David Farland - The Wyrmling Horde

"There is a whole world of ruins here," Sisel had said. "Beyond the mountains to the south, they are mostly covered by vines in the jungle. But far to the east there are fresher ruins, vast fortresses, elegant and strong, that are no more than tombs, filled with the bones of their defenders.

"Our battles against the wyrmlings have been long. For five thousand years have we fought. Sometimes we would prevail for a few centuries, and then our people would grow complacent, and the wyrmlings would strike in greater numbers. Other times, we lost vast expanses of land, never to regain it."

Lord Erringale listened soberly. "Daylan told me that the Great Wyrm has brought foul creatures from other worlds to boost his armies. What can you tell me of them?"

So the Wizard Sisel described what he d seen. The folk of the netherworld knew some of the dangers: the Darkling Glories were their mortal enemies, but Erringale was horrified to hear of strengi-saats that filled the wombs of children with their own eggs so that when the young hatched, they would have fresh meat to feed upon.

"Where did they find such fell creatures?" Erringale wondered aloud.

"I do not know," Sisel said. "Yet I am surprised that your people withhold weapons from us."

"If we gave you superior weapons," Erringale said, "the wyrmlings would simply take them, and in time your fate would be worse than at first."

"Ah," the wizard argued, "so you think it wise to withhold your knowledge from the shadow worlds. Tell me, if one of your own people were dying of thirst, would your law forbid you from telling him where to find an oasis?"

"Of course not," Erringale said.

"So what is the difference? One man needs water to survive, the other needs a weapon."

Erringale fell silent and did not speak for many miles. Instead he bowed his head, consumed in thought.

The sun was setting beyond the hills like a red pearl gently falling into a bed of rose petals. The wood doves were cooing out in the oaks on the hills, while cicadas sang in the fields.

The Wizard Sisel strode through a meadow with Erringale by his side, feeling at ease. As an Earth Warden, he had been granted a special gift. He could move through the woods and meadows unnoticed by enemies and friends alike, if he so chose. Now he did so, and a rabbit beside the trail paid no more notice to him than if a fly had landed on its ear. A stag had come to drink from the still waters of the moat, and as the two men passed, they never caught its eye.

So the two reached Castle Coorm at sunset and found the drawbridge thrown down. There was no sound of dogs barking or children playing in the castle, no singing of washwomen or an old man calling his children home for dinner.

It was obvious that the castle was empty. Its inhabitants had fled.

The men crossed the planks of the drawbridge, their feet thumping lightly. Even their shadows upon the water did not frighten a trout that was lying below the surface.

Just within the wall, they found the object of their desire. There was a roundabout in the courtyard, so that wagons could maneuver onto various roads as merchants brought their wares. At the center of the roundabout was a wall made of stone, about four feet high. It was filled with earth and rocks, creating a garden; a raised planter. At the pinnacle of the rocks hunched a stone gargoyle, a man with wings covering his face, tongue thrust out. Water poured from a spigot in his mouth.

There at his feet was the base of the True Tree. Above the gargoyle the tree s leafless branches arched in surreal beauty, as intricate as a fine piece of coral.

Never had the Wizard Sisel seen a tree so blasted. It was a marvel to behold. Every leaf was down, and fungi in colors of cream and canary covered it thicker than hoarfrost. Almost it seemed as if it were layered in snow. The setting sun painted it all in shades of rose.

The pungent odor of rot filled the courtyard, so overwhelming in intensity that Sisel raised his sleeve to cover his nose.

Erringale studied the tree. "It s true," he said. "The One Tree did burst forth on a shadow world. But it is dead now-all gone to rot."

"Yes," Sisel said, "but this is not a common rot. This tree is under a powerful curse."

The sight of it was so overwhelming that it smote Erringale, and the Bright One leapt up onto the rock wall, strode beneath the tree, and then fell to his knees, just peering up.

"It s dead," he said at last. "There is no voice left in it. I had hoped to commune with it, but it has fallen silent."

He peered down at the dead leaves. The land was scorched here under the tree, as only a few bones of leaves were scattered here and there. "Perhaps there is an acorn," Erringale said hopefully. He began poking among the ashes that lay thick around the bole of the tree.

"An oak does not begin to shed acorns until it has lived more than twenty seasons," Sisel told him. "This tree is much like an oak. I think you will not find any acorns. I visited here at Castle Coorm twelve years back, and this tree had not yet sprouted."

Erringale s heart seemed to break at that moment. He climbed up off the ground and pulled at a twig from one of the lower branches until it snapped and broke free. "A branch from the True Tree," he said. "My people will revere it."

Sisel peered hard at the tree. "Perhaps we can find some life in this tree yet. Legend says that it is strong in healing powers, and therefore strong in life."

Erringale glanced back at him, as if he were daft. "How could there be life here?"

"When a man falls into freezing water," Sisel declared, "he often dies a kind of death. His life hides deep within. He ceases to breathe, and his heart stops beating. But there is life within him still, and if you are patient, you can revive him.

"A tree is much the same. It dies a kind of death with the coming of each winter. Its thoughts grow dim and torpid. And this tree is suffering as if through the coldest blast. But there may be life in it-not in leaf or limb, bole or branch, but down deep, in its roots."

Sisel raised his staff, blew upon the tree, and whispered a blessing:

Root, bole, limb and bough, be strengthened now, be strengthened now.

He pulled back and peered at the tree, as if hoping that leaves might sprout green from the dead twigs.

"There," Sisel said. "That should stop the rot, to keep it from further damage. Now let us see if we can find any signs of life."

With that, the two men went and searched through the town until they found the tools that they needed-a mattock and spade. Together they began to dig.

"Sisel," Erringale asked when their hole was three feet deep. "Why would the wyrmlings try to kill the tree?"

"Because it is a thing of beauty?" the wizard guessed.

"That does not suffice. The wyrmlings are infested with wyrms. It is the Great Wyrm herself who guides their hand. Certainly she needs the tree as much as we do-if she hopes to bind the worlds into one."

Sisel stopped digging and thought for a long moment. "Now, there is a mystery," he said. "Perhaps the Great Wyrm plans to try to bind the worlds without the tree. That would be her way-to try to twist the Powers to her own ends."

"Or perhaps," Erringale said, "she fears the tree. She may fear its protective powers. Or maybe she fears what it does, for it calls to men and urges them to be better, to seek personal perfection, and thus it is an enemy to the Great Wyrm."

Sisel followed that line of reasoning further. "It also calls men into its service, inspiring them and filling them with hope and wisdom, in return for what little it requires. You may be right. The Great Wyrm sees it as a rival for her people s affections."

"That which Despair cannot control," Erringale said, "she feels the need to destroy."