Chris Pierson - Dezra's Quest

"It's all right," Chrethon said. "He's a friend. Put up thy bow."

With a nod, the Skorenos relaxed his pull. As soon as he was no longer in danger of getting shot, Hurach crept out of the shadows and strode forward to kneel before Chrethon.

"What art thou doing out here, Hurach?" Chrethon snarled.

"I was on my way to Sangelior, lord," Hurach answered. "I thought you'd be there, not out hunting. I surely didn't think you'd be hunting me ."

Chrethon smiled slightly. "Thou hast news? Thou hast been to Ithax?"

"Aye, lord," the satyr said. "I spied upon the Circle itself. The sons of Nemeredes were there, too, and the humans."

Thenidor snarled a curse, reminded of his failure by the Darkwater. His hand strayed to the bandaged arrow-wound Gyrtomon had dealt him.

"Be still!" Chrethon barked, not bothering to turn. "What then, Hurach? What didst thou hear?"

The satyr hesitated. "My lord… I think it would be better if I told you without so many ears about." He nodded toward the other Skorenoi.

Chrethon glowered, but finally he relented. "Very well, Hurach." He gestured past the blackthorns. "Come-let us walk together, alone."

Leodippos was dicing with his tribesmen, a jug of wine at hand, when the runners galloped through Sangelior, shouting that Lord Chrethon's party was returning. Leodippos stiffened, glancing at the sky. The moon and stars confirmed his suspicions: The hunters were early. He tossed the dice away, drawing dismayed groans from his fellow players

"Whist, idiots!" he growled. "There's trouble afoot."

The other Skorenoi fell silent. He took a long, deep quaff from the jug, then dropped it on the ground. It cracked in half, wine soaking into the trampled earth.

"I want twenty archers to meet me at the western road," he said. "Lord Chrethon may have need of us."

Obediently, his warriors dispersed. Leodippos cantered through Sangelior alone. The town was an anarchy of dancing, feasting, rutting and fighting. Laughter and screams rose into the sky amid the firelight. He made his way to the town's outskirts, where a trail wound toward the heart of Darken Wood. His escort joined him as he'd ordered, and together they waited, watching the shadows.

Soon he heard the thud of hooves, the rattle of war harnesses. He recognized Chrethon's gait in particular. He tightened his grip on his lance, glancing at his escort to make sure they were alert. A minute passed, then another, then a lone figure came trotting out of the darkness: Thenidor. He held his bow half-drawn. The weapon rose when he saw Leodippos, then recognition flickered across his face and he lowered it again.

"Stand aside!" Thenidor roared, gesturing with his arrowhead. "He's right behind me! If he finds thee blocking his way-"

"Back!" Leodippos shouted to his men, herding them off the path. He stared past Thenidor, into the darkness, listening as the rest of the party approached. Before long they rode out of the gloom, Chrethon in their midst. Hurach ran with them.

"My lord!" Leodippos called. "What's the trouble?"

"No time!" Chrethon shot back. "I go to Grimbough's grove. Come with me. I'll tell thee when we're there."

Then he was past, riding on toward Sangelior. Leodippos hesitated, stunned, then snorted and waved his men after the hunting party. He rode behind, his brow furrowed. He'd seen something on Lord Chrethon's face-something that filled his belly with ice. For the first time Leodippos could recall, the lord of the Skorenoi was worried.

"I have never believed the legends," Chrethon finished, his gaze fast on Grimbough's mossy trunk. "Yet, if what Hurach says is true, they have located the axe and are sending a band of humans to retrieve it."

"They mean to chop me down," Grimbough rumbled.

… down , whispered the dark leaves overhead.

Chrethon lowered his gaze. "Aye."

The daemon tree stirred, its massive limbs creaking and groaning. "Could this Soulsplitter do me harm?"

… harm?

"I don't know," Chrethon replied, swallowing. "I've only heard tales. But there is a danger, aye."

"Then stop them!" Grimbough thundered. "The centaurs must not be allowed to regain this wood. I am too close to claiming it to fail."

… fail …

"It shall be done," Chrethon swore, bowing.

The daemon tree's branches straightened. It fell still, leaves rattling in the wind.

Thenidor, standing with Leodippos behind Chrethon, stepped forward and bowed. "Let me go, lord. The humans escaped me before; it won't happen again."

Chrethon didn't answer. He stared into the night, stroking his hairless, bony chin.

"Lord," Thenidor ventured again.

"I heard thee the first time."

Chrethon pondered a moment longer, then nodded. He strode past the others, motioning for them to follow. "Come," he said. "We'll discuss this further."

Thenidor exchanged glances with Leodippos, who shrugged. They followed Chrethon away from the daemon tree, and soon they stood before the seething thicket that held the Forestmaster. Chrethon stepped forward, reaching toward the brambles to clear them away from the unicorn's head. He stroked her muzzle, and she shuddered, her eyes rolling.

"Menelachos and his lot can't be allowed to use the axe as they hope to," he said. "But we shouldn't stop the humans from retrieving it."

"What?" Leodippos exclaimed. He glanced over his shoulder, toward the daemon tree. "But Grimbough said-"

"I know what Grimbough said," Chrethon interrupted. He blew out his lips impatiently. "I have my own reason for wanting the axe, though. A very good reason."

Leodippos stared at the Forestmaster, eyes wide. "Of course," he breathed.

Chrethon nodded. "We'll let the humans retrieve Peldarin's axe," he said. "But we'll take it from them before they can use it. We'll bring it here, and then, finally… ." He trailed off, caressing the unicorn's silvery horn.

Thenidor grinned cruelly. "How will we do it?"

"Later," Chrethon replied. "Go back to Sangelior. We'll discuss this more when I'm done here."

Thenidor and Leodippos bowed and withdrew, leaving him alone with the Forestmaster. He stood over her, his hand on her horn. A cruel smile twisted his lips.

"Ironic, isn't it, my lady?" he asked quietly. "All these years, I've sought vengeance against thee, and now the Circle itself shall give me the means." He chuckled. "Ah, but that's the future. For now, I'll take my pleasure from thee as I've always done."

He cleared more of the brambles away, baring her wasted flank. Then, leering hatefully, he pulled his cudgel from his harness and raised it above the helpless unicorn.

He didn't return to Sangelior for some time.

Dezra woke to loud snoring. She fumbled for her flask of dwarf spirits, took a quick drink, then rose and quietly gathered her gear. Carefully, she crept to the door, nearly tripping over Borlos's slumbering form along the way. Stepping over the bard, she slipped out of the hut, into the early morning light.

The sky was overcast, promising rain. Mist clung to the earth. The breeze was cold and damp. She pulled her cloak tight against its chill.

"Going somewhere?"

She dropped her packs and spun, dagger in hand.

Caramon perched on a log next to the hut, wearing his armor and his old, dragon-winged helm. He looked like he'd been sitting there for a while.

"I thought you might try to sneak out," he said. "Could you put that knife away? Unless you mean to use it, of course."

With a flick of her wrist, she reversed her grip on the dagger and flung it. It buried itself in the log, a hand's breadth from Caramon's leg.

He regarded the knife, then reached down and prized it free. "That was supposed to prove something, I suppose."