We went on at a slow pace, past grazing sheep, a herdsman who waved a greeting, over a little brook, more grass. The wood spread before us, all green and shadowy in the early morning sun. It was a plantation of oak, the tall trees rustling in the wind off the Fend. Andyrt reined in a little distance off, my pony halting less in obedience to my urgings than in parody of his stallion, innocently threatening to dislodge me as she lowered her head to crop.

“The wood,” Andyrt said needlessly, gesturing at the timber. “There’s little enough to it.”

“Can we enter it?” I asked.

“If you wish.”

I felt he hesitated an instant, and as he swung limber from the saddle I saw him make the sign of warding. I did not, for as I strove to climb down I felt my legs and buttocks shafted with pain and become as straws, quite inadequate to the task of supporting me. I clutched at the saddle, leaning for support against the pony, which stirred, threatening to topple me. I heard Andyrt chuckle and gritted my teeth, pushing gingerly clear of my equine prop as I forced my back straight and turned on unsteady legs toward the wood.

“The first time always hurts.” Andyrt said. “Folk think you need only climb astride a horse and sit there, but there’s more to it than that. I’ll ask Garat potion a bath for you when we return.”

“My thanks,” I said, and then: “I’ve much to learn.”

Andyrt said, “Aye,” and cheered me by adding, “but I’ll wager you make a good enough horseman in time.”

I smiled and hobbled closer to the wood.

Andyrt surprised me then, setting a hand on my shoulder to halt me as he dropped to one knee, hands crossed against his chest in attitude of prayer. Confused, I waited for him to rise with a question on my lips that I bit off as I saw his face. I was not sure what expression sat there; not fear, but an emotion not entirely divorced. Awe, perhaps; and something of disquiet. I looked to the wood and wondered why.

It seemed no more than a plain oak hurst, the massy branches verdant with spring’s new growth. The closer trees were mostly young as oaks go, though toward the center I could espy vast, majestic trunks that must have been ancient when Ramach faced the Kho’rabi. I turned to Andyrt and asked him, “Were you here then?”

“No.” He shook his head, favoring me with a brief smile. “Think you I’m so old? Bardan himself was a babe in arms when this battle was fought.”

I mumbled an apology he seemed not to hear, intent on the holt. I had never set foot in a place of worship larger than the village cella, but it came to me that his must be the attitude of a man entering some sacred precinct, a cathedral … or a sepulchre. I fell silent as we walked slowly through the edge timber, moving deeper into the wood. It dawned on me that I heard no birdsong, that no squirrels chattered from the branches, nor were there the usual sounds of the small animals amongst the roots and fallen leaves. Indeed, nothing other than the oaks grew here: there was no undergrowth, nor even moss on the gnarled trunks. It was unnaturally quiet, the only sound the faint susurration of the wind-stirred leaves, as if the oaks murmured amongst themselves; as if they discussed our presence.

I felt suddenly uncomfortable. The dull aching of my thighs and buttocks was forgotten, replaced with a prickling sensation that prompted me to turn to and fro, convinced eyes watched me from hidden places.

“You feel it.” Andyrt did not ask a question, and I nodded, whispering, “Yes.”

“It was a terrible battle.” His voice was low as if he made confession. “Two full warbands met the fylie of two airboats. Steel met steel, and more-the sorcerers of Cambar and Torbryn fought with the Kho’rabi wizards. Hundreds died here-it was five years and more before the warbands regained their full strength. Ramach declared this wood should be their monument, that it be left to grow unchecked. It does, and it remembers, I think. Nothing lives here save the oaks and the spirits of the dead.”

I looked about, at a wood no longer merely that. It seemed that for an instant I saw the fight. The sunlight slanting through the latticed overlay of branches glinted on bloody swords, armored men clashed, bolts of occult power exploded. Men roared, battle-shouts and dying screams. I realized I was very cold as the momentary vision faded. I shivered, my mouth gone too dry to speak.

“Enough?” asked Andyrt.

I nodded and we turned about, our departure swifter than our entrance.

Outside the wood, the sight of the placidly cropping horses, the fields beyond, a restoration of normality, we halted and looked back. “It was the height of summer,” Andyrt said slowly. “Two days short of the Sastaine festival, it began; it ended two days after. None come near on those nights.”

I thought of my vision and asked, “It’s haunted?”

“I’ve not come to find out.” Andyrt shrugged and grinned with some small resumption of his customary good humor. “Those who’ve been in sight-shepherds, late-traveling peddlers-say they’ve heard the sounds of battle, or even seen warriors fighting amongst the trees, but none have lingered to see more. Sometimes, from the keep you can see lights … like witchfire.”

“I thought I saw …” I shook my head and grinned shamefaced.

“Some do, if they’ve the gift.” Andyrt ran absent fingers through the stallion’s mane. The big horse tossed its head and snorted. “Perhaps that talent that shall make you a Storyman grants you the sight. Now do we return?”

We rode back at funereal pace, and I am sure my face was a red-lit beacon as I was aided down and hobbled stiff-legged across the yard. Andyrt helped me climb the stairs to my room, our progress met with amiable derision by the soldiers lounging in the hall, and summoned servants to draw a bath. Promising to find Garat for me, he left me alone. I waited standing.

A Changed servant brought in the tub, and others filled it with steaming water. The herbalist came, cursing my idiocy and Andyrt’s sadism in equal measure, spilling a selection of aromatic liquids into the bath, then leaving me with instructions to apply a salve to my tender parts and the observation that for all his efforts I should likely take my next few meals on my feet and sleep on my belly. I thanked him and sank hopefully into the water.

In a while hope became gratitude, and I blessed Garat’s skill as my aches abated. I rose and dried myself, carefully applied Garat’s salve, and made my way down to the hall.

Rekyn met me there, to advise me the merchantman on which I should travel north would dock on the morrow. I asked her how she knew, and she smiled and said, “Magic, Daviot. How else? The galley comes down the coast, and we sorcerers send word from keep to keep.”

I thought I should not sleep that night, but I did, and soundly, thanks to Garat’s potions.

I was awake early the next morning, roused from dreamless sleep by anticipation. I hurried to the hall, my appetite somehow sharpened by excitement: I had consumed a full platter of cold meat and half a loaf when Rekyn and Andyrt came in. They smiled at the sight of me and wished me the day’s greetings. I asked when I should leave, at which Andyrt chuckled and drew out a chair for Rekyn, hooking one close for himself. “Two days, and already he tires of our company,” he said.

I began to protest, and laughing, Rekyn motioned me to silence. “The boat’s not likely to arrive until late morning,” she advised me. “Bardan would see you ere then, to give you token of introduction. Can you curb your impatience?”

I nodded, mumbling further apologies lest I offend my benefactors.

Rekyn said, “Does the galley arrive as promised, she’ll catch the afternoon tide. Save the weather turns, you’ll sight Durbrecht soon after Ennas Day.”

I suspected she looked to ease my going and smiled my gratitude, asking, “What should I do when I arrive?”

“You’ll be met,” she answered. “A representative of the College will be at the harbor to meet you all.”

“There are others?” I asked.

“Two,” she said. “One from Ynisvar; one from Madbry. I’ve not their names, but the boat will collect them farther up the coast.”

I nodded sagely, for all I had no sure idea where Ynisvar or Madbry lay. Save I was aware the waters of the Treppanek divided Kellambek from Draggonek, and those of the Slammerkin that latter from Ur-Dharbek, I had

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