Chapter 26

The vision was one Shavala hadn’t seen before, but it had the sensation of great age.

She was in an elven village surrounded by a sparse forest. Only a few tershaya dotted the landscape, towering over the other trees—a mix of deciduous and evergreen. There were a dozen wooden huts scattered around, similar to those the dorvasta used for structures that were either too large or too heavy to be built up the trunks of the tershaya.

The visions always came from the point of view of the staff-bearer. In this one, her clothing was nondescript, but her hands—when she caught a glimpse of them—were a man’s, though with the slenderness that indicated an elf. The staff had been carried by an elf in nearly every memory, but this elf seemed familiar.

Perhaps it was the hands, or the plain, almost primitive clothing, but Shavala was certain this was the first bearer of the staff—the man who’d claimed the still-green branch while a wolf, bear, and owl had looked on. Or the Wolf, Bear, and Owl.

The vision sped up as the staff-bearer spoke with the villagers. Shavala couldn’t hear any of the words, but in the end, the people seemingly agreed to something he’d proposed, and the vision slowed back down to normal speed.

An elder stepped forward out of the small crowd. The staff-bearer greeted him and led him to a row of potted tershaya seedlings the villagers had prepared for planting. The elder chose one, and the two men carried it to an open spot where no trees were growing, then dug a hole using knapped stone tools. Had the events in this vision taken place before the elves learned to work metal?

After the seedling was planted, the elder held out his hand. The staff-bearer carved a gash into the man’s palm with a flint knife, and then the elder knelt and grasped the base of the seedling. The staff-bearer directed a trickle of magic into the young tree. It began to grow, doubling in size in a short time, a smear of the elder’s blood seeping into the bark.

This was old magic, from a time when Shavala’s people had been more superstitious. The blood served no purpose, but stories said the early druids had used it in rituals to show their connection to the world around them.

The ritual may not have been real but the magic was, and the staff soon joined in to help, enhancing the spell and speeding up the growth. Its aid was much weaker than Shavala had seen before, as if the staff itself was still learning how to use its abilities.

Once the tree had grown to the size of a large sapling, the two men stepped back. The elder swayed, appearing dazed, and a younger woman came over to steady him.

The staff-bearer viewed the world through his elder senses, examining the tree’s roots as they continued growing out farther and farther until they’d reached the root systems of the three nearest tershaya. The roots mingled and grew together, forming a single root-bond between the four trees.

Satisfied, the staff-bearer gestured to the woman. She helped the elder to sit, then went to retrieve a seedling of her own. The process began again.

The vision came to an end and Shavala awoke to the pre-dawn darkness, trying to understand what she’d seen.

The staff hadn’t given her a new vision in months. What was it trying to tell her? And why now?

In response, she saw another new vision—but this one was of herself. She was telling Nariela and Zhailai how the nilvasta had lost the tree bond. The vision didn’t include sound, but the others were standing in the same positions they’d been during the conversation.

“What are you saying?” Shavala asked. “Did that memory have something to do with the tree bond?”

A flash of feeling from the staff—contentment at serving its purpose.

It ignored her questions after that, so she slipped out of her bedroll and ate a travel bar made from nuts and fruit pressed with honey. The grasslands were a poor place to forage at this time of year, but she’d brought enough trail rations to catch up with the expedition. If she was late in arriving, Leena had promised to check on her and bring more supplies.

Packing up the camp didn’t take long. Shavala hadn’t brought a tent, just setting up a rough shelter by stretching an oiled canvas between two bushes. She rolled up the canvas and her bedroll and tied them to her pack, then strapped her quiver to the side.

Grabbing the staff and her unstrung bow, she set off, following Corec’s direction in her mind. She’d made a game of it, trying to guess how much farther south she should angle her route to keep up with his progress day by day.

She was close now, though, so she aimed straight for him.

She reached the expedition the next day, passing by four men who were digging stinging nettle bushes out of the remains of the old roadway. They stopped and stared, apparently not having expected anyone to come from the south.

Beyond them, a row of wagons and carts were coming to a halt as they waited for the road to be cleared. Corec was at the front of the procession, wearing an odd-colored suit of armor. Leena accompanied him, and he leaned over to ask a question Shavala couldn’t hear. The Sanvari woman shook her head.

“All right, let’s take an early meal!” Corec shouted to the rest of the group. “Cold camp. We’ll have hot food tonight! Nedley, your squad eats first, then go relieve the road crew!”

A small group of men groaned at that, but set their staff-spears and shields down and hurried to one of the larger wagons. Others assembled behind them at a slower pace.

Leena saw Shavala first and pointed her out to Corec.

He grinned and strode toward her, pulling her into an awkward hug against the brownish-gray armor. Then he held her out at arm’s length to look her over.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

“I missed you, too.” Her relationship with Corec wasn’t quite romantic in the same way that Katrin’s was, but it was comfortable, and they’d been apart for too long. “And Katrin. Leena said she stayed in Four Roads?”

“Yes, she’s ... well, I guess there are some things you don’t know about. We found two children who’d been orphaned by the dragon, and someone needed to stay to watch over them.”

“And you didn’t want her here.”

Corec grimaced. “She can’t protect herself—not from a dragon. The rest of us can fight back, but...”

Shavala laid her fingers on the back of his gauntlet. “I know. I would have told her the same thing.”

He let go of her shoulders, suddenly aware of the onlookers. “Leena said you’d be here today. The others will be happy to see you—especially Sarette. Now that you’re here, the three of us need to talk about the plan. You know what we’re trying to do?”

“You want to kill the dragon.”

“Yes. Will you help us? I know you don’t like killing.”

She gave him a sad smile. “It’s killed a lot of people. You have to stop it. I understand.”

Before he could respond, someone yelled her name. Treya was hurrying toward them, followed by Sarette and Ellerie.

Her sad smile became a real one as she greeted her other friends.

“Second rank, up shields!” Cenric shouted. The five men in the back row lifted their silversteel shields up off the ground, holding them above the heads of the men in the front row to provide extra protection.

Sarette stood nearby, watching as the former red-eye drilled the infantry in close formation fighting with a spear-and-shield wall. They’d undergone similar training with pikes before leaving Four Roads, but the expedition had brought along staff-spears as backup weapons. The men carried the spears during the day, while the pikes, which were heavier, were stored in the nearest freight wagon to be retrieved when needed.

Sarette had approached Corec with her concerns about the men needing more training to work together. He’d allowed it, but only for an hour each night, and no more than one night in three for each man. With the full days of travel, plus everyone having to take turns cooking, driving, and clearing the road, he was worried about the effect on morale if they gave the recruits too much extra work.

She’d divided the men into three groups, keeping the infantry together since they had more experience than the rest, then recruited Cenric to help with the training. He’d been part of Larso’s army when he was younger, before returning to Highfell to get married. When his father died, he hadn’t been able to run the family farm on his own so he’d joined Rusol’s mercenary army after hearing about the higher pay.

Sarette had more experience than Cenric with a staff-spear, but as a stormrunner, she’d learned to wield the weapon more like a quarterstaff. In trained hands, a staff-spear’s blade could either thrust like a spear or slash like a sword, and the weapon’s shaft could make crushing blows. The back of the blade had a hook that could catch an opponent’s armor.

It was a versatile weapon, but to use it to full effect required plenty of room to maneuver. It didn’t lend itself well to formation fighting.

Staff-spears could serve as regular spears, but Cenric was better at teaching that style. Sarette had remained involved, though—the extra training was her idea, and she wanted to see it through.

“Keep your spear up, Jenson!” she called out.

Jenson and Odis, two of the town guards from Four Roads, didn’t have any real fighting experience, but Boktar and Corec had assigned them to the infantry anyway because they were big and strong and weren’t very good with the siege weapons. Those two plus Rolf, a former armsman for Baron Greendale of Dalewood, were the weakest points within the frontline troops.

The other men who’d been placed in the infantry unit were a mix of mercenaries and former soldiers, all of whom had at least a small amount of real combat experience—though most of the mercenaries hadn’t fought in formation before.

“Forward advance slow!” Cenric said.

The infantry moved together as one unit, keeping their shields in position. It was better than they’d managed in any of their earlier attempts. The maneuver was one they hadn’t practiced with pikes since they couldn’t move while carrying both pikes and shields. To make an assault with pikes, they’d have to leave their shields behind.

“I think that’s a good place to stop,” Sarette murmured. The cooks were nearly ready with supper, and the men would resent having to practice while the other recruits started on their meals.

Cenric nodded. “All right, you lot, that’s enough for today! Go get some food!”

The men set their shields down and stretched their arms and backs, chattering amongst each other as they split into small groups and headed to the cooking fires. They seemed excited about finally doing it right.

“They’re getting better,” Sarette told Cenric.

“This group is, but those spears would put them too close to the dragon,” he replied, frowning. “A spear wall is for fighting a war, and I didn’t sign on for that.”

“They’ll use pikes for the dragon. Practicing the spear wall is to improve their discipline and morale. I think it’s working.”

“I suppose.”

“Besides, after we’ve dealt with the dragon, Corec’s going to want to hire some of the men for the long term. We might as well train them now and see which ones are any good.”

Cenric grunted. “He won’t be the only Larsonian lordling trying to make a go of it in the free lands. Without their fathers’ money, most don’t ever amount to much, but maybe Corec’s better suited for it than some. I didn’t see any of the others volunteering to go after the dragon.”

“You should join us,” she said. “He’ll need a sergeant.”

“No. As soon as we’re done with the dragon, I’m leaving. What does he need armsmen for in the free lands, anyway?”

Sarette checked to make sure none of the recruits were close enough to overhear. “That day at Jol’s Brook wasn’t the first time Rusol sent men to kill Corec. We’re worried he’ll try again, so we want to go someplace where no one else will get hurt. Close to Larso, but away from any towns or villages.”

Cenric stiffened. “Why...” he started, then stopped to wet his lips. “Why are they fighting?”

“We don’t know. Corec’s never met Rusol, and he left Larso years ago, but Jol’s Brook was the third time your friends tried to kill him.”

“Don’t call them my friends!” Cenric said, his voice hoarse.

“I’m sorry—I just meant the mercenary army. The others that came were demon-controlled too, like your group.” Sarette hadn’t been around for the other attacks, but she’d heard the stories.

The soldier stared away, not meeting her eyes. “That’s what was controlling us?” he asked. “The voice was a demon? Not a wizard?”

“It was probably a demonborn mage, but there may be wizards too. We think Rusol has been recruiting mages.” If he was a warden, that was almost certain. “There weren’t any attacks while we were in Cordaea, but now that we’re back, Corec’s worried it’ll happen again. That’s why we came here.”