Barrington Bayley - The Forest of Peldain

As Korbar had said, this was an infertile spot as far as the forest was concerned, though why this was when water was plentiful nearby he did not know. Perhaps the soil was unsuitable, he thought. Many trees had died and consisted of husks. Others were withered, their foliage yellow.

One type of plant, of somewhat sinister appearance, he had not seen before. This was an expansive tree with soft trailing fronds, almost inviting one to enter its enclosing shade. But among the fronds were what looked like huge seed-pods, gaping wide open, two or three times the size of a man. From the open lips of the pods fringes of slim tentacles reached out, no thicker than a finger but extending well beyond the shade of the trees themselves. Plainly they could sense the presence of men, for they followed their movements yearningly, waving and rippling like strands of seaweed in an underwater current.

“Those are coffin trees,” Korbar informed him. “Stay away from them, needless to say, though they do not seem a particularly effective form of predator by the general standard of the forest. You can guess from their name what kind of a trap those pods are.”

Vorduthe nodded. For the moment he refrained from speaking to the tattered remnant of his army. No more than a score of men were in sight; the remainder, he assumed, were up-river with Octrago.

As the afternoon turned to evening Octrago’s party returned, carrying with difficulty three boats of canoe-like shape. Briefly their iron-like color prevented Vorduthe from realizing that they were, in fact, larger versions of the green pods grown by the coffin-trees. Each looked capable of carrying fifteen to twenty men.

Thankful to be relieved of their exertions, the warriors laid the boats on the ground. An unaccustomed look of pleasure came over Octrago’s face when he spotted Vorduthe on his feet.

He came over immediately. “Congratulations, my lord,” he said in his dry voice. “I am glad to see that you have survived your ordeal.”

For his part Vorduthe displayed no hint of displeasure. “I owe you my life, apparently, but I am not inclined to thank you for it when so many others have perished,” he said. “If anything you have done me a disservice. You have brought shame on me, for I too should have perished.”

He paused. “Neither do I understand why you should be so concerned for my welfare.”

“It is simple enough, is it not? You are my protector, my lord. Without you, how long will these fine warriors keep themselves from my throat?”

“At the rate they have been disappearing you should very shortly have nothing to fear,” Vorduthe rasped.

They were speaking alone; Korbar had departed to inspect the canoes. “What have you to say for yourself now, King Askon?” Vorduthe persisted. “We have no army with which to conquer Peldain. What are your plans?”

“On the face of it, my mission would appear to have failed,” Octrago agreed, though with less of the glumness that Vorduthe might have expected. “As for the future, that is decided for us. We can only go on, into the inhabited region of the island, and see what opportunities for advantage there are. Don’t despair—fifty of King Krassos’ seaborne warriors is a body of men to reckon with as matters go in Peldain.”

Vorduthe was inclined to question that in view of Octrago’s proven expertise with a sword, but he let it pass.

Octrago pointed toward the riverbank where the boats lay. “Has Lord Korbar explained our situation? Those are the dead husks of coffin pods—big ones. They make perfectly adequate river craft, if trimmed of a few excess parts. We have but to fashion paddles for steering. The current will carry us most of the way, and when we leave the river the depths of the forest will be behind us. There will only be a scattering of trees and plants to avoid.”

“Indeed?” Vorduthe looked doubtful. “And what prevents the forest from picking us off as we float along?”

A light chuckle escaped Octrago’s lips. “We shall be safe. You will see.”

A thought occurred to Vorduthe. “How many men could be transported this way? Are dead pods of that size plentiful?”

Though the smile faded from the Peldainian’s face, he kept his composure. “Quite plentiful. Any number could be carried down-river, I dare say.”

With that, the conversation ended. Every man was told to make himself a paddle as best he could with whatever materials came to hand, using what tools there were or even the edge of his sword. Although darkness would soon descend Octrago advised they should set out straight away. No one had eaten since early morning; none of the food in the stricken wagons had been recovered and he had warned from the beginning that nothing in the forest was safely edible. It could be days before they found food.

Octrago demonstrated how to twist dry leaves together with reeds from the riverbank to improvise a store of makeshift firebrands. Then, before embarking, Vorduthe addressed some brief words to his remaining troops.

“Our experiences,” he said, standing before the haggard-faced men, “have been so terrible that few would believe them. What we have come through has never been endured by any Arelian before. But those of us who stand here have come through it, and while we remember our fallen comrades, we can take pride in our achievement. Our thoughts now must be for the future. We are promised that the worst is over, and that from now on there will be only human foes to fight, if any.”

He paused, looking over the group of warriors, no more than troop-sized. In the eyes of nearly all he saw the same silent question. We were supposed to be an invasion force. How do we conquer now, being so few?

“After such disasters there can be no guarantee that any of us will see home again,” he continued. “New adventures await us, in a land none of our kin has ever seen. Put your trust in Irkwele, and behave, as you have behaved, like warriors of King Krassos!”

One by one the four pods were lowered into the water and held fast while the men clambered aboard, Vorduthe, Korbar and Octrago taking their places in the leading pod. Then they were cast off together and maneuvered to the middle of the fairly fast-moving, but rather narrow river.

Vorduthe marveled at how well the pods performed as boats, standing upright in the current by virtue of their heavy spines and proving easy to control by the ship-wise Arelians. The rim of the pod in which he sat had been cut back to make the structure more open. Some interior excrescences had also been cut away, leaving the inner surface dotted with knots and lumps, some of them serviceable as seats. There were also signs of what could have been dead veins and slit-like lips—the remains, perhaps, of the knot’s original purpose as both mouth and stomach.

Swiftly the current bore the boats on; there was no need to do much more than hold them steady. The little flotilla was swept beyond the oasis of infertility and past overgrown banks, past surrounding jungle that grew ever more lush. To begin with the men shrank behind the protection of the pods’ sides, afraid of the towering trees which soon completely overhung the stream. Occasionally there would be a flurry of branches nearby, a lunge of lance or wriggle of danglecup, but the boats moved too fast to make an easy target for the vegetable predators and Octrago, sitting upright in the prow of the leading craft, paid them absolutely no heed.

Vorduthe peered into the water, curious to know what fish or other creatures might dwell there. The water was very clear; he saw a bottom of sand and pebble across which strands of light green weed ran. There were no fish; only some lizard-like things with vertical knife-edge tails and long toothed jaws. They were about the size of Vorduthe’s forearm.