The Warlord's legacy

Chapter Five

THEY TRAVELED FAR, until Braetlyn was a distant memory and even Mecepheum had fallen behind. Over half the breadth of Imphallion they journeyed, upon the saddled backs of mean, ugly, war-bred mounts from the baron's own stables. Jassion sat his horse stiffly, spine straight, resplendent in chain hauberk-with black-enameled vambraces and greaves-and, as always, the crimson-and-midnight tabard of his barony. His face was sullen, and at irregular intervals his hands reached of their own accord for the terrible sword slung across the saddle behind him, as though afraid that if he ignored it for too long, it might wander away.

For many days, his silence had been a surly one, for Jassion had hoped-despite the discomfort he knew it would entail-to ride forth in full armor, an imposing titan of steel daring the world to deliver its worst. His companion, however, had explained quite resolutely that he did not plan to spend his mornings helping Jassion into his "iron breeches," and since the baron couldn't precisely strap himself into his armor, he'd been forced, reluctantly, to settle for mail. Since much time had passed, Kaleb was fairly certain that Jassion couldn't still be angry about so middling an issue, and thus figured that the continued silence was due largely to the fact that the noble was more or less an arrogant, discourteous ass.

Kaleb, who wore no armor but rather a simple leather jerkin and deerskin pants beneath his cloak, took it upon himself, with a malicious relish, to fill the silence with inane chatter. From observations on the weather to the names of sundry flora and fauna, he poured unwanted speech like molten metal into the baron's unwilling ears, and took great delight in watching the fellow quietly seethe.

As the roads grew narrow, however, dwindling into game trails-and as the sparse foliage slowly thickened, the trees towering nearer one another as if seeking comfort from some unseen fear-even the impertinent sorcerer grew serious. Kaleb and Jassion exchanged glances, each beset by a sudden wariness.

A bend in the trail, circling a copse of particularly thick boles, and they saw it rising before them: a wall of green and brown. At that border of branches and brambles, the voices of the wildlife stopped as though the sound itself had been cut by an unseen blade. The sunlight, no matter how it squirmed, failed to wend through the gaps in the leaves, so that nothing but utter darkness regarded the new arrivals from within the foliage.

For several moments they stared at that barrier, each lost in his own thoughts. And only then, as though made abruptly aware of where they were and what waited ahead, the horses reared. Bestial shrieks of terror rattled the trees, startling what few birds and animals had dared draw even this near the looming forest. Eyes rolled madly, and spittle dripped from iron bits.

Even as his mount lurched, Kaleb leapt nimbly from the saddle to land on the thick soil. Jassion, weighted down by his hauberk or perhaps simply less fortunate, fell hard on his back and lay gasping. The baron's mount thundered madly back down the path, and after an instant of wrestling with the reins Kaleb dropped them, allowing his own to follow.

Behind him, the leaves of the impassible wood hissed and rustled in a breeze that neither man could feel, as though chortling their grim amusement.

Kaleb sidled over to Jassion and offered a helping hand, hauling the winded baron to his feet as though he weighed no more than a child's doll.

"Horses…," the nobleman panted between gasps.

Kaleb shrugged. "I can probably call them back once we're through here."

"And…" Another wheeze. "If not?"

"Then I guess, my lord, you learn the hard way that your feet are good for more than putting in your mouth or kicking the occasional servant."

Jassion tried to glare, but his gulping breaths-which, Kaleb noted with a snicker, were all too appropriate for a man with a fish emblazoned on his chest-rather ruined the effect.

Remarkably, Kaleb chose to remain silent until the baron had finally recovered. Then, spotting a sudden spark of panic in Jassion's expression, he pointed. "Over there. It fell when you did."

Jassion must have been grateful indeed, for his muttered "Thank you" as he stooped to retrieve the fallen Talon actually sounded heartfelt. He looked taller when he rose, and the lingering traces of pain had faded from his breath.

And again both men stood and scrutinized the wall of trees, like children desperate for any excuse to put off a hated chore.

"Are you certain she's here?" Jassion asked finally.

"What's wrong, my lord? You couldn't possibly be frightened, could you?"

"There's precious little in the world that frightens me," Jassion said, still watching the trees. "But I'm not an idiot."

"You-"

"Don't." He paused. "Can't you just cast a spell to find out? Wiggle your fingers and see if she's home?"

"Oh, certainly. Why, I've just been waiting for you to ask. Then, for my next trick, I'll gnaw on a steel ingot until I shit broadswords."

"I'll take that as a no, then," Jassion muttered.

"You do that."

More staring.

"You must understand," the baron said, "I've heard tales and ghost stories of Theaghl-gohlatch since I was a child. Normally I wouldn't believe a word of them, but then I consider who it is we're looking for. And my understanding is, very few who enter Theaghl-gohlatch ever come out again."

"True," Kaleb said. "But Corvis Rebaine was one of them."

Jassion scowled and stalked toward the trees, the smirking sorcerer trailing in his wake. CAREFULLY THEY WORMED THROUGH THE BOLES, pushing and occasionally chopping branches out of their way: Jassion with Talon, Kaleb with a broad-tipped falchion he drew from gods-knew-where. But after fewer than a dozen paces, their progress stalled. The briars and the foliage grew too thick for Kaleb's blade, and while the Kholben Shiar was not so easily ensnarled, the close press of the branches provided Jassion inadequate room to swing.

Branches twisted, contrary to any breeze, to block their path, scraping and tearing at exposed flesh. Thorns pierced leather and wool and even, at times, between links of chain, seeking blood. The air grew thick with pollen and the scents of growing things, cloying and disorienting. Somehow, though they could see the gleaming sunlight behind them, its illumination failed to reach them. They stood surrounded in a pall of darkness as heavy as the plant life.

A distant wolf howled, swiftly drowned out by the flapping of a hundred wings and the chittering of unseen rodents. And when that faded away, replaced by dozens of tiny chewing mouths and the whimpering of predator turned prey, even the jaded Jassion blanched, glad now for the shadows that hid his weakness from his companion.

"We should never have come." The baron was shocked to recognize his own voice in that whisper, to feel his lips moving, driven by a fear growing stronger than his will. "Oh, gods…"

Kaleb's own face remained as wooden as the trees, and if the same soul-deep terror churned through him, it would have required more than a brighter light to see it. With two fingers, he pushed against the nearest branch, watched as it swiftly sprang back to block his way. He pushed it again, then sniffed carefully at his fingers, apparently oblivious to the panicked whimpering beside him.

He slid the falchion beneath his cloak, back to wherever he'd kept it hidden, and raised both hands before him. He spoke, and though his voice barely rose above a whisper, his words were clearly intended for ears other than Jassion's.

"You brought this on yourself."

From upraised palms poured a sheet of incandescent flame, a torrent of obliteration. It burned a furious blue at its core, leaving spots dancing before Jassion's eyes, but at its edge, where it licked hungrily at tree and leaf and grass, its all-consuming fury was an angry red. On it came, a geyser of fire that seemed to draw strength from the pits of hell itself. And perhaps there was something unholy in Kaleb's spell, for the smoke that snaked upward, curled around the trees like a lover's caress, smelled overwhelmingly of brimstone.

Still it continued, until Jassion could see only the blinding light, hear only the furious crackling of the fire. He fell to his knees, hands clasped over his ears, rocking back and forth and praying for it to end. He felt the heat wash back over him, singeing the hairs on his hands, and wondered if his supposed ally were mad enough to incinerate them both.

So overpowering were the reverberations in Jassion's ears, indeed in his mind, that when the torrent finally ceased, he took a moment to notice.

Small embers flickered, marking the edges of the clearing that Kaleb had burned into the flesh of Theaghl-gohlatch, though already they were beginning to fade, overwhelmed by the wood's unnatural darkness. Layers of ash coated the soil, and more fell in gentle flurries. Animals wailed from all directions, cries of agony and endless rage, and Jassion was certain he heard words-subtle, alien, unintelligible-intertwined within those calls.

Hands still limned in a cerulean aura, smoke leaking from beneath his nails, Kaleb stepped into the path his fires had gouged. "I can do it again!" he called, and his voice carried far into the forest, passing through the thickest copses without hint of distortion or echo. "And again, and again still! I am no mere traveler for you to consume, and if need be I will burn my entire path, step by step! You cannot halt us, not like this."

And before Jassion's unbelieving gaze, Theaghl-gohlatch replied! Shadows danced at the limits of sight, shadows that should not, could not exist in the muted light of the dying flames. Wood and bark creaked in the darkness, accompanied by a low moan that was most assuredly not the wind, and Jassion somehow knew that he and Kaleb now stood upon a path that led directly to the heart of this godsforsaken nightmare.

Kaleb gestured for Jassion to rise. The flames around his hands flickered once and were gone, but were swiftly replaced by a steady golden glow hovering in the air just above his head. It wasn't a lot of light, but more than enough to illuminate the path before them.

"How mighty a sorcerer are you?" the baron rasped as he rose shakily to his feet, leaning briefly on Talon as though drawing strength from the demonic weapon.

"Enough," Kaleb said simply. "I suggest we move. Theaghl-gohlatch is home to more than just the trees, and not everything is so easily intimidated."

"You find trees easy to intimidate, do you?" Jassion asked wryly as he fell into step beside his companion, and then cursed himself bitterly for providing Kaleb the opening when the man replied with a jaunty "My bite is far worse than their bark."

"This is not the time for jokes, Kaleb!"

"Sure it is. I mean, if I wait until after this place kills us horribly, it'll pretty much be too late, won't it?"

It felt strange, striding through that haunted wood, and not merely in a spiritual sense. Beneath the coating of ash, the soil was thick, even spongy. It seemed greedy, reluctant to release their boots, making each step a struggle. Though the trees had apparently cleared their way-Jassion's mind shied away from thinking too long about the implications of that-many a branch and root jutted into the path, tripping them, forcing them to duck and edge ahead at awkward angles. They walked within a pocket of sanity that reached only as far as Kaleb's light; beyond, in the dark, lurked trees nourished not on water and sunlight but a palpable, undying hate.

The baron knew, in that moment, that everything he'd ever heard of Theaghl-gohlatch was undeniably, horribly real. And he wondered how anyone, no matter how vile, could stand to make this place their home.

Chirping split the dark beyond, a sound very much like a nattering sparrow, and for an instant Jassion began to relax. But the sound continued, never wavering, until the baron felt his muscles quivering, the hair on his neck standing straight-and only then did the woodland song rise to a shrieking laugh. It was a sound no animal, nor any sane man, could have produced, vacillating between a little girl's delight in some new toy, and the gibbering of an old man toying with a new little girl.

Jassion wiped the sweat from his brow with one hand, kept the other firmly wrapped about Talon's hilt-if only to keep it from trembling. He felt a weight pressing on his chest, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. For a single heartbeat, he was back in the stone cellar of Denathere's great hall, a boy feeling himself slowly crushed beneath a dozen bleeding corpses…

No! No, I will not have it! I am the Baron Jassion of Braetlyn! I have faced the worst monster history has ever birthed, and I have proved him nothing more than a man! He shoved past Kaleb, staring into the looming dark, shouting aloud, now, though he never realized he had spoken. "I did not yield to him! I will not yield to you!"

Perhaps, just perhaps it was that cry of defiance that saved him, for had Jassion remained behind his ally, his attention locked on his inner struggle, he'd never have seen the shadows gathering, moving against Kaleb's light, reaching toward them like questing fingers.

But because he had, when the attack came, Jassion stood ready to meet it.

Rustling, there, in the trees; an explosion of shattering sticks in the foliage beyond. Jassion saw nothing of his assailant, but he felt a gust of movement from the left and dropped into a defensive crouch, taking a blow against his hauberk that would otherwise have gashed open his unprotected hip. A piercing shriek stung his ears as something razor-edged raked across the mail, and though the chain kept his flesh unscarred, the force alone staggered him. Branches and leaves bent inward behind him, the only visible sign of his attacker's passage.

He shifted aside, placing his back to Kaleb's as the forest came alive. From all directions he heard them, though still he saw nothing: footsteps, impossible to pinpoint or to count, circling to a rhythm almost ceremonial, even singsong, in its cadence. The susurrus of brushing leaves blended seamlessly into a choir of incomprehensible whispers. And beyond it, rising to a pitch practically beyond the baron's hearing, that inhuman laughter, never once pausing for breath.

Another flicker of movement, and Jassion swung Talon in a low arc. With a speed seemingly impossible in so large a weapon, the demon-forged blade sliced the air, whistling a war cry of its own. A jolt ran through Jassion's shoulder as something intersected Talon's sweep. An impossible, childish voice rose in an abortive scream and died in a liquid gurgle. Milky crimson, like no blood Jassion had ever seen, spattered across the leaves, and he clearly heard the sodden thump of something striking the earth near his feet. Yet in the single instant it took him to glance down, something else darted from the undergrowth to claim its prize, leaving no sign of the foe he had slain.

A dozen voices hissed as one, and the mocking laughter died without echo. Even the parchment-like whispers ceased as though the leaves themselves held their breath, perhaps hoping to escape notice.

Refusing to be lulled or distracted, Jassion maintained his crouch, waving Talon before him in wide sweeps, struggling to spy his foe in time to strike. Behind him he thought he heard Kaleb muttering under his breath, but dared not glance around to see what the sorcerer might be doing.

They came as one, from not one side but every side. Sound without source, movement without form, they remained unseen-if they were even real at all. Jassion felt the tip of his blade bite into invisible flesh, and then the Kholben Shiar was wrenched from his hand by something that drooled and babbled beside him. He could not help but scream as something punched between the links of his hauberk and into the flesh of his side, searing his nerves like grain alcohol poured across an open blister. Blood welled thickly between the intertwining rings, and though there wasn't enough to suggest an especially deep or gaping wound, Jassion felt the strength drain from his legs. Face beaded with sweat, chewing his lip to distract him from the pain until it, too, bled freely, the nobleman took a step toward his fallen blade, then one step more…

The ground rushed toward his face, an open-palmed slap delivered by the world itself. Jassion tasted soil, felt it filling his nostrils. His hand flopped like a landed fish mere inches from Talon's hilt. Already the pain of his wound was fading, settling into a manageable if constant burn, but Jassion heard the drumming of feet all around him, knew that the seconds he needed to regain his strength were seconds his foes would deny him. Something shifted above, casting a shadow not merely of darkness but of cold across his exposed back, and Jassion all but choked on the bile that surged behind his tongue, the bitterness not of death, but of failure.

The blow never fell, though, for suddenly Kaleb was there. Perhaps driven by whatever magics he had summoned, his limbs moved with speed to rival the forest creatures' own. Jassion twisted onto his side and looked up to see a blur of motion from out of the darkness. And he saw Kaleb step into the assault, his fist closing on an unseen throat and lifting his enemy high with one arm. For a single heartbeat, Jassion thought he could just make out a silhouette, far too lanky and long of limb to be human, flailing as it dangled from the sorcerer's fist. Then Kaleb's hand closed with a vicious crunch, and those limbs fell limp and melted away into the endless night.

Kaleb spun away from his fallen companion, blue flames once more flickering across his fingers. Jassion felt the first burst of searing heat as Kaleb unleashed his magics, and then his wound flared with renewed agony and he felt nothing at all. THE WORLD WAS BOBBING AROUND HIM. Up, down, up, down, not violently but sufficient to send new throbbing through his aching head, new heaves through a gut that, he was surprised to discover, had already emptied itself. Only with that revelation did he notice that his mouth tasted of bitter residue, and he could only hope that he'd not vomited on anything that wouldn't readily wash.

Jassion pried open eyes that felt gummed shut with the dregs of a tanner's vat, and gazed blearily at the forest slowly marching past him. It must have been drunk, that forest, since it was so hideously out of focus. He snickered at that, a dry, croaking sound that ceased abruptly when he realized just how badly his throat burned.

"And here I was sure you didn't know how to laugh, old boy."

The sound of Kaleb's voice was a dash of cold water to the soul, and Jassion's head finally began to clear. He was walking, had been so delirious that he hadn't even realized it, and wondered how far they'd come before the slow creep of consciousness had finally reached his brain. Something was tapping him in the back of his head as he walked; he felt back over his shoulder and discovered Talon strapped securely, if not comfortably, to his back.

He was held aloft not by his own strength, but by an iron-rigid grip that Kaleb had looped under Jassion's own arm. His side stung, but it was a dull twinge rather than the roaring agony he'd felt before.

"What…?" he croaked, rather pleased to have gotten even that much out.

"The sidhe," Kaleb told him, jostling the baron painfully as he shrugged, "apparently don't take kindly to intruders in their home. You, my heavy friend, were rather badly poisoned. If the mail hadn't absorbed some of the blow, scraped some of the venom off their claws before it got into your flesh, I might not've been able to save you."

Jassion pushed himself away, standing-wavering and unsteady, but standing-on his own two feet. With a tentative finger, he prodded through the hole in his hauberk. His skin came away covered in some sort of lumpy sludge.

"Spellwork?" he asked dubiously.

"No. My magic is focused primarily in, ah, less gentle directions. I'm not much of a healer, and what few restorative incantations I do know wouldn't have been potent enough to help you. I do, however, know my herbs. A few particular growths, chewed into a paste, should have counteracted most of the poison. You'll be sore for a time, though, and you'll need to keep the wound clean. It'll be prone to infection."

The baron shuddered at the notion that he owed his life in part to Kaleb's saliva, but nodded his thanks. Kaleb passed him a waterskin from which the parched Jassion drank greedily, rivulets spilling across his chin.

"Careful. We only have so much until we get the horses back," Kaleb warned. Then, "Can you walk on your own?"

"I can." Jassion actually wasn't certain, but he'd make himself certain rather than ask the other man to help him again.

"Good. I'm sure this'll come as a surprise, you being an aristocrat and all, but people don't actually like carrying you."

Jassion shook his head, then staggered as a new dizziness washed over him, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Are they gone?" he asked after he'd managed a few score paces on his own.

"Hmm?"

"The sidhe," Jassion said. "Are they gone?"

"Oh, they're around somewhere. But I don't believe they'll be disturbing us any longer." Before Jassion could ask for clarification, the sorcerer continued. "What in the name of Chalsene's darkest orifice was with that speech, anyway? 'I will not yield'? Really? You sounded like a drunken playwright. I could produce more stirring oratory by squeezing a goat."

"Kaleb-"

"An incontinent goat."

"Kaleb, do you really believe I give a damn what the sidhe think of my 'oratory'?"

"Who the hell's talking about the sidhe, old boy? I have to be seen with you, you know."

Jassion twisted and reached out a hand, unsteady but enough to stop Kaleb in his tracks. "My lord," he snarled.

"Um, what?"

"That's the second time you've called me 'old boy,' and I'll not have it. The proper form of address is 'my lord.' "

"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry. Apologies, my lord Old Boy."

Jassion's eyes flashed, and his hand darted toward Talon's hilt like a striking snake. Clutched it-and froze, without drawing the hellish steel, beneath Kaleb's glower.

"Be very sure," the sorcerer said, his voice low. "You've seen what I can do, old boy. You tasted a morsel of it, back at Castle Braetlyn. Even if you could take me-which, just to be clear, you can't-you'd be dooming your hunt to failure."

The baron was panting hard with anger, the tendons in his hands creaking with pressure against the Kholben Shiar. "I will have your respect!" he demanded.

"No, you won't," Kaleb said. "You'll have my assistance, and that'll just have to do. If it makes you feel any better, it's not you. I really don't have much use for any of-well, anyone at all, actually."

"It doesn't."

"Ah. I can't tell you how much that bothers me. Really, I can't."

Jassion took a few deep breaths and, visibly struggling, tore his hand from Talon. He swore he heard a faint wail of disappointment from deep within the blade.

They continued without another word. The world was largely silent, its only sounds the breaking of occasional twigs beneath their boots, or a rustling leaf suggesting that, even if the sidhe would bother them no more, someone watched their progress through Theaghl-gohlatch.

Kaleb's mystical light offered little by which to judge the time. Jassion, guessing as best he could, figured that about two hours had passed between his rough awakening and the moment his companion, following gods-knew-what trail, finally led them to their destination.

It wouldn't have looked at all incongruous in most woodlands, that simple hut, but here in the malevolent reaches of Theaghl-gohlatch its presence was nothing shy of miraculous. No trees sprouted within a dozen feet on any side, though their branches intertwined above it, the sensuous fingers of wooden lovers. On three sides of the house, the clearing thus formed was filled with a chaotic admixture of herbs and vegetables, growing in no rows or pattern Jassion could ascertain.

The cottage itself was built of loose stone, though where those rocks could possibly have come from wasn't entirely clear. Ivy crawled across the walls, appearing like veins bulging from a petrified skin, beneath an overhanging roof of bark-coated shakes. The door, too, retained its coating of bark, and somewhere beyond a fire must have burned, for a thin tendril of smoke peeked from behind the rim of the chimney before dashing shyly on its way.

Kaleb pointed at the smoke, waited for Jassion's nod to indicate he'd seen it. "Are you well enough to pretend to be useful in there?" Obviously taking Jassion's murderous glare as a yes, he approached the door and kicked it brutally open, stepping aside so the baron could dart past him, Talon held ready.

An orange ambience emanated from the hearth, though it came from glowing charcoal and ash without visible flame. A teakettle hung from a tripod, keeping itself warm without boiling away, ready to serve at a moment's notice. Plants sprouted everywhere, hanging from rafters, rising from pots, even protruding through the floor.

And sitting on a bed in the far corner, her legs crossed and her eyes shut, was the woman they had braved the haunted wood to find.

Her hair was black as the unnatural night beyond her walls, save for a few glints of earthen brown where the light caressed her locks just so, and her outfit consisted entirely of the same lush browns and vibrant greens as the forest itself. Her face, though lined by many cares, boasted an ageless grace; she might have been just over thirty years old, or approaching sixty, or anywhere between.

Despite the violence of Jassion's entry, the creaking of broken wood and bent hinges as the door twisted slowly in its frame, she did not wake. Her breathing continued, chest rising and falling so softly that the intruders might have thought her dead had they not specifically watched for it.

Jassion stepped forward and slapped the moss-filled mattress with the flat of Talon. No response.

"She's not here," Kaleb said after a moment's concentration. "Are you daft? She's right there!"

"Did you drink much quicksilver as a child, Jassion? I'm starting to wonder how you know which end of a chamber pot to piss in." The sorcerer sighed. "What I mean is, she's not in her body just now. Some witches master spells that allow them to briefly inhabit the body of another creature. They use it to pass along messages, or to spy. I imagine she's out seeking the source of the recent disruption in her woods."

"You mean us."

"Why, yes, I do. Very good, old boy."

Shashar, grant me tranquility! Aloud, Jassion said, "So how do we call her back?"

"We don't." Kaleb stepped to the witch's side, ran a disturbingly sensuous hand across her face. Jassion shivered and would have moved to stop him, save that he truly didn't know if the man was feeling mere flesh, or the flow of her magics. "It's a shame we don't just want her dead. This would be an excellent opportunity. But no, we wait. She'll be back, sooner or later." He yanked the sheets out from beneath her, letting the empty body tumble aside, and began tearing them into strips. "We can, however, make certain that she's in no position to prove, ah, argumentative when she awakens."

Jassion's scowl grew even darker at the thought of binding a helpless woman, but he couldn't deny the sense in Kaleb's precautions. The distasteful task accomplished, he left her tied firmly to the headboard and crossed the chamber to wait, his back to witch and sorcerer alike.

Another hour passed, or so Jassion judged by the slowly disintegrating charcoal in the hearth. And then…

"Well. If I'd known I was having visitors, I'd have tidied up a bit."

Jassion had to admit, he was impressed. There was almost no trace in her voice of the fear she must be feeling.

Almost.

"And a good evening to you, Seilloah," Kaleb said from beside the bed.

"I don't know you," Seilloah told him. Her attention flickered across the room. "But you, I recognize. Hello, Jassion."

"That's 'my lord' to you, witch!"

Seilloah raised an eyebrow, and Kaleb shrugged. "That seems to be a sore spot with him," he told her casually. "I'm working on it, but he's got a way to go."

"Nobles can be a bit prickly that way," she agreed. Perfunctorily, she tugged on the strips of linen that bound her to the bed. "Are these really necessary, gentlemen? Surely we can discuss whatever brought you here like civilized folk? Perhaps over a meal?"

"I'd hardly call you civilized," Jassion sniffed. "And I know about your dietary predilections, witch. I prefer to be at the table come supper, not on it."

"I see." Seilloah's lips pursed ever so slightly. "Have you come for vengeance, then, my lord Jassion? Do you fancy yourself my magistrate and executioner?"

"I should," he said, his voice thoughtful despite the rage that quivered behind his teeth. "Your crimes are nearly as monstrous as those of your master.

"But no." He sighed. "We're here to speak with you. Cooperate with us, and you may escape your just sentence for some time yet."

"I see. And what am I to tell you?"

Kaleb and Jassion glanced briefly at each other. "Where," the sorcerer asked her, "might we find Corvis Rebaine?"

Seilloah glanced at the man beside her. "You should know… I'm sorry, I don't believe I got your name."

"Kaleb."

"All right. You should know, Kaleb, that I've not seen Corvis in three years. A little longer, actually. I haven't the slightest notion of where he might be these days."

"I don't believe you!" Jassion insisted, stepping forward with fists clenched.

"I'm not the least surprised," she said. "It's true just the same. And even if I did know, it would take far more than you're capable of to make me tell you."

"We'll see about-"

"I will, however," she interrupted, "offer you a piece of advice in lieu of the information you seek."

"And what would that be?" he asked, his tone dripping scorn so thickly it nearly splattered across the toes of his boots.

Seilloah offered a beatific smile. "Never attack a witch in her own home, you silly goose."

It hung there for the briefest instant, mocking them. Jassion's eyes grew wide, Kaleb drew breath to shout a warning, his hands already rising.

The torn linens unraveled themselves from Seilloah's wrists and lashed outward, leaving twin welts across Kaleb's face, causing even the proud sorcerer to flinch away. Vines detached from the walls, roots burst through the sides of clay pots, stretching impossibly across the chamber to wrap about Jassion's ankles, his knees, his elbows, his wrists… His throat. Gagging and twisting, trying to wrench free even as the foliage dragged him bodily upward, Jassion somehow had the presence of mind to wish bitterly that the world's warlocks and witches had better things to do than lift him off the damn floor.

Seilloah rose to her feet without flexing a muscle, raised by an unseen force. Her arms, her fingers, stretched and twitched as though puppeteering the thrashing vines, and her brown eyes had assumed the hue of Theaghl-gohlatch's leaves, complete with jagged veins of lighter green.

Kaleb hurled fire, but it arced aside before kissing the witch's flesh, pouring into and up the chimney in a burst of thick smoke. The floorboards shattered, flinging splinters to gouge the flesh of all three, as tree roots rose, swaying, enraged serpents of bark and wood. Viciously they tore into the flesh of Kaleb's calves, slapping his legs from under him so he fell hard to the broken floor.

Jassion, who once again lacked the mobility to swing, flexed his aching wrist, sawing at the ivy with Talon's edge. He felt his pulse pounding in his ears. His chest burned, begging for air, and the wound on his side dribbled blood, threatening to reopen as the plants wrenched him back and forth.

But even as Seilloah stepped from the bed to the floor, the smile slipped from her face. Kaleb, spitting syllables nearly unpronounceable by human lips, reached out and grabbed the roots pummeling him. At his touch they halted, bark flaking from beneath his palms as a swift rot consumed them from within. The sorcerer rose to his feet, steady despite the terrible wounds to his legs, and raised his arms once more.

Jassion felt the first of the vines snap beneath Talon's edge. With greater mobility, he went to work next on the ivy that had wrapped itself around his neck.

The witch raised her hands as well, crossed at the wrists, and then she and Kaleb froze, palms perhaps two feet apart, their gazes forming invisible lances in an unseen joust.

The vine around his neck gave way and Jassion dropped to the floor, choking as breath flooded his beleaguered lungs. Even in the midst of his convulsion, however, he couldn't help but gawp at a sorcerers' duel unlike any he'd ever envisioned. No energies flew across the chamber to blast at the stone walls, no fell beasts rose to do their master's bidding, no sounds filled the chamber save his own racking cough and the twitching of the vines. Yet he felt the power flowing from the spellcasters, saw the air between them shimmering like a heat mirage, and he understood with a humbling clarity that he would be obliterated in an instant were he foolish enough to step between them.

Sweat bedewed the witch's brow, dripped in a growing torrent down the sides of her lovely face, while Kaleb's triumphant grin grew wider. That his ally would ultimately prove the victor, Jassion didn't doubt. But the vines still writhed, their torn ends reaching for him once more. Smaller plants heaved themselves from their pots, scuttling on tiny roots, and even the teapot on its tripod began to walk with the screech of bending metal. Yes, victory was Kaleb's-if his efforts weren't impeded from behind-but even if he won, would he do so in time to prevent the living house from choking out Jassion's own life?

The baron wasn't prepared to wait. Talon clasped in both hands, he approached from the side, careful never to enter the flickering barrier that linked the two combatants, and with a furious cry he swung.

Cloth, flesh, muscle, and bone parted before the Kholben Shiar like a moist pastry, and the floor was awash with blood. Seilloah's fingers clutched at the demonic steel protruding from her gut, fingers leaving bloody artwork across the blade as they spasmed. She craned her neck and, strangely, offered Jassion a knowing smile of crimson-coated teeth.

A rattle of breath, the grating of bone on blade, and the witch of Theaghl-gohlatch slid from Talon to lie in a sodden mass at Jassion's feet. "I SAID I'M FINE!" Kaleb snapped, hands flexing as though prepared to physically shove the nobleman away.

"Those were some nasty wounds you took," Jassion insisted as they walked, leaving the hut and its wildly thrashing-and now audibly keening-foliage behind. "I'm amazed you can even stand. You told me that your magics weren't much for healing."

"They're not, but they're better when directed at myself than others. I don't need your help."

"The hell you don't. You carried me, Kaleb, and now-"

"If you so much as try to put an arm around me, old boy, I'll turn you into something small, stupid, and inclined to lick its own excrement."

Jassion growled something that Kaleb missed (or pretended to miss). Then, as they reached the edge of the clearing and faced the wilds of Theaghl-gohlatch once more, he stuck out an arm to halt the sorcerer in his tracks.

"What did I just-"

"Kaleb," Jassion said, "what now? Seilloah was Rebaine's closest ally, or so I understand. If she didn't know where he is…"

The sorcerer nodded. "There's a spell," he said softly, "that I can use to locate people. It-"

"What?" Even knowing what Kaleb was capable of, it took all Jassion's limited self-restraint to keep from hurling himself upon the sorcerer, fists flailing. "Then why by all the gods haven't you-"

"Shut up, you yapping pest, and let me finish! First, it requires the blood of a close relative to work. And second, it's easily blocked, at least over any significant distances, and I can guarantee you that Rebaine has any number of spells cast on his person to prevent easy location."

"Oh." Jassion gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "Then why bring it up?"

"Because there's someone else who may know where Rebaine is. I don't know yet where to find her, either, but I do have access to one of her blood relatives."

"What do you… Kaleb, no!" Jassion could feel the blood drain from his face as understanding washed over him. "Gods, no, I will not involve her in this!"

"She's already involved, Jassion. She's been involved for twenty-three years."

"No! If you so much as go near her-"

"Do you want Rebaine, or don't you?"

Jassion cursed, vilely, and struck the branches off several nearby trees with the Kholben Shiar. "We talk to her," he said finally, his voice strangely soft, almost child-like, "and only talk. If you hurt her, if you threaten her, if you so much as look at her the wrong way, I swear to every god I'll kill you. I don't care how much I need you, or what sort of power you have."

Kaleb just looked at him. "Are you through?"

"If I'm understood, yes."

"Fine. We just talk. Let's get out of this forest before we try it. You're going to be a bit worse for wear after the spell, and I'd rather not chance being attacked by something else while you aren't up to fighting."

"Decided I'm useful, have you?"

"Sure. You make an excellent diversion."

As they resumed their trek, Jassion glanced one final time at the hut they left behind. For an instant, on the clearing's far side, he saw a pair of eyes-a large squirrel, or perhaps a rabbit, the first he'd seen in this wretched place-peering at him, unblinking, from amid the trees. But even as he considered drawing Kaleb's attention to it, the creature was gone, leaving nothing but waving grass in its wake.

Jassion shrugged once, castigating himself for letting his nerves affect him so, and followed Kaleb back into the woods.