Two? One would be A’rullen, but who was the second? She turned to look at A’stoc and saw the tension in his jaw and brow. Of course, the First Chair had said that A’valman was the best they had for Metal Lore. With A’trile lost, they had to bring him.

  She sighed. It might be a very long trip.

  The riders came to a halt a dozen paces away. A’rullen and one of the soldiers detached from the group, leading a string of unladen horses. They pulled up in front of A’stoc and dismounted.

  “Wizard A’stoc,” A’rullen said, “honored friends, allow me to introduce Commander Kruzel. He and his men will be escorting us to the keep.”

  The tall human rested easily on his saddle, as though he would rather sit there than on the softest couch. Auburn curls showed from beneath his metal cap, mingling with thick muttonchops and a heavy mustache. Deep lines surrounded his eyes, though he did not seem old. He bowed to A’stoc and saluted Lord Gemine. “I am honored to have you share our road.”

  “I fail to see why we use the road at all,” A’stoc said. “It is a hundred leagues to Covenant’s Keep. We would make better time by ship.”

  Kruzel shook his head. “Closer to ninety, master wizard, if you’ll excuse my saying so. And we have relay stations every five leagues from here to Sylvandale. If the weather holds, we’ll make the keep in three days. There’s not a barge floating that could wind her way up the river in less than four, and we’d still have to ride the last leg.”

  “A relay system?” Dacius said. “Can it handle a company so large? Normally they’re only used for messengers.”

  “Aye, and so it was with this one. But during the war it was used for fast transfer of wizards and healers. The way houses were reinstated when Covenant’s Keep became an interest.” He motioned to the line of riderless horses. “Now, if your concerns are satisfied?”

  A’stoc grunted, and they each chose a mount.

  Chentelle went to a chestnut mare, not very tall but proud and graceful. She whispered softly into the horse’s ear, telling her what she needed and how happy she was to have such a beautiful guide and companion for the road.

  The mare nuzzled her cheek and neighed softly in greeting.

  “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Gloriful.” She stroked the mare’s neck gently. Her hand drifted back to the saddle. It was beautiful—leatherbark, soft and light and worked as delicately as any she had ever seen. She would never have guessed to find such a treasure on an unclaimed Legion horse. Tel Adartak obviously had vigorous trade with the elves in Sylvandale.

  “Does she have to wear this?” she asked Commander Kruzel. “It doesn’t really bother her, but she would rather run naked.”

  The human looked at her curiously. “We have a long road ahead, lady elf, and we will be riding hard.”

  “All the more reason to make her comfortable,” said Chentelle. “Don’t you think?”

  Kruzel laughed easily. “Aye, and no doubt you’ll surprise me again ere we part. Leave the saddle by the gate. Old A’truen will guard it for our return.” He spun his horse about and galloped back to his men.

  As soon as Chentelle was ready, the troop moved forward at a trot. Kruzel signaled, and the garrison cavalry divided into two squads of eight. The first squad stayed at the head of the column, riding just behind their commander. The second veered off and came back into line behind Chentelle and the others. In that formation, they rode westward into the streets of Tel Adartak.

  Kruzel kept their pace moderate as they moved through the city proper. They held to the center lane, swerving only to dodge the occasional cart or wagon. Luckily, the crowd was still thin. By the time Deneob was full above the horizon, they had reached the Rupthauh.

  Waiting barges ferried them quickly across the river. The west bank was only sparsely settled, and the road lay clear before them. Kruzel shouted and urged his mount to a canter.

  They rode into the western hills, following a wide dirt trail that had been hardened by heavy traffic. Despite the thick trees and rolling terrain, the path held to a true course. Deneob’s heat remained at their backs all the way to the first relay station.

  They pulled in at a two-story brick building flanked by a large stable. They paused only long enough for the men to shift their saddles onto the fresh horses. Then Commander Kruzel spurred them forward again. Chentelle had barely had time to exchange greetings with her new mount, a gray gelding named Silk.

  They kept a hard pace all through the morning, trading horses twice more. Sometime after noon, they forded a trickle of stream with the grandiose name of the Shane River and came to the village of Thyan. Passing through a seemingly random scatter of thatch-roofed houses, they arrived at the square stockade of a small Legion garrison. This time, Kruzel granted them a half hour to visit the mess and stretch their legs. Then it was back to the road.

  Twice more they traded horses, stopping no longer than was absolutely necessary. At the last station, Kruzel inspected them all carefully, weighing their condition against some timetable that only he knew. The men were exhausted, legs and backs aching from hours in the saddle. Even Chentelle felt the strain, though she rode lightly and was buoyed by the joy of communing with her mounts. But it was the wizards who suffered most. A’stoc and A’valman were both rigidly pale, seemingly held in the saddle only by their mutual determination not to fail before the other. Amazingly, A’rullen looked stronger than either of them. The old councilor leaned heavily on his saddle horn, but there was iron in his eyes and a smile on his face.

  Without a word, Kruzel mounted and started for the road. He pressed the horses hard, alternating between a walk and a canter. Even so, Deneob started to creep below the horizon before they caught sight of the next station.

  “Playtime’s over,” Kruzel shouted. “Now we ride!”

  He kicked his horse into a gallop, and the party lurched forward after him. They raced westward, trying to catch the sun.

  Chentelle rocked with Tanglehair’s powerful gait. The roan gelding soared beneath her, hammering the ground with ironshod hooves, and she hummed into his ear, echoing the song of his speed. Froth gathered around the horse’s mouth, and his breath formed hot clouds in the evening air. But the proud beast showed no signs of slowing. Instead, he ran faster, drawing strength from the song.

  One by one, he drove by his stablemates, giving them his dust. They bristled at his passing, summoning all of their strength and speed. But none could match him. He worked his way steadily to the front of the herd, where Silverhoof ran carrying the tall human with the curled mane.

  The stallion’s nostrils flared in challenge, and he bolted forward. For long moments, the two horses ran side by side. The red sun disappeared behind the far pasture, and still they raced. The herdmaster had the strength of legends. His sire could outrun the west wind, and he, himself, had never been beaten. But today he faced Tanglehair, whose strength was the mountains and whose teeth flashed like lightning. Gradually, the stallion fell behind.

  The gelding cried out in exultation, but Chentelle realized that it was Kruzel who had slowed the stallion—a wooden palisade was visible just over the rise, illuminated at each corner by sheltered beacons. She coaxed the gelding into a slow walk. “Easy, friend. Easy. Don’t be too proud. The next day might belong to him.”

  Tanglehair tossed his head and started to prance beneath her, but his muscles suddenly quivered with the strain of his efforts. He blew his lips in confusion, his mood suddenly subdued.

  Chentelle rubbed his neck gently. “That’s all right, boy, you were wonderful. It was a race for the legends.”

  “It was indeed!” Kruzel reined the stallion in beside them. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled in the twilight. “I never dreamed the gelding could run so fast, nor be ridden so well. Truly, you are a creature of surprises.”

  Chentelle shrugged. “It isn’t anything hard. I just let him carry me.”

  A rumbling of hooves heralded the approach of another rider. Sulmar. The Tengarian crouched low in the saddle, yelling encouragement in the ear of a dappled mare. He pulled up when he saw her, and the grateful mare relaxed into a trembling walk. “Mistress! Are you well? This horse would go no faster.”

  “Oh, Sulmar, I’m sorry. I just got carried away.”

  “Ho!” Kruzel said. “She speaks truly, warrior. Grant her no blame, for she was merely carried while the beast ran.” He stood up in his stirrups, watching the rest of the company appear, still riding in formation. “Sound off!”

  The two squads reported in sequence. Then Dacius answered for himself, Drup, and the wizards.

  “Well done, men. You’ve earned your rest tonight.” He pointed toward the flickering lights of the outpost. “Welcome to Goodnight. We won’t be here long.”

  Chentelle settled into a cot between Sulmar and A’stoc. Loud snoring already rumbled from the wizard’s blankets. Like most of the company, he had chosen immediate sleep over the option of a light supper. The cook had promised them all that a sturdy breakfast would be waiting for them at dawn.

  Sulmar sat on his cot. Weariness showed in his bloodshot eyes and the slackness of his mouth, but his posture was rigid and alert.

  “Relax,” Chentelle said. “You need sleep, too. We’re in a barracks full of Legionnaires with three of the strongest mages in the world. How much safer could we be?”

  “Powerful companions offer little protection while they sleep,” he said. “We will be safer with a watch.”

  “There is a watch,” she said. “They’re outside on the walls where they’re needed. Now, you may not need sleep, but I do. And I’m not going to get any until I see you lie down and close your eyes for at least five minutes. So, unless you want me to be dangerously tired for tomorrow’s ride, you’ll stop arguing, lie down, and get some sleep.”

  He paused, searching her face impassively, then stretched out on the cot and closed his eyes.

  Chentelle watched him closely. His body slowly relaxed, and his breathing became deeper and slower. His folded hands slipped apart and slid down to his side. Good! She covered him carefully with a light blanket and settled down into her own bed. Sleep came almost immediately.

  When she woke, Sulmar was sitting on his cot, watching over her. He looked fresh and alert, but his eyes were redder than they had been the night before.

  The breakfast was waiting as promised, and they devoured it with unfettered abandon. Their new mounts had already been prepared, and they were on the road before the winter sun had cleared the horizon.

  They rode through the morning, changing horses once. Kruzel was setting an easier pace, today, for which most of the company was quietly grateful. For much of the day, they had been able to see the bulk of a great forest in their path, and they reached its border well before noon. Thick trees formed a canopy over the road, covering everything in deep shadow.

  Mossenmauve. A tingle of excitement shivered along Chentelle’s spine. Willow had told her stories about the great forest. It was older and more powerful than the forests of the east, full of terrible secrets and enchanting mystery. It was whispered that the lifelms here had sprung from the first seeds of the Creation.

  The road narrowed and twisted as soon as it entered the forest, forcing them into a single file. Commander Kruzel called for his standard bearer to unfurl the colors and move to the front of the column. The crossed swords banner of the Legion led the way as they rode into the darkness.

  Chentelle felt the life of the forest surround her. Birds and insects filled her ears in a hundred songs, some familiar, some strange. Elm, maple, tangle oak, walnut: the trees sang to her heart with their soft music. The branches closed in around her, brushing her face with leaves, tugging playfully at her clothes. It was glorious. So much like Lone Valley, yet so different. Memories of home rose within her, and she felt like laughing and crying all at once.

  “You may pass, Commander Kruzel.” An elven Legionnaire dressed in deep green and brown emerged from the trees and saluted. He waited until they were by, then hooted in the fashion of a barred owl. The call was echoed many times from the trees farther along the path.

  Thick brambles closed in about the trail, making sure they kept to the path. Chentelle could feel the presence of lifelms nearby. They were entering the heart of the forest.

  Lifelms. They called to Chentelle with a voice only elves could hear, traveling along a bond that the word ‘friendship’ could never hold. Lifelms, the final stage of the dendrifauns’ cycle, when they rooted themselves deeply into the Creation. Lifelms, the heart and spirit of an elven forest. They provided shelter, concealment, and the leatherbark that was so useful to her people. But most of all, they provided memory. The tales of the people, the history of the wood, the lineages of the families, all of these were preserved in the minds of the great trees. Where the lifelms grew, there was home.

  The path deposited them suddenly into a wide glade. Soft grass spread before them, mingled with an explosion of wildflowers. Three trails led out of the clearing, one of which continued in the same direction they had been riding. Kruzel ignored that one, turning to the north without hesitation.

  The new trail wound tortuously through the thick brush and then ended in a thick wall of thorns. Again, Kruzel didn’t hesitate. He spurred his stallion forward, pushing through the bramble with ease. The rest of the company followed.

  Chentelle stared in amazement. The wicked-looking thorns were actually soft as down. And the dense mass which had seemed so impenetrable was hardly six cubits thick. The leaves tickled her as she passed, and she laughed with delight.

  They came to a second clearing. This one was dominated by a huge structure. Vines and branches had been woven together with rillandef and rillanmor to form a large Earthhall. Several horses and a burro were hitched to posts outside the hall, and the company added their own mounts to the total.

  “Stay close,” Chentelle said to Rainbow. “You can graze, but don’t go far.”

  Every elven community kept one large building on the forest floor. It was used as a common hall for large gatherings and as a guest hall for visitors uncomfortable in the heights. Chentelle pushed through the door and was immediately wrapped by the smells of roasting nuts, fresh bread, and pipe smoke. Her eyes watered, but it wasn’t because of the smoke. It was just like home.

  A dozen faces turned toward them as they entered the Earthhall. Most were elven, though there were a few human traders gathered at one end of a long table. A smiling young boy of about a hundred greeted them and showed them to the kitchen. Commander Kruzel excused himself, but the rest of the company happily filled bowls from the wide selection of nuts, breads, fruits, and vegetables. When they returned to the common room the size of the crowd had more than doubled.

  Most of the attention was focused on Drup and Chentelle. Legionnaires and wizards were commonplace, especially since Covenant’s Keep had been uncovered. But it was a rare thing for an elf from Endaleof to come to Mossenmauve, and no one remembered the last time they had a visitor from Lone Valley.

  She fielded questions while she ate, telling her hosts about home: the way the grass felt between her toes, the color of the sky at midnight, the shapes of the leaves on the great trees. They knew, of course, about the excavation, but they wondered how she had become involved. She needed to be careful there; Father Marcus had stressed the need for secrecy. She told them that she was traveling with Wizard A’stoc, who had come to check on the Lore Books.

  Of course, that only started a new round of questions. What Lore Books? Was this the same A’stoc who had fought in the Wizards’ War? Why was she traveling with him? Was she his apprentice? How many girls were in Lone Valley? (That from the boy who had shown them the kitchen.)

  Chentelle turned to A’stoc for help, but the wizard was suddenly fascinated by the contents of his bowl and didn’t see her. She was beginning to give up hope when the door to the hall swung open, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Everyone’s full,” Kruzel called from the doorway. “We’re moving out.”

  To their surprise, there were no fresh horses waiting outside. In fact, there were no horses at all other than the few that had been here when they arrived. Kruzel walked to the rear of the Earthhall, motioning for them to follow. He pushed through a narrow gap in the vines and into another clearing.

  Chentelle gasped. The clearing was dominated by a huge lifelm, the greatest she had ever seen. A trunk more than forty cubits around climbed into the air. She couldn’t see how tall it was because the limbs formed a canopy so dense it blocked out the sky. Roots thicker than a lesser tree’s trunk drove into the earth, digging into the very foundation of the Creation.

  Kruzel walked toward the tree and started walking up its trunk. He didn’t climb using handgrips and footholds. He walked. Knots and bumps spiraled up the lifelm’s bark, forming a set of steps as even as any human mason could carve. There was no railing, but a sturdy limb always seemed to be in reach, as if by an act of providence.

  A rillanmor master could have formed such a stairway, encouraging the tree to shape its growth to his design. But Chentelle knew that wasn’t the case. This was the Heart Tree of Sylvandale—it could be no other. It had shaped itself to satisfy the needs of its people.

  She placed a reverent hand against the warm bark. “Greetings, honored one. I am Chentelle of Lone Valley.”

  Greetings, Chentelle of Lone Valley. Mirabel and Ettiene named me Crookhollow when we shared together the tales of Mossenmauve. To their grandchildren’s grandchildren I am Sylvanhart. What will you call me?

  Chentelle felt herself being pulled into the slow song of the wood. The rhythm drew her deep into the earth, through soil and rock and rivers that knew nothing of the suns. She suckled Earthpower from the heart of the Creation and it sent her soaring into the sky. She climbed past oak and elm, looked down upon the eagle in flight, spread her limbs over the peaks of tall mountains. Her fingers touched the vault of the sky, and she held hands with the Sphere of Perfection.