yetope smoke already rising from the dried weeds tossed on it. Like the keeva at the Thousand Springs Clan, natural worn seats surrounded the central pit. The Archon and Cochen took up positions against the far wall, the rest spreading out around both sides. As Colin settled down, Eraeth and Siobhaen to his right, he glanced toward the rest of the clan chiefs and their shamans. Tarramic and Quotl were seated across from him, Quotl removing his pipe and packing dried leaves into its bowl. He placed the end of a stick into the coals of the fire pit and lit his pipe with a few puffs of smoke, a contented smile entering his eyes.
Then the doors to the keeva were closed.
The heat was instant, sweat breaking out on Colin’s face as he tried to find a more comfortable position. The smoke from the fire pit began to fill the chamber.
Siobhaen began to cough, but Eraeth leaned over and said, “Breathe it in deeply and let it out slowly.”
After a moment of struggle, her breathing steadied.
When the smoke had grown dense enough that Colin could barely see Quotl across the fire pit, the Cochen stirred.
“We Gather for war,” he said bluntly. None of those within the keeva acted surprised. “This is what is known, sent to us by Clan Chief Corranu: A force of many thousands has gathered in the Thalloran Wastelands to the east. We have seen signs of this gathering for many months. Corranu and Asazi reported bands of men along the desert and in the Flats to the south, although never more than a hundred at one time. In addition, the creatures of the Turning have increased in number. War parties were sent, and the trettarus have noticed that the creatures are no longer acting singly. They are acting in groups, attacking as one more and more frequently.
“Corranu believes that the small bands have come together and, at last report, were moving toward Painted Sands lands.”
“There is more,” Asazi said, speaking before anyone could react. “As the Broken Waters Riders were preparing to leave, we received reports that a second army of creatures of the Turning had crossed the Flats, heading south.”
“So you are saying there are two armies prepared to enter dwarren lands?” one of the other clan chiefs growled.
Asazi nodded.
“But how is this possible?” the Archon said sharply. He shot a glance toward Colin. “The Summer Tree protects us from the creatures of the Turning. How could these armies threaten dwarren lands?”
A murmur of agreement rose from nearly all of the dwarren gathered, although it wasn’t as hostile as the Archon’s words.
Colin sighed. “Because the Summer Tree is failing.”
A few of the dwarren cried out, one of them leaping to his feet, his figure vague in the thick smoke. Colin saw Clan Chief Asazi nodding, his eyes dour. Broken Waters had already been affected by the failure; he had likely suspected it before he had arrived.
“What do you mean the Summer Tree is failing?” the Cochen asked, a tremor behind the grave words.
“The Seasonal Trees were created to hold the urannen and the other creatures of the Turning at bay, a barrier they could not cross, but they were not intended to last forever, only long enough for us to find a defense against them. And they were not intended to withstand an assault.”
The head shamans suddenly leaned forward as the words sank in.
“What kind of assault?” Quotl asked, drawing on his pipe.
“One that I believe has been organized by the Wraiths.” He glanced around the dim, smoky keeva. “You have all witnessed the abrupt return of the unnatural storms on the plains and the resurgence of the occumaen.”
At a few confused looks, Quotl said, “The Eyes of Septimic.”
“The reason these have returned is because the Wraiths have reawakened a massive Well somewhere in the east, somewhere in the Thalloran Wastelands from what I can determine. They are using the power of this Well to assault the barrier provided by the Seasonal Trees. I touched the Summer Tree before the Gathering and I have learned that their assault has pushed the barrier within the boundaries of the dwarren plains.”
“How far into the plains?” the Cochen demanded.
“Far enough that if Corranu sends the dwarren to meet this army coming from the Thalloran Wastelands, he will not be protected by the Summer Tree. But there is more. The assault is not on the Summer Tree alone. The Wraiths have also targeted the Autumn Tree and the human Provinces to the south. They are driving a wedge between the two Trees, separating them at their weakest point, where the two merge. This threat is not strictly a dwarren threat. It encompasses all three races-dwarren, human, and Alvritshai. In fact, I believe that one of the two armies is headed toward the human Province of Temeritt, even as the other heads here.”
Arguments broke out on all sides in the rough, guttural language of the dwarren as the consequences of the Summer Tree’s failure began to take hold. As Colin settled back, Eraeth leaned closer and said forcefully, “We must get word of this to the Evant.”
“And the Order,” added Siobhaen from across Eraeth’s body. Eraeth had been translating as much as he could of the discussion. “The Chosen must know, so that he can prepare the Order if the Winter Tree fails!”
Colin nodded. “I know. I’m hoping that the dwarren will see the significance of this and abide by the Accord and send word themselves. Otherwise, I’m not certain how we will let them know.” He caught their gazes. “Unless one of you is willing to return on your own to warn them.”
Eraeth and Siobhaen cast each other heated glares. Colin knew that Eraeth would not leave him alone with Siobhaen; he still did not trust her. And he knew Eraeth would not trust Siobhaen to deliver the message. He didn’t know what kept Siobhaen at his side-a sense of duty to Lotaern, or a sense of guilt over what had happened in the White Wastes-but he doubted she would leave him now after traveling this far.
“What about you?” Eraeth said abruptly. “You could travel to Caercaern and forewarn the Evant and then return in far less time than it would take one of us to reach them ourselves.”
“I could, but it would still require days of travel and I would return exhausted. I don’t think the dwarren or the human Provinces have such time to spare. You heard Asazi. The Wraiths are moving now. If the dwarren or the humans are to have any chance of stopping them, we need to act now. And there is something that only I can do to help them.”
Before Eraeth could ask what, the Cochen stood and bellowed, “Enough!” cutting all of the arguments off. He glared around at those gathered, the scars on his face highlighted by the pulsing reddish light of the fire pit as he spoke. He focused his attention on Colin.
“You say that the Summer Tree is failing, Shadowed One.” His voice throbbed with the weight of the Cochen. “What, then, can we do to fight these armies?”
Colin stood, barely able to fit within the keeva without hunching forward. He scanned all of the dwarren gathered. “You must fight them on the grasses of the plains. You must take your Riders and meet them head on, before the Summer Tree weakens so much that they are upon your doorstep, within your warrens or even here, at the Sacred Waters. You must battle them with ax and sword and spear, with the blood of your Riders and their gaezels, protecting the Lands that you were sworn to protect ages past. And you must honor the Accord that you signed with the Alvritshai and humans. You must call them to action to aid you against this threat, as the treaty proclaims.”
The entire group began to murmur among themselves, but the Cochen’s gaze did not waver. “And what of you? What will you do to face this threat?”
Colin smiled, his eyes flashing grimly. “I will find this Well the Wraiths have awakened and halt the attacks on the Seasonal Trees.”
16
Colin blinked and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sunlight as he, Eraeth, and Siobhaen emerged from the tunnel opening onto the eastern plains of dwarren territory. He pulled his horse to a halt, Eraeth and Siobhaen doing the same behind him, the animal tossing its head and prancing. He released the reins to allow it to crop at the mid-spring grasses. To the east, the grassland was broken by variegated red layers of stone outcroppings and mesas, the distinguishing feature of Painted Sands land. The reddish stone would increase in
