Chapter 1

45th day of the month of Aunwynden, in the King’s
year 10592 - Master Thwiddle left last week to see Midge in
Finchester. He of course locked the door forbidding me to handle
things for him in his absence. One thing he said stung me. He told
me I needed to get out and have an adventure. Well, I asked him what
he meant by that. He said I’d never get anywhere as a Mage and
would end up a dried up old prune like Gran Muller if I didn’t go
out and see the world. Imagine if anyone had actually heard him say
that, they’d mark him for a bigger loon than they already do. I
can’t figure where I would go. I guess I’ll just keep my eye out
for opportunity. It’s like my papa always said, seize the
opportunities as they come to you each day. - Maivern

A
woman in a heavy brown fur cloak knelt beside a grizzled old man on
the rocky river shore and placed her hand to the side of his neck.
Life still flowed there, but for how long she could not tell. While
she scanned the area for any sign of danger, her emerald eyes flashed
brilliantly from behind her black mask, as they were struck by the
open light of the riverside. Despite no obvious indication of peril,
she knew this place was not safe. If she tarried too long, those she
had been tracking would surely take advantage of her standing in the
open at the base of the Great Mountain where the deep and ancient
river flowed into her forest home. The
roaring
of the water as it crashed to the base of the steep mountain cliff
disguised any sounds that would give warning to the approach of the
foe.

The
old man was tall and lean, though clearly fit. His gray battered hat
lay beside him leaving his head almost completely bald, save for a
wreath of long, whitened hair that crossed the back of his head from
ear to ear. His nose was long, pointed, and hawk-like. His eyes,
though closed, were squinty. Instead of a full beard, he wore a long
whitened goatee. His robes were soaked, telling her that he came
from the river unto the shore. He was of significant enough size and
weight that she could not move this decrepit old man from the
riverbank alone.

She
put her hands to her mouth and cried out into the forest with the
call of the crow, the sound echoing against the cliffs around the
Great Falls. She waited to the count of fifteen before calling
again. Pulling back the hood of her brown fur cloak slightly, a lock
of loose crimson hair tumbled beside her masked cheek. She leaned in
close to the pale old man whispering into his ear, “Gilgahain.”
The sound of his name brought no stir of life to his tattered form.
She whispered again, “Gilgahain, if you can hear me awaken, please.
We are not safe here.” Yet no sign of motion came. She watched as
sudden forms appeared from the woods around her. She spoke not with
her lips, but with her hands to these strange, similarly garbed
figures, “He does
not awaken. I fear for his life.”

An
elder member of the group, whose salt and pepper beard shown through
the bottom opening in his black mask below the mouth, hand-signed to
her, “Red Leaf,
the forest is still, the ork hunters are close. We must move him into
the safety of trees, now!“
He motioned to the others, and swift in movement, several of the
cloaked men surrounded the broken old man spiriting him up into the
trees as if by magic. She followed up with the remaining number.

It
was less than a heartbeat later; a large orkan hunting party broke
from the woods into the river clearing, led by a shadowy figure in
black armor. Her eyes darted to a star-carved wooden staff that
still lay by the riverside directly beneath her. The group elder
shot her a warning look from behind his black mask. She shook her
head at him. She knew the staff was a dead give away.

She
crept quietly and carefully along the branch, positioning herself to
drop over the staff. She watched the orks closely for an opportune
moment as they searched the bushes. A sound up river suddenly
shifted their attentions. She swung upside-down from the branch,
swooping gracefully, her hand snatching up the staff as she arched
back up into the safety of the tree. She managed to hide herself a
scarce breath before the orks returned their attention to their
search.

The
elder signed angrily, “Red
Leaf! That was a very foolish thing to do! You should know better
than to take such risks.”

She
signed back calmly, “Green
Father, had they spotted the staff, they might have thought to search
above in the trees. All know a wizard is never far from his staff.”

The
orks passed beneath them. All in the trees were deathly still.
Gilgahain moved, and there was a panicked moment when one of the ork
hunting party looked up. Luckily, a sound further down river drew
their attentions away and they sped off.

Once
clear, Red Leaf signed to the Green Father again, “That
was the eighth hunting party today. Are you going to bother telling
us what this is all about?”

He
signed back, “Not
here, not now, but soon.”

She
eased back on her branch and waited for the orks to leave the area.
When the danger had passed, the Druids dropped from the trees around
the river onto the shore.

Before
her arrival on the bank of the river, Green Father had sent out a
call to all of the Sadakene Druids to come to this place, where the
river poured from the Great Mountain. Unlike the Sacred Druids, the
Sadakene were trained to deal with orks, so upon her arrival she had
expected to manage another ork incursion. Instead, the Green Father
ordered no confrontation with the orks. They were briefly instructed
to seek out a traveler who needed to be secured before the orks found
him. Red Leaf was surprised to find that the traveler was none other
than Gilgahain, a wizard she had known well since childhood. She
could not imagine how he had come to be in such distress. He was
wizard renown for his great power through all the lands.

She
held his tall staff awkwardly. It was nearly two heads taller than
her, and made moving through the thick forest growth difficult. The
staff was of an odd, gnarled gray wood with strange star-like
cuttings at the head. The group of dark-clad druids moved swiftly
through the trees, following the animal paths to a town a few miles
from the mouth of the river.

After
several silent hours of cautious travel over densely enclosed forest
trails, and traversing over a few thin spring streams, they came upon
the town. They crossed first into a grove of the sacred Dryhad oaks.
The large ashen trees were planted in concentric circles around a
gently sloped mound crested by a ring of tall, blue tinted stone
megaliths of finely crafted masonry. At the foot of the hill,
surrounding a single oak was a family garbed entirely in funerary
green. At the base of the tree stood a Sacred Druid robed in olive
satin embellished with golden symbols, holding an ashen staff and
muttering the words of an ancient rite over the body of an old woman,
draped lovingly in deep green chiffon and adorned with many flowers.
Red Leaf's eyes lingered a moment as the body slowly rose and passed
within its oak, before she moved through the tree line beyond the
grove.

It
had been over two years since she had been to this or even any other
town or village. She could hear the sounds of the busy residents of
Arbor Spring long before the huddled homes she remembered so well
fell into view. The scents of meats slowly smoking over fires and
breads lovingly baked with delectable herbs meandered along the warm
breeze into their company.

As
the trees parted, she took in the main way, a long wide to narrow
passage between the homes and trees of the village. She drank in the
warm and familiar sight of the houses built into the trunks of
ancient oaks, stairs climbing the elms to homes stretching through
the over-sized branches, mounds with small doors windows and smoking
chimneys, and the jumble of wagons, hay, animals and playing
children. To her keen senses the smells and sounds were almost
overwhelming, yet comforting. They moved up through the center of the
village, it stretched out in many directions, and seemingly all over
the place.

To
her eyes, there was nothing peculiar about the people. The Dryhad
were as she always remembered them, the wooded folk. Most wore
clothes of colorful cottons, shimmering silks, and finely crafted
leathers, cut lightly for the warmth of spring. A shapely woman of
deep green hair passed before them, casting a wary eye at the
Sadakene, before pushing on her son adorned with a mat of orange
hair. An older gent of dark blue hair with wisps of gray nodded
respectfully to the Sadakene as he passed by. These
were the people she knew, friends and family alike. It made her
think of
her best friend and wondered what she was up and about to these days.

Green
Father led the group up the long main-way to the familiar tree-trunk
home of the town witch. Red Leaf followed after the men who carried
the limp form of Gilgahain inside. While they set the wizard on a
cot, she laid his staff in a corner and turned to leave with the
others. Green Father caught her arm and motioned for the rest to go.

A
short and stocky old woman with scraggly gray hair and dark eyes
entered the room and went to Gilgahain while Red Leaf gave Green
Father a curious look. His eyes stayed on the wizard.

The
old witch pulled the hat someone had set there off of his chest,
tossing it onto the floor. Grunting and grumbling, she examined him
carefully, before speaking, “Stunned I suspect. A little bruised…
nothing broken. He'll be all right. He’ll need rest though.”
She turned her sharp eyes on them, ”Stealgar, where did you find
him?”

Green
Father had likely not heard his birth name, Stealgar, for a very long
time. He replied shortly, “At the mouth of the river, but I can
tell you nothing more.”

The
old woman frowned with her hands on hips, “It would be a help to
have an idea of what stunned him… but no matter, I will bring him
to.” She addressed Red Leaf, “Lyla’aleen?”

Red
Leaf was startled by the sound of her birth name, “Yes Gran
Muller?”

“Bring
me some onjo berry juice, over there by the mantle.” Gran was
already mixing some powdered ingredients into a small bowl. She
muttered, “Dangerous business having this old bird here at this
time… the signs have been very bad… very bad… orks everywhere
and now he shows up… better stock up while I can… and you!” She
pointed at Stealgar, “Being all secretive with me… as if I didn’t
already know… ha! But I told ‘em years ago… the young never
listen… she should have never re…”

Stealgar
interrupted Gran with a loud cough. She glanced up at Lyla who was
handing her a vial. She cleared her throat, “Er… right… Lyla,
up in the attic there’s a large wooden chest. Look around inside
for an old gray robe. I think it should about fit him, if not, I can
take it down a bit. Be a good girl there,” giving Lyla a slight
shove toward the stairs, she smiled.

Lyla
looked between them and went up the stairs. Moments later she could
hear furious arguing between Gran and Stealgar, but she dare not
eaves drop. She continued up until she entered the attic, which was
filled with various dust covered mundane objects. It took a few
minutes before she identified a chest buried under the mess,
uncovered and opened it.

The
chest was filled with clothing of all sorts and sizes. As she
fumbled around, her fingers fell upon fine, silken fabric. Out of
curiosity she pulled the garment out and held it up before her. It
was a lovely green dress. She looked at it as though it were some
strange, foreign thing, but remembered that she had worn such
clothing when she was a little girl. She held it up to her slender
form and tried to imagine what it would be like to wear, thinking
wistfully of her youth. After a few moments she let it drop back
into the chest and returned to searching for the robes. Once found,
she made her way back down the stairs.

Gran
was holding Gilgahain’s nose and pouring some liquid concoction
into his open mouth. Lyla looked around, Stealgar was no longer
inside. Without looking up Gran said, “He just stepped out to send
the others off, but you’re to stay right here.”

Lyla
set the robes on a stool. Gran continued talking, “A good student
you always were. I know your uncle means well, but he really should
have learned to trust you by now. You’ve not been a little girl in
a very long time.” Gran slapped shut Gilgahain’s mouth,
straightened up, and walked over to where Lyla stood. “Never have I
seen a more capable girl than you. He loves you as if you were his
own daughter, but he’s always under estimated you. Stealgar’s
got it into his thick skull that being Green Father means that he’s
the know-it-all of the woods. Never does he listen to me. Never
does he trust those he’s taught. Seems to think he’s the only
one that can do anything around here and it’s aged him a hundred
years and a day if I say so.” Gran squeezed Lyla’s cheeks through
the black leather mask she wore, “You’ll show ‘em... And
yourself, I’ll reckon, in the end. You’re a Wynhaeven woman.
There hasn’t been one Wynhaeven woman in history that was less than
steel to stand against. Don’t ever forget that, girl.”

Gran
smiled and meandered off into the kitchen still chattering on.
Lyla’s attentions went out the window into the village. Everything
about this day felt strange. Even the very breeze had seemed to
shift as if a storm was coming. Her soul felt ill at ease. She felt
almost like a child again, the world a larger and more frightening
place than she could understand. Forces beyond her sight were moving
as if the world were suddenly awakened from a long slumber. A sense
of something menacing followed Lyla.

When
she was very young, she had been told that she had the “Dragon’s
Eye”, a gift of insight, a sense of events outside of her scope,
and visions of what the future might bring. It was a gift she buried
very young, after her parents were taken from her. She did not want
to know of the future; the present was often hard enough to live in.

Nearly
half the day had passed before Stealgar returned to Gran’s trunk
home. Though he had not yet awakened, Gilgahain’s health had
clearly improved. Gran had cleaned and dressed him with Lyla’s
help. Stealgar looked grim as he spoke, “Gran, you must wake him
now.”

“Let
him alone! He needs rest more than anything!” she snapped back.

Stealgar
sighed, “There’s no time. You know Gilgahain; he would not want
to be laying here on his back while the enemy draws closer to its
goal. You must do this for him.”

“Very
well,” she huffed briskly. She hovered over Gilgahain, her hands
moving ceremoniously, and chanted ancient words. Stealgar turned and
spoke to Lyla, “I need you to go down to Magi Thwiddle’s shop and
get some supplies for the road. Be swift, and return here directly.”
Lyla nodded and left, wondering where her uncle was planning on
going, perhaps to take Gilgahain safely from the Sacred Wood to an
Elven or Human kingdom.

She
wound her way south through the town-square. It bustled with
activity as the people prepared for the Festival of Spring. Booths
were being hewn together from fallen wood, carts gathered brimmed
with pots of honey-ale, birch beer, onjo berry wine, salted meats,
steamed fish, fresh fruits and vegetables, nut cakes, and warm
breads. Little Brens and Dryhad laughed and labored at preparing for
the celebration with a joviality, which showed no indications of
concern over the menace not far off from the villages.

She
took the passage furthest south between the homesteads and shops.
There was little that clearly divided the town from the surrounding
forest. The hearts of the quaint villages were imbued with the
living woods they resided within. Flowering brush bristled along
every bi-way through the town. The sweet smells of spring and life,
supple on the air, were reminders of a simpler time, where as a
child, Lyla would dance through the rural avenues at her mother’s
side. It was a bittersweet memory.

Lyla
walked up the worn corridor toward old Magi Thwiddle's shop. She was
not at all surprised when a tiny someone dropped down on her head
from the branch above and covered Lyla’s eyes saying, "Guess
who?"

She
prodded ticklish spot she knew well, "Hmm, it couldn‘t be a
bug-bear, not enough hair." There was a giggle. She prodded
another ticklish spot, "It couldn’t be an ork because it’s
far too small." A tandem of giggles erupted. Attacking a key
ticklish spot, "It must me the dreaded tree spider who would
make me a meal." The tiny form jiggled so much she lost her
grip and fell, being caught by Lyla in the nick of time by the ankle.
Lyla dangled the child-sized figure in front of her. "Well,
it’s not a spider at all. Although I'd think the resemblance is
uncanny." She was met with an impish grin from a tiny woman
with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. Though her ears had a
slight point, she was no elf, for only one race in these grew so
small. She was a Brenlymn, a local people also called Brens.

"Hi
Lyla. Haven't seen you around these parts in a while." The
grin hadn't faded in the slightest.

"Maivern,
you should know better than to drop down on any Druid from nowhere."
Lyla said with a shake of her head, masking a smile.

The
dangling Maivern made a derisive cough, "As if there were a
person in this whole world that could sneak up on a Druid in her own
wood."

Lyla
laughed, threw the little Bren over her shoulder and spun her around,
"I can't tell you how I've missed you."

Maivern
groaned, "If you don't stop you'll get hit with something far
more foul than a stick. I ate at Granny Freggers this morning."

Lyla
laughed loudly, setting Maivern down on her feet, who promptly lost
them out from underneath and fell square on her rump.

Instead
of bothering to get up, she laid flat on the ground, "It seemed
like a good idea before I jumped, but now that I think of it,
probably not the wisest landing I've ever made."

"One
would hardly believe you were grown, climbing in trees and jumping on
top of people," Lyla said teasingly.

"It's
my attempt to recapture my youth. Mind you, my master would swear
I'd never grown up," Maivern grinned sitting up.

"Where
is Master Thwiddle?" Lyla asked.

Maivern
shrugged, "He left last week to see Midge in Finchester."

"So,
are you keeping shop while he’s away?" She helped Maivern to
her feet.

"Ha!
As if. He locked the door behind him and told me to go somewhere
else to practice while he's away, and told me to take my time coming
back. But I showed him. I picked the lock and have been serving
people's needs ever since." She affirmed herself with a toss of
her head.

There
was a commotion up the path and Lyla could clearly hear someone
calling Maivern's name in a rather angry tone.

"So,
hows about we go see what Gilgahain is up to." Maivern said
quickly, grabbing Lyla's hand and dragging her off.

“Do
I dare ask what you did?” Lyla asked, trying to hide her amusement.

“Oh,
nothing that can’t be fixed… I hope,” Maivern managed a fast
pace for someone with such short legs. “How long are you in town
for?”

“Not
long, I imagine.” Lyla replied. “Little has changed since the
last time I was here.”

“I
can’t agree with you more. To tell the truth I’ve actually been
thinking about taking the Master up on his suggestion and getting a
look about the world, seeing what’s out there,” Maivern smiled.

“Don’t
let anyone hear you talking like that, they’ll toss you from the
town for speaking madness,” Lyla laughed.

“I’ve
been mad for years and they have yet to oust me from this place…
successfully anyway,” Maivern pushed her way through Gran Muller’s
tree trunk door.

“Maivern!”
Gran cried, “Touch nothing!”

Gilgahain
was sitting up drinking a brew with a look of total distaste,
Stealgar stood beside him. Gran was busying herself stuffing things
into a pack.

“Master
Thwiddle is away for a few days,” Lyla reported.

“No
matter,” Gran moved to her potions cabinet, “I’ll donate what I
have. I can always restock when he returns. Just wish that
half-pint mage would learn to tell me when he leaves,” she grumbled
while adding potions to the pack.

Stealgar
was speaking quietly with Gilgahain, “My men move south searching
out any ork parties that might lie in the way. I would suggest
keeping west and skimming the elven wood. I’ll send word. I’m
certain the elves will make no quarrel with you. You should follow
along the border from there and continue southward. I would avoid
men-villages. There is always the possibility that a bounty was put
out, and I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”

Gilgahain
gave a weak chuckle, “Don’t worry, I may be old but I’m no
fool. Long have I been prepared for this time. Fortune may yet
favor us in these dangerous times.”

Stealgar
placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Let us hope so, my old
friend. Let us hope so indeed.”

Gran
slung the pack onto Lyla’s shoulder without warning, startling her.
Stealgar walked over to Lyla, placing both hands on her shoulders
and looking directly in her eyes, “You will go with Gilgahain now
to the Elven Isle of Threce. Do not engage any enemy you might meet
along the way unless you have no other choice. It’s important that
you arrive safely there. All will be explained in due time, however,
I must see to the security of the woods and cannot speak with you as
I might have. Trust in Gilgahain as I have always done.” He broke
into sign, “Little
Red Leaf, I release you from the guardianship of the Sadakene for
this journey you must face. Feel always the strength of the Sacred
Wood in your heart, and draw courage from the earth of the Sacred
Mother in all the dark places you must now walk.”
He turned from her and left.

Lyla
stood in quiet shock. Gilgahain was on his feet leaning heavily on
his staff. Maivern watched with a confused look, then spoke, “So…
are we leaving?”

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