Father Marcus opened his arms in the sign of harmony. “Truly, the Creator has blessed us. The wonders of his Creation are infinite. My heart warms to speak with a giant when all were thought lost, and it soars to learn of a new spirit that joins in the circle of harmony. But I must put those things aside, for our need is urgent. We are on a quest of terrible importance. If we fail, Infinitera will be destroyed. I beg of you, please allow us to pass without hindrance. The Creation itself depends upon it.”

  Glathrel’s expression wavered. He cocked his head as if listening to a voice on the wind, then his eyes became firm once more. “The Erietoph has no quarrel with you, High Bishop of Talan, nor with any of your other companions. You may pass freely through the forest, but the murderer must pay for his crime.”

  A’stoc slammed the Thunderwood against the ground. There was a gust of wind, a hushed whisper that seemed to spread through the forest. “Enough! Listen to me, Keeper. I will not submit to trade my life for a tree. I regret the accident. It was never my intention to harm the forest, but I acted only to defend our company from the wolves.”

  “Not true.” The giant’s voice had a hard timbre of finality. “You were consumed by rage. The anger made you careless.”

  “I—” A’stoc faltered, unable to deny the truth in the accusation. “I’m sorry. But it was only one tree.”

  “Stop saying that!” Chentelle was surprised at the vehemence in her voice. “It wasn’t a tree. It was a lifelm.”

  He stared at her, shock and incomprehension mingled on his face. “What are you saying?”

  “Oh, A’stoc.” She forced herself to keep her voice calm. “Lifelms aren’t just trees. They’re dendrifauns that have gone through the change—metamorphosized like caterpillars into butterflies.”

  “Dendrifauns.” Understanding spread slowly across the wizard’s face. “I have heard legends, but…I’m sorry. I did not know.”

  “Such ignorance,” Glathrel said. “And unless my eyes deceive me, that robe proclaims you as a Master of Wood Lore.”

  A’stoc turned away from the accusation in the giant’s eyes. “Much knowledge was lost during the war. We are only now beginning to recover it.”

  “Inexcusable,” the giant growled. “It requires no special knowledge to know that wood burns and you must be careful with fire in a forest, especially magical fire. You should have considered the possible consequences before you murdered the ancient.”

  “It was not murder!” A’stoc shouted.

  “It was,” Glathrel answered coldly. “And so it shall remain until you have paid the penalty for your crime.”

  “Gentlemen, please.” Once again, Father Marcus moved to place himself between the two. “Wizard A’stoc, I must ask you to remain silent for a moment. The strain of your ordeal has made you intemperate. Glathrel, we all share your grief. Some of us are only now coming to understand how great was your loss, but we all felt the power in Chentelle’s song. But I ask for your understanding. You have lived through the massacre of your people; you understand the Desecration. I say to you now that if we are not allowed to complete our quest, the entire world will suffer such destruction. And we cannot succeed without A’stoc. He was the apprentice to A’pon Boemarre, and he bears the Tree of—”

  The giant moved with astonishing speed, pressing past the startled priest and snatching A’stoc off the ground. One huge hand surrounded the wizard’s arm, holding him suspended in the air. The other raised the oaken staff, preparing to deliver a crushing blow.

  The company exploded into action. A chorus of swords scraped from Legion sheaths. As if by magic, an arrow appeared in Drup’s bow, and he began to draw back the string. Sulmar charged forward, aiming a lunging punch at the inside of the giant’s leg. But they were reacting too late. Glathrel’s sudden attack had taken them by surprise.

  “Stop!” Chentelle screamed the word, backing it with all the power of her magic. It rippled through the clearing, freezing everyone in midmotion. But she knew it wouldn’t last. Already, the delicate equilibrium was shifting back toward violence. She had to do something.

  “Please.” She concentrated on the Keeper, using her Gift to let the giant feel what was in her heart. “Glathrel, I can’t pretend to know the pain you have endured, but I do know the Desecration. I know the emptiness, the desolation. I have felt it in my own heart and in the memories of one who lived through it, and I feel it now in the rage that consumes you. It’s horrible; the world shouldn’t hold such pain. But A’stoc didn’t cause the Desecration. He doesn’t deserve to be the target of your vengeance.”

  The giant did not answer, but he did not strike either.

  Chentelle walked forward. Sulmar started to protest, but she waved him to silence. “Glathrel.” She laid a hand gently on the giant’s knee. “I have been told that the giants are a magnanimous people, that you love long feasts and longer tales. The legends call you gentle and noble and peaceful of heart. Please, do not turn those stories into lies. Don’t become a murderer in the heat of rage, as you accuse A’stoc of being.”

  Pain misted in the Keeper’s eyes, and he lowered A’stoc to the ground. Then he dropped heavily to his knees and threw back his head. A cry of raw misery tore from his throat, and a cold wind howled through the trees in sympathy. He rocked forward until his head almost touched the ground.

  Chentelle trembled under the force of his sorrow, a grief as deep and vast as the sea. A scream burned through her throat, joining in the chorus of lamentation. The wail echoed through the forest and then faded slowly into the wind. After it ended, Chentelle wrapped her arms around Glathrel’s neck and hugged him tightly. Locked in embrace, she shared the giant’s silence and his tears.

  She wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way. But when the giant finally pressed her away and stood up, the company had moved off to the far side of the clearing.

  Father Marcus must have been watching for any movement, because he walked immediately toward them. “Your pardon, Keeper. Now I must apologize to you once more. I had not meant to awaken such pain within you.”

  “That guilt is not yours,” Glathrel said, “for the pain never slept. But perhaps now it will. The old ones told that sorrow shared is sorrow diminished.”

  “Such is the lesson of harmony,” the priest agreed. “May it be so with you. But, again, I must insist that you allow Wizard A’stoc to pass freely. We are on a quest to destroy a great evil.”

  “You speak of the star,” Glathrel said, “the one that fell beyond the Mountains of Time.”

  “Yes!” Father Marcus cried. “Did you see it?”

  “Only for a moment, while it was in the sky above. The Erietoph sensed its malevolence, but then it passed beyond the mists.”

  “Then you understand the importance of our mission,” Marcus said. “You know that the star must be destroyed.”

  “I know that the forest must be protected, and its laws must be obeyed.” The Keeper’s voice started to regain its former edge. “Retribution is due.”

  “Glathrel.” Chentelle spoke the word gently. “Please, we are trying to protect the forest, and everything else in Infinitera. Help us.”

  The Keeper looked at Chentelle, his expression slowly softening. Then he closed his eyes and knitted his brows in concentration. After a moment, he spoke again. “The Erietoph must consider. For now, the forest will let you pass freely. Follow the path; it will take you where you must go. I will return to you when the Erietoph has reached a decision. The wizard must not attempt to leave the forest before then.”

  Father Marcus shifted uneasily. “I thank you for your efforts, Keeper, but I pray that your forest decides quickly. We must move with haste.”

  “That does not matter.” Glathrel turned and started to walk away.

  “Um, excuse me,” Drup said. “But what happened to the horses?”

  “Your mounts were hard-used,” Glathrel called without turning. “The Erietoph has given them shelter and a place to rest. If you would travel these paths, you will do so on your own legs. Make no fire and bare no steel. There is nothing in this forest that will harm you.”

  “What about our equipment?” Dacius called. “Our supplies are still on the horses.”

  There was no answer, and the trail the Keeper had walked down so easily now seemed an impenetrable wall of brush.

  “This is an ill omen,” Father Marcus said. “We make enemies where we should have found friendship.”

  Hot emotion flashed across A’stoc’s face, but the priest continued before he could make a retort.

  “No, wizard, I do not blame you. But this delay serves only the enemy.” He paused, surveying the tired faces of the company. “I know that we are all weary, but I would like to travel a little farther. I fear this clearing will make a poor campsite.”

  No one objected.

  A single pathway led out of the clearing, heading almost due west. Father Marcus led the way, lighting the trail with orb-light, and the rest of them followed in line. The pathway was wide and even, but Chentelle’s legs trembled with every step. She wasn’t sure when she had been so tired. Sulmar tried to offer her support, but the moment they touched she felt his own exhaustion. She would make her own way.

  After nearly an hour, the trail opened into a wide glade. There were no paths out, and a neat pile in the center held all of their supplies. They made camp quickly and without comment, as if nothing unusual had occurred. Drup prepared a simple meal of bread and nuts, but Chentelle was too tired to think of food. She found her blankets and dropped immediately into a deep and dreamless slumber.

  She woke to the splash of raindrops on her face. The weight of her soaked blanket testified that the rain had been falling for some time. It was light, but she couldn’t see either of the suns. The daylight seemed to emanate from the omnipresent blanket of mist.

  Most of the others were still asleep, but Leth and Gerruth stood alertly in the center of camp. She stood up to go join them, but as she threw back the cover she saw A’stoc huddled in the shelter of a gnarled oak. The wizard’s eyes were bloodred and deeply shadowed. If he had slept at all, it had not been restful.

  He looked up as she approached and rolled stiffly to his feet. “Good morning,” he called loudly. “The suns are hidden, but it must be nearly dawn.”

  By the Creator, the man could be infuriating sometimes. But his ploy had worked. The whole camp was stirring now, and Father Marcus would waste no time in urging them onward. She sighed and turned back to her bedroll. Maybe she could squeeze some of the water out of the blankets.

  Dacius called for everyone’s attention. “Pack carefully and lightly. From now on you’ll be carrying the weight yourself.” He grabbed his helm and lowered it onto his head. The metal glowed briefly and melded seamlessly with the steel of his breastplate. Then he tossed a large pack over his shoulder and hefted his shield. “REMEMBER, THE MOUNTAINS BEGIN AS SOON AS WE LEAVE THE FOREST.”

  Chentelle wrung her blanket one last time and then rolled it neatly. Besides her bedroll and an extra blanket, she had only the clothes she wore and a heavy traveling cloak. She stowed these neatly in her pack along with a portion of their supplies. Then she was ready.

  A wide trail now led into the west, though the ring of trees had been solid not an hour before. Thildemar started to take the lead position, but Father Marcus motioned him back. “I do not think your skills will be needed. It is evident that the Erietoph guides us where it will.”

  Chentelle hung back in the rear of the company with Sulmar. A’stoc was immediately in front of them, but the wizard rebuffed or ignored all her attempts at conversation. The rain stopped almost as soon as they were under way, but the wet ground still made travel slow. The path seemed to reveal itself step by step, never visible more than three paces in front of them and disappearing entirely once they had passed.

  It was curiously quiet. Not a bird chirped, nor an insect buzzed. Chentelle could feel the life around them, but it remained distant. It wasn’t natural. She had never felt so isolated and uncomfortable in a forest. She was tempted to reach out with her Gift, to force some kind of contact with the creatures of the Erietoph, but something held her back.

  They marched on in eerie silence, and finally Chentelle could take it no more. Just because the forest was hushed didn’t mean she had to be. She started to sing, choosing a song Willow had taught her when she was barely fifty. It was a merry tune about the adventures of a drop of water, and it ran up and down the scales like splashing rain. She sang with her natural voice, not using the Gift, and smiled at the simple pleasure the sound brought.

  A delighted chuckle drifted toward her on the wind, and she cut off her song. Immediately, the laughter disappeared. She eyed her companions, but though her song had lifted their spirits, none showed any sign of such levity. In fact, they seemed not to have heard the tittering at all. Of course. Chentelle smiled. If there were lifelms, there must be dendrifauns. She started to sing again, using her Gift, now, to let the listeners feel her joy at their presence.

  A rich tenor blended into her song—Thildemar. Soon Drup joined the chorus, then Leth and Gerruth. Even Father Marcus hummed along, though he could not follow the words. The other humans looked confused, unable to understand the deep joy that filled the elves. But even they responded to the nature of the song. Their steps grew light, and the furlongs fell away behind them.

  Suddenly, the trail vanished. Chentelle stopped her song in midmeasure. Trees pressed in all around them, branches swaying in a steady breeze. There was no path ahead and no retreat behind. They were trapped. Deep laughter echoed through the woods.

  Dacius’s hand snapped to his sword, but he drew only the first hand width from the sheath. The vorpal steel remained cold and lifeless.

  “Easy, my friend,” Thildemar said. “There is no danger.”

  “WHAT IS IT?” Dacius’s voice rumbled through the forest. He reached up and pulled off his helmet. “Sorry. It’s easy to forget I’m wearing it.”

  Thildemar smiled. “No harm done, but you may have scared them off. The forest spirits are shy. I do not think one has shown itself to a human in more than a century.”

  “That’s about to change,” Chentelle said. Curious eyes turned her direction, and she nodded toward the forest.

  A dozen trees had come to life and intertwined their limbs, forming a great circle around the company. Wind whistled through leaf and branch, surrounding them with the same melody that the company had been singing. Roots kicked loose from the earth, dancing across the ground and beating a steady percussion.

  “Dendrifauns?” A’stoc asked, cocking an eyebrow at Chentelle.

  She nodded. The warmth of the song bubbled through her. And she could hear other sounds, now, birdsong and the rustling feet of squirrels. The forest was finally welcoming them.

  Suddenly, the song ended. The dendrifauns scurried away, cloaking themselves once more with the illusion of trees. Only three remained behind: a female with rose-colored buds and two males who hovered together a little farther off.

  “Hello,” Chentelle said. “Thank you for the song.”

  The dendrifaun answered in her own tongue, which was also the tongue of elves. “We found it floating through the forest and thought we should return it. But who are you, elf girl, who sings so charmingly in the forest language?”

  “I am Chentelle,” she said, “daughter of Dalen and Eudora, child of Lone Valley Forest where the restless unicorns roam. It is far to the east, near the Quiet Sea.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Chentelle, child of Lone Valley Forest. It is a joy to hear the old tongue spoken by youthful lips. The only travelers we usually see are dwarves. They make good songs, though the subjects are strange, but their manners are atrocious.”

  “Your pardon, elder.” Thildemar stepped forward and bowed respectfully. “But are you responsible for hiding our trail?”

  The dendrifaun wiggled her twigs in amusement. “No, the trees move when we ask them, but they sometimes set their own path. Still, perhaps I can restore it.” The wind gusted, carrying the rustle of leaves and the scent of spring blossoms. Then a cricket chirped three times and the pathway reappeared before them.

  “Thank you,” Thildemar said.

  A’stoc shuffled noisily forward. “I don’t suppose one of you would care to translate? Do these creatures speak for the forest?”

  The dendrifaun bristled, sharp thorns shifting along her branches. “You are the killer of Beltis,” she said in the language of the Realm. “You have the manners of a dwarf.”

  Chentelle jumped in hastily. “Perhaps introductions are in order.” She presented the company one by one, giving their names and homelands. The elves each bowed respectfully when mentioned, and the humans mimicked their etiquette.

  “Well met, wanderers. I am Prickly-Ash.” The dendrifaun dipped her trunk gracefully until her branches swept the ground. Then they straightened and motioned for the two males to join her. “The handsome one with the gray bark is Ironwood, and the youngster is Laurel. Say hello, fellows.”

  The two males bowed in unison. Then the younger one spoke to Prickly-Ash. “Are you sure we should be talking to them? The Keeper has forbidden it.”

  “The Keeper cannot forbid, dear, only suggest.” Prickly-Ash winked a knotted eye at Chentelle. “Besides, it has been three thousand years since the elves left the Erietoph; would you have us ignore their return?”

  Laurel waved a branch at A’stoc. “But he killed an ancient!”

  Ironwood reached out a limb and moved the branch away from the wizard. “Don’t be impolite, Laurel. It is not our place to judge or condemn. The Erietoph will decide his punishment. Our business is of another nature.” He turned to face Chentelle. “Did I hear you say that you come from Lone Valley?”

  “Yes, elder.”

  “This is surely a sign.” The dendrifaun rippled his bark meaningfully. “Gnarlroot has told me many tales of that fine forest, and it is because of him that we come to you.”

  “Gnarlroot?” Chentelle asked.