Feynard (23 page)

The Lurk boosted the Dryad upon his open palm up to a level at which she could examine his wound.

“Isn’t Lurk hide invulnerable?”
Kevin asked.

Snatcher’s pellucid eyes blinked. “Not to other Lurks, good
Kevin.”

Across the fire, Zephyr his
sed, “What is this, Snatcher?”

“Annually, the nine Lurkish tribes–less one, the Greymorral Lurks, who were lost–come together to test their strength. It is said that this testing prevents war. As the Dryad will note, Lurk hide can be penetrated by
the blows of weapons augmented by Lurkish magic. But we heal quickly. Half a moon hence, that arrow would have bounced off.”

“Well,” said Alliathiune, “we must have it out.”

The Lurk rumbled, “Come, good Unicorn, address us as you would regarding the Old Forest. I would welcome the distraction.”

Zephyr
, having marshalled his thoughts, replied laboriously, “Even more plentiful than the creatures of the Old Forest, are its stories and legends. Prior to embarking upon this journey, I sought the advice of our foremost scholars and wizards. Much was said, but little that I regard to be of real substance. Of the Glothums I have already spoken. As it happens we shall pass close by their ruined city, and so should remain vigilant, particularly during darktimes. The Glothums are said not to venture far from their ancient home. Of Shades we should be more wary. They are creatures of the dark, vampiric spirits who prey on living creatures. At all times the X’gäthi should remain in groups of no less than two, one to guard the other, for while the Shades mesmerise with the stare of their eyes, they may capture only one at a time. Furthermore, they are vulnerable to a simple enchantment, which I shall cast over us each one this very evening.”

“
Then there are the
Yatakê
, a Unicorn word which means ‘corrupting sprit’. These creatures are Shäyol-pawn, demons of the netherworld summoned into mortal lands by Ozark the Dark at the height of his ambition and power. But even he could not master the Yatakê. They make a formidable enemy, cunning and malevolent, and capable of abominable excesses of violence. You will recognise them by their foul odour and corrupting touch upon the Forest’s haleness–a Blight in their own right. Leaf and sod do rot and fester in the aftermath of their passing. Our only defence is to stick close together at all times, and then to defend life and limb to our utmost capacity.”

Kevin
glanced over at Alliathiune, who was sawing into the Lurk’s shoulder with her belt knife with rather more zeal than he could stomach.

“What concerns me,” the Unicorn
added, “are these signs of a waking amongst the Drakes. They are known to frequent the outskirts of the Old Forest. Historically they have always been instruments of evil, the force by which both Ozark and Omäirg marshalled, controlled, and led their armies. Drakes are powerful practitioners of a magic innate to their kind, skilled in battle with tooth and claw, and are able to command armies of lesser creatures by strength of will. They would regard a creature of Kevin’s stature in the way of a tasty lunchtime snack. It may confirm this rumour of a Dark Apprentice at work in the Old Forest. Consider the sighting of that strange star, those rumours of metallic beasts, the stirring of Goblins and Trolls!”

“
But we boast many different skills and talents amongst our number. We have the protection of the X’gäthi. I ask only that we redouble our vigilance on the morrow.”

There were nods all around the company, and a certain grim tightening of hands on the pommels of swords. Akê-Akê
sat sharpening his arrowheads; one of the X’gäthi paused in the diligent application of a whetstone and held his blade up to wink in the firelight. Another passed wooden mugs of steaming skue tea to those who desired it.

“Elliadora’s Well lies within our reach,” the Unicom said. “For the sake of the Forest we love, we shall not fail. May the good Mother bless our labours.”

Having delivered this benediction, the Unicorn drew off a ways amongst the trees to make preparations for his spell-casting. Alliathiune enjoined the X’gäthi to supply her with a sturdy branch, and Kevin watched covertly over his book as she commanded the Lurk to clench it firmly between his massive molars. The Dryad now took her stance upon his shoulder, feet either side of the embedded arrow, and had contrived somehow to fasten a leather thong to the shaft. This she wound about her wrists, bent her knees, and then quite suddenly, she jerked upward with all her might.

Snatcher bit clean through the
branch, giving a drawn-out groan of agony as the arrowhead was plucked free of his shoulder joint.

“Aha!” cried Alliathiune, balancing upon his shoulder as she waved the offending barb before his streaming eyes.

He spat splinters out of his mouth, gasping, “Kê, good Dryad, that was fearlessly done!”

“I only hoped you would not strike me for causing such pain,” said she, pressing a cloth against the wound to stanch the bleeding. “I shall dress it now with a herbal poultice to aid
the healing.”

“How can I thank you?”

She patted him on the head and laughed merrily, while putting her hands to work. “Noble Lurk, what Dryad in all Driadorn has ever clambered upon the shoulder of a Lurk and lived to tell the tale? The retelling of this evening’s work shall accord me no little pleasure. Who would believe such a deed? That is reward enough. Only cease such foolishness and seek my aid at once should your hurts vex you.”

The Lurk encompassed her waist with his paw and lowered her to the ground. “But who may heal the hurts of the heart?” he asked, and let his great head sink down upon his chest as his eyes closed.

Kevin’s throat constricted. A world of pain and sorrow attended those simple words. What secret hurt lay hid within that great heart? What troubles was he alluding to? What had driven him away from his own kind and motivated him to help the other races, contrary to every hatred held and injustice suffered by the Lurks in seasons past? Why did he not fit their mould?

Suddenly,
Alliathiune sat down with a bump next to him. Kevin shifted uncomfortably and kept his nose buried in his book. Was that a sniffle? He read on, but the Dryad kept making various small noises until he had to look up.

“Are you–er–what’s, er
… are you cold, Alliathiune?” If her teeth rattled any longer, she was going to chip a tooth, he thought crossly. “Goodness gracious, I suppose you must get cold sometimes, wearing that skimpy little–ah, gosh–frightfully sorry, old girl.” He bit his tongue. Alliathiune gave his blanket a woebegone look. “Oh! Here …”

“Are you sure?” she asked, in her littlest voice.

“You don’t carry a blanket, do you?”

“No.”

Kevin tucked it carefully around her shoulders. “You did fine work on the Lurk,” he offered, rather lamely.

She laid her head on
his shoulder and began to cry softly.

He sat there petrified for the longest time, seeing nothing
of the manuscript before him, his heart pounding against his ribcage and his thoughts spinning out of control. What was there to cry about? Was he the cause? Alliathiune had always been the strong one. Numbly, he allowed her to lift his arm and place it around her trembling shoulders. He drew her close, until the jasmine scent of her hair drifted to his nostrils and the chill of her small body pressed against his side. A warm rain of tears splashed his shirt.

Kevin
’s voracious reading habits had occasionally ranged to novels of romance and passion, although he had never been able to understand the attraction, and prudishly shied away from any description of what he regarded as the baser passions of the human condition. His own experience was necessarily skewed to the intellectual, for it was only in the illimitable, vaulting realms of the logical or fantastical that he could truly escape, and be free. Bodies were weak vessels that trapped a person like the criminals they used to bury in dank places far beneath the earth. He had often identified himself with descriptions of monks, only for him science was the holy aspiration, not God–not that he discounted the existence of some higher power, but he believed that any higher power who allowed the kind of suffering characteristic of his own wretched fortune must be evil. Thus he had trained himself to think in cool, rational terms, to control through the application of his mind those aspects of daily life that he was able, and to disparage the workings of the physical and emotional facets of his being, which were products anyhow of mere atoms and chemicals, whereas the psyche was something altogether different–something almost sacred, to his thinking.

Therefore nothing in all his years
had prepared him for the wondrous sensation of a living, breathing female body pressed against his own. In a flash he understood completely what those novels had been about. In another flash, he understood that he was incapable of thinking about anything else in the universe than this all-consuming sensation, the presence and scent of her skin, and the intimacy. A thousand protective constructs of his previously omnipotent imagination had been destroyed as by the softest breath of her lips; not merely obliterated, but he knew they could never be built back the same way again. He was adrift, lost and vulnerable to every squalid fear that had ever found foothold in his subconscious. Without knowing it, he groaned between his clenched teeth. What on Earth was this feeling? He could not name it, did not know what was happening–he knew only that it hurt, sweetly, and he never wanted it to stop.

“
Kevin? Good Kevin?”

Her concern reached him, brought him back like a lifebelt thrown to a drowning man. “Yes
… I–ah … golly gosh. I feel quite dizzy all of a sudden.”

Alliathiune was biting her l
ip, he saw. Above that, her mysterious hazel eyes, so close to his, danced with secrets he could scarcely imagine. “Thank you for holding me,” she said. “That’s what friends do. Have you ever had a friend before?”

“No
.”

“I would be your friend.”

For the first time, Kevin allowed himself to meet her gaze unreservedly.

He saw his own
green-gold gaze, burnished by the firelight, reflected in her pupils, and for an endless moment neither he nor Alliathiune seemed able to breathe. The air was thick between them, fraught with a strange tension.

“Eyes of glory,” whispered the Dryad, voicing her thoughts as if he were not present. “
Powerful, wizard eyes; eyes that betray the true person. Why did I not recognise it before? These are the eyes of Driadorn’s champion, even cased in such a frail shell. Why did Zephyr and I ever argue? Why doubt? How could one Dryad presume to stand in this man’s way?”

Alliathiune b
linked. Her eyes turned golden with mysterious power. At once, an older female voice began to speak from her mouth, “Judge a Lurk by his secrets, will you, little Dryad? Every Seer must rid herself of all selfishness, of all attachments, of all affairs of the heart, for that path leads only to sorrow and destruction. Did you not read my letter? Did I die in vain, that you should make the same mistake? The one thing you desire is the one sacrifice demanded.”

T
he Dryad’s soft voice pleaded, “But this agony is too great, and too bittersweet! This is the power of the Forest itself, an elemental thing, a soul-fever that will never fade. Oh mother, I would rather die. My life is a meaningless irony.”

Kevin
gaped! What in the name of–was this Dryad magic?

Cold as a bitter winter’s breeze
, the other voice replied, “It can never be. It cuts to the quick of all that you ever can or would be. Dryad, and Seer. Twin secrets entwined, hid within your being.”

And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the gleam of
enchantment faded from her eyes. A tremor rocked her body, and Alliathiune’s hazel eyes gazed at him one more, just as close, just as captivating and captivated.

“I would be your friend,” she repeated.

Kevin said the only thing he could think to say. “I’m afraid I have no experience of friendship. Who would befriend an invalid? Who indeed, would Father allow to befriend me? Any servant or nurse or doctor who came too close would be dismissed. He could not risk them speaking to outsiders. I came to believe that friends were what other people had. I am not worth being friends with.”

Did she remember
nothing of what the two voices had said? Alliathiune smiled at him with her eyes. “Perhaps, good outlander, you will permit me to form my own judgements in this matter?”

To summon up humour required an intolerable inner wrench, but
Kevin did it. “The Mighty High Wizard so permits.”

“
Of course, you recognise I am never stubborn, nor generally fond of doing my own thing.”

Kevin
grinned. “Never, good Dryad.”

“
And you’ll permit mild and infrequent displays of temper from this friend, as any brief, balmy Budding season breeze?”

“Now you’re pulling my leg!”

“Friends make each other laugh. Shall I tell you a secret?”

“If that’s what friends do,
” he said, very carefully. The air itself trembled between them, fragrant with magic. He dared not move. He hardly dared to breathe.