers started to tighten convulsively even as something in the seer's tone caused Colwyn to whirl. So fast did he twist, that the changeling's grip was not secured, the fingers not quite in place to snap the neck. But they did not fall away. Instead, they continued to contract around the startled Colwyn's neck even as he hammered desperately at the powerful arm.
Another second and Colwyn would die, his head forced back at an impossible angle by the changeling's inhuman strength. Another second… and the pressure vanished from Colwyn's throat.
He staggered for a moment, rubbing at his bruised neck and staring at the swaying figure of the seer-that- was-not even as he drew the knife at his belt. Stared at the seer's shoulder, now ragged and bloody.
Flung with enormous force by the onrushing Rell from a good fifty yards distant, the huge trident had ripped into the changeling's back. Staggering backward, the creature flailed at Colwyn. But now the intended victim was on guard.
Colwyn stepped forward and drove inward with his knife. No longer was it the image of the seer that he fought. That kindly, wise old visage was coming apart even as he fought it, even as the hand that had sought his throat had changed into a grotesque, groping claw.
The changeling stumbled about, screeching in frustration as fluid gushed from its disintegrating skull. Colwyn did not have to stab again, nor was the help of his hurrying friends required. As he stared, the changeling collapsed and died in the manner of such unnatural things.
Torquil moved to stand beside him as Colwyn rubbed at his sore throat.
'You all right?'
'Well enough, thanks to our friend.' He nodded toward the approaching Rell. 'If not for his strong arm, that'—and he nodded at the rapidly decomposing alien corpse—'would have snapped my neck.'
'So perish all such manifestations of the Beast,' Torquil muttered grimly.
Titch was the last to arrive, pushing through the assembled men to gape at the body. 'I don't understand,' he murmured. He looked over at Ergo. 'Where is the seer? The trident… his arm… I don't understand.' As they watched, the body continued to decompose before their eyes, until at last there was only a stain of corruption against the clean earth.
Ergo put his arm around the boy. 'I don't understand either, boy.' He looked over at Ynyr. 'Well, wise man? Explain what we've witnessed. Or can it be that in your wisdom, you too were deceived?'
'Well and truly deceived,' said Ynyr sadly. 'I feel as ignorant at this moment as a mudskipper. I should have
