Dave Gross - Lord of Stormweather

"Mask," he intoned, pressing a palm to both the entry and exit wounds, "Lord of Shadows, heal your servant."

A cool rush of power filled his body, surging through his veins to culminate at his hands. There, the coolness turned to tingly warmth and suffused his damaged flesh. He felt the divine energy travel through the ragged length of the wound, rebinding sinew and skin until they were whole. When he took away his hands, he saw a round pink scar where the arrow had struck him.

Cale removed the mask and put it back in his pocket. He stood, testing the strength of his leg. Despite a slight weakness from blood loss, he felt hale as ever.

He paused before returning. If the relationship with the elves soured, it would be an advantage for them to think he was still injured. Also, Cale didn't care to invite inquiry about his powers, even from those who knew him.

Perhaps especially from those who knew him.

He replaced the bloodied bandage on his leg and returned to the others, affecting a slight limp.

"How is your leg?" asked Shamur.

"Better than it looks."

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

"Far from Faerun," said Cale.

"Everything looks so peculiar here," Shamur added. "Those trees, the flowers, the birds… even the grass seems an odd color. On the other hand, our new acquaintances seem quite similar to the elves of the Tangled Trees."

Cale nodded and said, "And the sun looks the same, as do the sky and the clouds."

The elves watched as the humans conversed in their own tongue.

Cale said to them in Elvish, "We wish to leave you in peace. Can you tell us the way to a human habitation?"

"Human territory lies many days to the south," said the leader of the elf scouts.

His name was Muenda, and his companions were Amari and Kayin, the latter of whom still seemed awed by Shamur's ability to surprise him.

Cale didn't like the prospect of traveling for days through unknown wilderness, especially through a forest of elves hostile to humans.

"Are there human traders among your people?"

"We have had no peace with the humans for more than ten summers," declared Muenda.

Cale considered the diplomacy of the situation before asking his next question. "Would the humans to the south welcome strangers like us?"

Muenda sighed as if he had expected the question. "Yes," he said, "but you will win no friends among the elves if you go there."

"We would prefer to remain on friendly terms with your people," said Cale. "Will you help us search for my master?"

Muenda nodded and said, "If he is within our domain, we will find him. However, it is possible he will be mistaken for an enemy scout or spy."

"As were we," said Cale.

Muenda agreed, and a flick of his eyes showed that he still didn't trust the humans-especially Shamur.

"Very well," said the elf. "We will take you before the elders of my tribe. Can you walk?"

"Yes," said Cale.

"Can you climb?"

"With help."

"And she?" Muenda asked, nodding at Shamur.

"Like you would not believe," said Cale.

He suspected Lady Shamur was as nimble as Jak Fleet, though she appeared ill prepared for athletics in her current attire.

"What?" asked Shamur, noticing Cale's uncharacteristic smile.

"I realize it might seem improper," said Cale, "but you might want to slit those skirts."

Shamur didn't hesitate. With curt efficiency, she cut a line from just above her knees to the hem of her skirt, then shifted her dress and did the same in back. The mutilated garment gave her a wild look that reminded Cale of Tazi. The resemblance between mother and daughter was usually not so obvious, with their contrasting hair and eyes. Still, the two women shared an attitude of strength with a hint of mischief. Cale had rarely before seen the latter quality in Shamur. When she was done, Shamur offered the knife hilt-first to Kayin.

"I am sorry to have cut you," she said.

As Cale translated her words, the elf's face slackened with surprise. He replaced the knife in its sheath and removed the sheath from his belt. Hesitantly, Kayin bowed to Shamur and offered her the knife and sheath together, along with a few words in his mellifluous language.

"What did he say?"

Cale translated: "Thanks for not cutting deeper."

Shamur made a gracious curtsy and accepted the gift. Kayin shook his head in wonderment and bowed again, this time more deeply.

"Come with us," said Muenda.

The elves rose to retrieve their bows, but their relaxed gait reassured Cale of their armistice.

The elves led them a few hundred yards into the woods. With virtually every step, Cale noted another strange variety of flora. Tough gray vines stretched from trunk to trunk, and some mossy growth spread in patches on the ground. Giant yellow blossoms hung like bells from branches that sprung from two or three different types of tree, only to creep among the boughs and mingle with others of their kind.

"Here," said Muenda, indicating a gnarly trunk with many slender branches.

Cale and Shamur followed the elf up the woody path. As they entered the canopy, Cale wondered what sort of city the elves must have wrought among the trees. He was surprised when they emerged from the thickest foliage to see nothing but treetops in all directions.

"Where are your people?" he asked Muenda.

"They are almost here," replied the elf. "I summoned them when we first saw you."

He tapped the bone whistle that he wore on a thong around his neck.

Cale tensed as he felt a warm breeze and saw a shadow fall over the hilltop. He looked up, expecting to see the sun muted by a cloud. Instead, he saw a gigantic creature floating in the sky.

It was longer than three trade ships docked prow-to-stern, and its shape was similar to that of the porpoises Cale had seen during his voyage across the Sea of Fallen Stars. Instead of fins, thousands-perhaps millions-of transparent flagella rippled in regular stripes along its flanks. The rest of its blue-green body was striped with narrow furrows that converged in a thick, hairlike mass near the center of its belly.

The gargantuan creature's slow descent gave Cale the impression that he was falling upward, toward a ploughed field with a thicket in its center.

Despite the animal's great size, Cale could see daylight refracted here and there through its skin. In some of those lighted spaces, the shadows of smaller bodies moved within the great creature. In other spots, chaotic patches of green moss dangled from its hide, and flocks of flower-birds nested in the crannies of its vast belly.

"Do not be afraid," said Muenda. "I am telling them we are at peace."

He put the whistle to his lips and blew, but Cale heard no sound.

The elves cocked their heads to listen to the reply, which was still undetectable to Cale's ears.

A moment later, Muenda piped again. He nodded as he listened to the reply.

"You are welcome in the village."

"Up there?" asked Cale.

Muenda smiled and nodded.

"You are the first humans to climb upon a skwalos in many years," he said. "You might find the experience startling."

Cale looked up and saw that the creature-the skwalos-had stopped its decent about fifty yards above the tree canopy. From the tangled mass on its belly fell what looked like half a dozen thick, black ropes. As they struck the branches nearby, Cale saw that they were as thick as his arms, and flat like noodles. Twigs and leaves stuck to the surface of the tendrils.

Nimbly navigating the slender branches, Muenda went to one of the tendrils and wrapped it around his body. The tendril contracted snugly around his chest, waist, and thighs.

"See?" said Muenda. "It is easy. When you are ready, stroke its tongue, like this."

Tongue? thought Cale.

Muenda reached up and tickled the tendril with his hand. The elf began to rise toward the skwalos. The other elves watched him expectantly, as did Shamur.