Chris Pierson - Dezra's Quest

"Who-" he started to ask, then his voice broke and he had to try again. "Who are you?"

Her large, violet eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'm Pallidice," she replied. "What manner of man are you, who hunts trevils in the depth of night, then laughs when he flushes them out?"

Borlos was smitten. It swept over him with the sudden, pleasant warmth of a summer breeze. He felt himself drawn into this strange woman's gaze. His mouth opened and closed.

The woman laughed musically. "No matter," she said, her eyes traveling up and down his trembling body. They fixed on his heel, where the trevil's teeth had pierced his boot. "Ah, you're wounded. I'll tend you."

She knelt down-he caught his breath as her hair shifted, revealing glimpses of soft, supple skin-and pulled off his boot. Self-consciously, he started to rise, but she pushed him back with a tiny hand.

"Be still," she said sternly, then bent down and pressed her lips against his injured foot.

Borlos shuddered, his pain forgotten. She kissed his heel a while, then began to wander, creeping up his body. Before long her face was above his, smiling. Her mouth opened, lowering toward his. He responded in kind, and his whole body went rigid as their lips crushed together. She tasted like wild-flowers.

Then it ended. With heartbreaking grace, Pallidice rose and stood above him, pouting.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

He boggled. "I-er-you… yes. Great gods, yes. I love you."

She laughed. "Then catch me!"

With that, she sprang away, moving with startling speed into the forest. Borlos scrambled to his feet and charged after, waving his torch as he gave chase. Now and then he saw a flash of black skin and green hair, then she disappeared again, leading him deeper into the woods. He followed her waterfall laughter.

He realized, as he ran, that one of his feet was bare: he'd left his boot behind. For good measure he kicked off the other. Then, without knowing what he was doing, he tore off the rest of his clothes. His armor went first, tossed away into the night, then his tunic. Somehow he got his trousers off while he ran. He was down to just his breechcloth when he caught up to Pallidice again.

She'd come to a stop before a tall, old oak tree, her back pressed against its gnarled bark. Her small breasts heaved as she shrank back in mock terror. "No!" she breathed, giggling. "What shall I do? You've trapped me!"

With a lusty laugh, Borlos stepped toward her. She reached down, tugged at his breechcloth. It fell away, and she wrapped her arms about him. Their mouths sought each other. Their limbs tangled. She writhed in pleasure as he pressed her back against the ancient oak.

Borlos didn't realize anything was wrong at first. His eyes were shut, so he didn't see the tree's bark split open behind Pallidice. He was so lost in rapture, he didn't feel the wood beneath give way. Only when the smell of fresh, sweet sap surrounded him did he realize something was wrong.

By then it was too late. They were inside the tree.

"No!" he pleaded, his hand groping its way out of the tree. "Please… let me go… ."

But the dryad only laughed, her breath hot in his ear, as the tree sealed shut around him.

There was blood on the boot: not much, but enough to set Dezra's heart hammering against her ribs. She glanced around with her torch held high. The forest was dark, silent save for the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"Damn it, Borlos, where are you?" she muttered.

She'd woken from a dream she immediately forgot to find the bard missing and Trephas asleep. She'd tried to wake the centaur, Arhedion, and even her father, but no amount of shaking, shouting or slapping would rouse them. Finally she'd given up, grabbed her blade and a torch, and gone to look alone.

Borlos's trail had been easy to find. She'd followed trampled plants and broken branches until something caught her eye. That something was the boot that lay at her feet.

"Bor!" she hissed. "Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

She saw footprints in the rain-softened earth. They led away, deeper into the woods: one bare, one shod. She followed them, and before long found the bard's second boot. After that, she started encountering his clothes: his leather armor scattered about; his tunic snarled in a thornbush; his trousers crumpled beneath a poplar tree. The tracks went past all these.

Finally, some distance from the camp, the trail stopped before a massive, ebon oak. Its branches creaked in the breeze as Dezra crept toward it. A man's breechcloth lay at the base of its mighty trunk. Beside it was a torch, which had guttered out.

"Borlos?" she called, her voice trembling.

“ Dzzz …"

The voice was faint, muffled. She stepped back, waving her torch. "Bor? Where are you?"

Something moved, partway up the oak's trunk. At first she thought it was an animal: a chipmunk, perhaps, or a markle. Then she saw it clearly, and her jaw dropped. It was a hand, sticking out of the tree.

She watched in horrified fascination as the bard's fingers scratched feebly at the bark. Cautiously, she circled the tree, trying to understand what was going on. The oak looked perfectly normal-except for the hand.

A muffled noise, half-screech, half-whimper, sounded from within the tree. She reached out and touched the twitching fingers. The hand made a grab for her, and she yelled and jerked free. It clenched into a shaking fist. She heard Borlos's voice again.

" Hlp ," he pleaded. " Gt… out… hrrr. "

Dezra stuck her sword in the ground and pressed her ear against the bark. "Bor?" she asked

"Dry -ad."

Her brows knitted. "You let her bring you here?"

"Yes, I'm an idiot," he snapped. "Now get me out!"

"Sure. How?"

The hand drooped, and Borlos sighed. "I don't know. Just think of something."

Carefully, she probed the bark around Borlos's wrist. It was thick and gnarled, and didn't yield to her touch. She gouged at it with her dagger, flaking away a piece. The wood beneath was dense, however, and she couldn't do more than score it with her blade.

She stepped back, glancing around, and looked at his breechcloth on the ground. "Borlos," she asked, "are you naked?"

"No," he growled. "I'm wearing an enormous bloody tree. Or hadn't you noticed?"

Her eyes settled on the torch that lay, extinguished, beside it. She pursed her lips, then sheathed her dirk and leaned close to the tree again.

"I've got an idea," she said. "Don't wander off."

"Oh. Ha, ha."

Smiling crookedly, she picked up Borlos's torch and lit it with her own brand. When she had it burning, she took a deep breath and thrust it at the oak.

After a moment, the bark near Borlos's hand began to smolder. The whole tree shuddered, from its roots to its topmost boughs. Leaves and twigs fell around Dezra. She held the torch in place, letting it scorch the bark, char the wood beneath.

"Come on," she muttered. "Let him go."

The bark around Borlos's wrist began to open. She dropped the brand she'd brought with her, keeping Borlos's torch next to the wood, and grabbed his hand. She tugged, and his arm started sliding free. Planting her foot against the trunk, she pulled with all her strength.

"Ow!" Borlos grunted. The wood had opened enough for her to see his face, glistening with sap. "Dez, she's in here with me. She's not letting go…

Dezra heard a faint whistling sound from above. She looked up, saw a branch swinging down, and had just enough time to turn her face away before it hit, sending her reeling. She lost her grip on Borlos and hit the ground hard, ears ringing.

When she got her wind back, she turned back to face the tree. She'd gotten Borlos halfway out. Now his arm, his head and part of his chest were outside the tree, while the rest stayed trapped within.