pain his body couldn't feel, Bro made himself small and prayed for the nightmare to end.
'Ebroin. Ebroin, listen to me. Come around, Ebroin.'
Chayan's voice, her hands between his shoulders, urging him to sit up. She had her sword still, the spear, bow, and arrows were gone.
'No. Go away.'
'I can't. I need your help, Ebroin. Come around. Look at me.'
'Leave me alone. I want to die.'
'No, you don't. Look at me, Ebroin.'
Chayan got her hand beneath Bro's arm. She dug her fingers between his healed ribs. He flinched; that was all the leverage she needed to get him sitting upright again. Then her hands surrounded his jaw. Her thumbs pressed against his cheeks.
'They're all dead, Chayan!'
'Not all of them, not you, not me. You can't help this one, but there are others.'
She pulled Bro to his feet. When she let go, he looked down-by accident, to avoid looking at her. Everything was as it had been: two corpses, one completely charred, the other bloody and torn. When he started to shake, Chayan slapped him hard. Bro's arm came up to return the blow. She seized his wrist.
'Later, Ebroin.'
'How-?' Bro asked, but he knew the answer. Anger had restored him, if restored was the proper word. A chasm loomed between him and what he saw when he looked anywhere in the moonlight. There were the unlucky ones, the ones who hadn't survived. Bro didn't want to join them, but he wasn't grateful, either, to the woman who'd opened the chasm. 'Don't you see? Don't you care? Or have you seen worse, fighting everyone, everywhere?' He made the question scornful.
'I have, Ebroin. You don't want to imagine what I've seen. And I still care. When we have done what we must, then I'll sit and weep and fold my arms over my head, just like you.'
Still holding his wrist, Chayan led Bro across devastation. Trees were down, burnt or toppled outright, leaving muddy craters. There were more bodies, charred, blasted, and in pieces. The scents of death, charred wood and burnt flesh, hung in the air despite the breeze.
'How many?' Bro asked. 'How bad?'
'Thirteen dead. Thirteen that I can find. Thirteen alive, counting you and me. The rest are…' Chayan swept her free arm in front of them. 'The rest are missing, including Rizcarn.'
Bro stumbled. It was inconceivable that his father-his once-dead father-hadn't survived. Or maybe, not so inconceivable. Maybe Zandilar had taken Rizcarn into the ground along with the colt, leaving him and twelve others alive… as a warning: Don't anger the Yuirwood. Don't go to the Sunglade.
The other survivors, hollow-eyed and silent, sat in the lee of a large toppled tree. They looked up at him. Bro imagined Chayan had collected them all and wondered, when she released his wrist, why she'd collected him last. One said, 'Rizcarn's son,' as he sat down. He said nothing; even now, he wasn't one of them, wasn't a person in their eyes.
Chayan scrounged wood; Bro didn't ask where. She laid a fire. If the decision had been his, Bro would have said he'd never want to see flames again, but Chayan didn't ask. The gently crackling tinder and firefly sparks widened the chasm between death and survival. One of the men began to weep. One of the women took out a broken loaf of journey bread. Bro's share of the baking, tied up in the remnants of his Sulalk shirt and slung from his belt, had become a sodden lump he wasn't hungry enough to eat.
Chayan appeared at Bro's side. She offered bread from her own pack before saying, 'We must search for your father.'
Bro looked at the destruction surrounding them. He thought of the missing Cha'Tel'Quessir, and that missing meant worse than dead, worse than cindered. Missing meant burst into pieces too small to find.
'Why look? Why not assume he's dead, instead of looking for a bit here, a bit there? Say the wizards got him and say we're lucky they didn't get us, too. Our gods have cursed us, Chayan.'
'All right, Ebroin. I'm not going to argue with you. I'll be back around dawn. You'll be safe enough here.'
He looked at the others gathered around the fire, the Cha'Tel'Quessir who didn't know his name. 'I'm coming.'
They were in the undamaged Yuirwood before Bro spoke again. 'This time I did see Zandilar. I looked up during the firestorm. I saw her fighting a monster that looked like a man made from fire. That's two times in one day that she saved my life.'
Chayan stared at him sideways. She looked puzzled, maybe jealous.
'I suppose I owe her a prayer, some sort of offering. With Lanig dead and Yongour-maybe she's decided I should dance with her after all.'
'I wouldn't think you owe Zandilar any more than you think you owe the Simbul. They both saved your life, but Zandilar took your colt, Ebroin. Seems to me that you'd be about even.'
'The Simbul-' he began to explain that Aglarond's queen had started everything downhill when she tried to steal Dancer from him in Sulalk. But he'd said that before. It didn't matter how anything had started, just that it ended in the Sunglade.
Chayan's cousin, Halaern, served Aglarond's queen and Halaern couldn't have been far away when the storm- framed battle erupted between Zandilar and the flame-man. Like Rizcarn, the forester was missing. Once the thought had occurred to him, Bro realized that he cared more whether Trovar Halaern had survived than whether Rizcarn had, but when he suggested that they might look for the forester instead, Chayan shook her head sharply.
'We need Rizcarn,' she insisted, beginning to sound like Lanig or Yongour, or the Cha'Tel'Quessir sitting around the little fire.
'We need to go home,' he countered, but neither of them had homes waiting for them.
They wandered, keeping track of their position by the stars and finding the occasional faded Relkath rune, left over from other seasons when Rizcarn had wandered the Yuirwood. Chayan admitted the possibility that Rizcarn was truly missing; Bro suggested that Zandilar had taken him with her after she defeated the flame man. That was the wrong thing to say.
'Zandilar didn't defeat the Old Man of the Yuirwood. Mark me on this, Ebroin: The storm defeated the Old Man- the way running out of arrows will defeat an archer. All Zandilar did was attract his attention.'
'Still, she might have taken Rizcarn to the same place she took Dancer.'
'She was humbled. She didn't take anything away from this battle.'
Bro argued, but not for long. They both spotted the brightly glowing tree at the same time. Chayan, Bro noticed, had her hand on her sword as they approached. The first thing Bro noticed was that none of the light came from Rizcarn. It all came from the tree where his father chiselled a Relkath rune. Rizcarn's clothes were torn and ragged. A raw burn ran the length of his right arm. It was painful to behold, but didn't seem to affect him as he hammered an iron chisel with a rock-hammer. By the depth of the cuts, Rizcarn had been chiseling and rechiseling the same rune for quite a while.
'Wake up the trees, Rizcarn.' Bang! 'Gather the Cha'Tel'Quessir, Rizcarn.' Bang! 'Lead them to the Sunglade, Rizcarn.' Bang! Bang! Bang! 'Wake up the trees.'
'Poppa?' Bro called, keep a good distance between himself and the tree, and grateful for Chayan's sword, which he assumed she could use. 'Poppa?' he called a second time, louder than before.
'Ember? Is that Ember?'
Rizcarn turned around with the rock and chisel still in his hands. There was a gouge across his face that ran diagonally from his forehead to his cheek. One eye was swollen shut; the other had the white-ringed aspect of madness. Yet Ember had been Bro's name before his father died, a name Rizcarn hadn't used since they'd reunited.
Bro exchanged a glance with Chayan, who nodded in response to his unasked question.
'Yes, it's me, Poppa. Ember. Chayan and I have come looking for you.'
'You have a ladylove now? You're growing up… grown. I didn't see you grow. How is your mother, Ember? I haven't seen her in so long, either. I've been with the trees, waking up the trees.' He gestured with his chisel and rock. 'So many trees. Wake up the trees to protect the forest.'
'Poppa, Shali's dead. Lanig's dead. Yongour's dead. A whole lot of Cha'Tel'Quessir died tonight. Don't you
