'If it has a name, my queen'-Halaern took the ring gingerly-'I have not learned it.'
The forester had never worn a ring of any kind before. He placed it on a finger and regarded his hand as if it, too, had been touched by darkness. She told him what it could do and how to call forth its power. Well before the Simbul finished, Halaern's face was tense and troubled again.
'Let me tell you why I've come, dear friend, then perhaps it will be easier for you to share your burdens with me. I'm looking for a Cha'Tel'Quessir youth named Ebroin, of MightyTree, I think. I brought him to the Yuirwood the other night. More accurately: he brought me. He has a horse, a twilight colt named Zandilar's Dancer.'
Halaern began walking; the Simbul kept pace beside him.
'The MightyTree are three days' walking from here. They are a balanced kindred,' by which the forester meant that the MightyTree elders steered the family in the middle current between their Yuirwood heritage and tolerance for those who dwelt outside the forest. 'I don't recall the name Ebroin, but Zandilar the Dancer, as I'm sure you know, is a Sunglade name.'
'And a horse named Zandilar's Dancer?'
The forester shrugged. 'In the darkest chambers of the deepest caves there are paintings on the walls. I've seen horses there, horses with spots, horses the color of twilight and other animals that are long gone from the Yuirwood. And I've heard that there are other caves where a maiden leads a horse that the hunters follow.'
'I should like to see these paintings…'
Trovar Halaern looked straight ahead and said nothing.
'It is difficult for you, isn't it? Being Yuirwood and knowing me as you do.'
He sighed. 'With the Tel'Quessir in Retreat and your gods having warred and changed so recently, there is a sense in the Yuirwood that this is the time for the Cha'Tel'Quessir to seize their destiny. But there is no sense-no clear sense-what our destiny might be. Some say wait, others say leap. Most are caught in the middle.'
The Simbul took his hand as they walked. 'I heard the name Zandilar's Dancer in a dream the night after Ebroin's colt was born. The colt is in the Yuirwood now, with Ebroin and someone else. I don't know who that other person is, a man, I think. Most likely Cha'Tel'Quessir, but possibly a Red Wizard. Something is changing in the Yuirwood, dear friend, and its echoes can be heard throughout Faerun. Two nights past I met with three elven sages from Evermeet. I came away with more questions than answers; that's the Tel'Quessir way, isn't it? I'll share them all with you, but I need your help, dear friend: I need to find Ebroin and his horse. I need to see those who would seize their destiny regardless of the consequences, and I need to see them through these eyes.'
'I'll start looking for this Ebroin of MightyTree and his horse. For the other, the best I can do is put you in the path of Rizcarn-'
The Simbul interrupted her forester. 'Rizcarn? That's a name Ebroin mentioned. His father's name. His dead father, I thought; there was a black bead against his neck.'
Halaern worried his lower lip.
'Problems? Coincidences?' the Simbul asked.
'If you'd asked me at Midsummer, I'd've said Rizcarn of GoldenMoss was dead these past seven years. Seems, though, that I've been wrong, that he was off prowling other forests. He's back, preaching Relkath's return, same as before. Always was a strange one. GoldenMoss hunters found him living wild.'
The Simbul raised an eyebrow. Tales of Cha'Tel'Quessir raised by the Yuirwood itself were rampant in the forest. Few, if any, were believable.
'It's what they say and no one challenges them. Not MightyTree.'
'Not a balanced sort, this Rizcarn?'
Halaern shook his head, searching for the right words. 'Hardly. He trekked from one end of the Yuirwood to the other, carving Relkath's rune in tree bark. We thought him slightly mad, completely harmless. No one paid attention.'
'But they are now, now that he's come back.?'
'He's called all Cha'Tel'Quessir to the Sunglade. I've kept a distance, my queen, but others are listening. I didn't take him seriously. He's not the first, my queen, to dance in the Sunglade. Nothing's happened there before, but if he's a Red Wizard in disguise… I will climb trees and look farther than I have. There are other ways.'
The Simbul stopped walking and used the leverage their clasped hands provided to turn them face to face. 'No, dear friend. I will look closely at this Rizcarn of GoldenMoss. You will look for Red Wizards in the Yuirwood.'
'Come home with me, my queen. We'll eat and talk until midnight, and tomorrow I will take you across Rizcarn's path.'
The Simbul knew she shouldn't; Alassra said she'd be delighted.
20
The Yuirwood, in Aglarond Evening, the twenty-first day of Eleasias, The Year of the Banner (1368DR)
Four days had passed since Bro had surrendered the twilight colt to Zandilar. Four days in which he'd followed Rizcarn from one tree-family to the next, staying in the shadows while Rizcarn summoned the Cha'Tel'Quessir to the Sunglade at the full moon. There were four days, four nights until the moon rose full; nearly thirty Cha'Tel'Quessir men and women trekked with them already. At the rate their camp was growing, there'd be more Cha'Tel'Quessir when they reached the Sunglade than Bro had ever seen in one place.
They wouldn't have all the Cha'Tel'Quessir in the Yuirwood. There were folk who walked away shaking their heads when they heard Rizcarn rant about waking trees and dancing with stones. One tree-family, Deep Well, had run them off. That had been the first day, when it had only been him, Rizcarn, and an old man named Lanig whom Bro remembered vaguely from his boyhood. Elders listened to Rizcarn now that he had thirty Cha'Tel'Quessir walking with him-at least they pretended to.
Watching the elders, Bro had seen doubt and anxiety on their faces. The same doubts and anxieties he felt each sunset when Rizcarn called a halt for the night. Rizcarn said something had to be done, like building campfires or waking the trees, and folk did it, not mindlessly, the way Thayan slaves were said to obey, but without asking the questions folk should ask.
Not about campfires-campfires didn't need questions. Questions about trees and stones and what was going to happen after the Sunglade. Of course, Bro hadn't asked those questions either.
The Cha'Tel'Quessir with them called him Rizcarn's son, not Ebroin or Bro, or even Ember as they'd called him when he was twelve and following his father-the father he knew was his-from tree to tree. They didn't expect him to do anything except be Rizcarn's son and sleep in the center of the camp, where Rizcarn would have slept, if Rizcarn had slept. He wasn't Zandilar's chosen young man, not anymore. Lanig would dance with Zandilar and ride Zandilar's Dancer.
Rizcarn hadn't slept or eaten since Zandilar had taken the colt into the ground. Each night, once the camp was set and cooking aromas filled the air, Rizcarn wandered off, not to be seen again until morning. Folk ate; food, at least, was both plentiful and palatable now. And folk talked until the watches were drawn for the night. They talked about Cha'Tel'Quessir who'd been dead for generations and they talked about the future when everything would change and become wonderful.
Bro had lived through days when everything changed and everything hadn't become wonderful, so when they talked about the future-after the meal was finished and someone brought out a skin or two of honey wine-he'd sulk off by himself.
Last night and the night before, Lanig had come to tell him his place in the night-watch, but not tonight. Tonight they had enough willing Cha'Tel'Quessir in camp. They didn't need Rizcarn's son to do anything but sleep.
'Your pallet is ready,' Lanig said. 'Will you come sleep with us? It's a lot of walking we do each day. Your father wants you to sleep, son. Will you come to your place? Will you?' Bro started for the center of the camp. He'd learned the hard way that Lanig wouldn't stop talking until he obeyed.
Later, sleepless himself, staring at the stars, and listening to the snores around him, Bro revised his opinion of his companions. It wasn't that they treated him as if he were still twelve, it was that they acted as if the past seven years hadn't happened. Most of the nearby Cha'Tel'Quessir had followed Rizcarn before. They'd simply picked up where they'd left off.
