Arch Wizard

All around the hollow, the fires she'd caused were sinking down into smoke, leaving behind only the hissing of their dying. The smoke-wreathed tree limbs were falling limp, no longer growing or moving purposefully anywhere. They started to creak and groan as they cooled. Amidst the cacophony, the ward-spells of all three Tesmers flickered-and failed.

The pain! Falcon Above, it hurt! Nareyera could not seem to stop weeping. On her knees, she wrung her hand wildly, trying to quell the pain, trying not to look at the twisted and blackened ruin of where her finger had been. The rings on her slender, unmarked neighboring fingers winked and gleamed almost mockingly.

Out of the sagging boughs strode Belard and Talyss, swords glittering and faces grim.

Two swordpoints menaced Nareyera, who stared up at them in teary disbelief. 'What're you-fools! I just saved your lives!'

'So you could use us as your little spell-driven dupes,' Belard sneered. 'Well, behold my gratitude, sister!'

His sword swung back-and then down.

Still weeping, Nareyera spat out a word that took her far away.

Her brother and sister saw a ring wink, and their sister vanish, the winking ring becoming a fading spark in midair. Belard's blade swept through empty air.

He turned to look at Talyss. She was turning slowly on one boot heel to peer at the forest all around. Seeking any sign of Nareyera-or Jaklar-standing nearby in the night, looking murderously back at her.

Belard lowered his sword and waited in silence as she looked, slowly and thoroughly, going around twice.

'Alone,' she breathed at last, turning to look at him.

Belard set his teeth in a snarl and sliced away the nearest smoldering branch.

'Good,' he spat. Jabbing his blade into the soil, he opened his arms.

Talyss smiled, planted her own sword, and sprang into his embrace.

Their cloaks, still draped over the boughs that now thrust aggressively out into the hollow, were giving off plumes of smoke. He bore her down onto them regardless, almost clawing at her.

She did claw at him, thrusting her loins up to meet him.

'We should get away from here,' she panted. 'Nareyera knows where we are; she could hurl spells! Our wards are down; that priest could turn the trees against us again, or the beasts of the Raurklor come a-sniffing, to see what meals the fire served them up…'

'Let them,' Belard growled. 'The danger makes me all the hungrier!' He bent his head and bit at her breasts.

Talyss moaned. Cupping them in her hands, she offered them to him, to bite all the harder.

'Yes! It does!' she hissed. 'Take me-and may the Falcon take Nareyera!'

'Oh, it will,' Belard snarled, sweat running down his face as he rammed into her. 'The way she's going, it undoubtedly will!'

Chapter Thirty

Amteira came awake shivering. Small wonder; she was lying curled up on her side on the great mossy boulder, still wearing nothing at all. Falcon, how long had she been here?

She didn't remember falling asleep, didn't remember anything at all after starting into her prayer…

Knuckling her eyes awake, she sat up-only to have her arm fail her, so she almost fell back to greet the rock with her face.

Wincing, she rolled over on her back, rubbing one arm with the other, flexing both of them, and wiggling her fingers. They were stiff-all of her was stiff-and she found herself shivering. Stars were glimmering overhead through the dark cloak of leaves, and the night air was damp as well as cold. As she rolled over again, Amteira could see her breath for the most fleeting of moments, as a fading, drifting mist caught in the moonlight.

The moon was low, and around her the Raurklor was alive with rustlings and faint, distant hootings and calls. It was full night.

She sat up. Well, so much for her blood and prayer and all. Either there was no Forestmother and Jaklar was a hedge-wizard lying about his holy beliefs and deeds, or the goddess of the Raurklor wasn't disposed to listen to the entreaties of Amteira Hammerhand.

Most likely Jaklar was lying. 'Lord Leaf,' indeed. He wasn't a priest at all, but a clever fox who knew who to taint with his berries and ground roots, and when and how to sway or slay folk that way, with a few spells to back up his claims of serving a mighty goddess. Leaving Amteira Hammerhand as just one more fool who'd believed him.

There was her war-harness, just where she'd dropped it. She'd best get dressed before something with fangs came along and decided-hold!

What was that?

Where she'd shifted herself off the great mossy boulder, there was a faint glow.

It was coming from a spot smaller than the palm of her hand, amid the old fissures in the stone. It was the moss she'd wet with her blood, fallen from her skin to the rock, shining in moon-silver silence. A small radiance, but a steady one.

She reached out to touch it but drew back before her fingers reached it, and couldn't stop herself from turning about to shoot swift glances out into the dark forest all around her. Glances that saw no skulking men or beasts, nothing but trees and their leaves.

She looked back at the glow, half expecting it to rear up and lash out at her.

So was this some trick of Jaklar's, or is there a Forestmother after all?

The moss hadn't moved or changed. Staring down at it, Amteira decided she should pray again to the Forestmother. Just a few words this time, no more moss and blood. Just to ward off the disfavor of the goddess, if there was a Forestmother.

Considering what she'd just been thinking, it was only prudent. And would take her but a moment, before she'd get her armor back on and think about what she should do next.

'Holy Forestmother,' she murmured, thrusting out her hand to put her fingers firmly on the moss.

She caught her breath and almost pulled them back again; the moss was warm where it should have been cold, dry where it should have been damp with dew. The doing of the goddess, or-ah. The heat of her own body. She'd been lying on it, of course, warming it with herself.

Smiling at her apprehension, the last of the Hammerhands sat up straight, looked to the stars and then down at the deepest, darkest trees around her, and firmly began a simple, respectful prayer.

'Forgive me what I have done in harm to the Raurklor and all forests,' she whispered. 'Guide me in what I should do henceforth. Show me some sign, to make me believe and heed.'

The world exploded.

Amteira's ears rang and seemed to split under a great cracking sound, even as the darkness was lost in a blinding white flood of light.

In the whirling silence, she found herself on her back on the rock, staring up at what was crackling down out of the clear and starry night sky.

A lightning bolt as thick as an ancient tree, that was stabbing down into the boulder. The great rock that was shaking under her, a great numbing shuddering that-

Ended in a great shriek of riven stone.

I can hear.

As Amteira thought that, she was hurtling through the air, tumbling over and over amid dark shards of rock.

All of us, being hurled into-what had Jaklar so often said? Oh, yes: oblivion.

In the blinding light rose darkness. Dimly Amteira Hammerhand clung to one fading thought.

So there is a Forestmother.