At Fanuin and Ellianthe's direction, the lugruidh drew up alongside the cliff and hovered within reach of its shimmering surface. The Laird's children swooped toward the stone, hands outstretched, and the rock split, opening into a tunnel again.
Guithern had given the companions bug-lamps before they left; now each of them took one, then stepped into the passage. Fanuin and Ellianthe led them back into the mountain, parting the stone before them; the tunnel closed behind, sealing them inside. After a long walk, they emerged in the caves where they'd awoken after eating the drugged food.
Hours passed. Fanuin and Ellianthe brought food and mead, and Borlos played upon his lyre, his eyes shining as his music resounded about the cavern. Trephas took Soulsplitter from his harness, laid it on the floor, and stared at it thoughtfully.
Finally, with a crack that filled the room, one of the cavern's walls split open. Several swift-flying sprites emerged, darting toward Fanuin and Ellianthe. The winged folk jabbered together, then Ellianthe broke off and flew to join the companions.
"Something's wrong," Caramon said, seeing the grim look on the sprite's face.
"It's Pallidice, isn't it?" Borlos asked. He rose, setting his lyre aside. "What's happened?"
Ellianthe raised a hand. "The dryad will be here soon. But she is ill. The messengers fear she's dying."
A few minutes later, the tunnel in the wall widened even more, and a figure emerged. The companions caught their breaths.
"Oh… ." Borlos moaned. "Oh, gods."
The oak-maiden had changed. Part of it was because of the shifting seasons: gold and flame-red streaked her green hair, harbingers of an early autumn. But the difference ran deeper than that. Her dark, supple skin had turned gray. Her youthful face was haggard, her slender limbs bony. Even her eyes were dull, as though a cloud had fallen across them. She trembled, her shoulders hunched.
"Pallidice," Borlos murmured, his voice breaking.
She peered up at him, a ghost of joy lighting her face, and smiled wearily. She was missing several teeth, and the rest had turned brown. "My love," she croaked. Her voice quavered thinly. "My heart sings to see you again. Would that it were the same for you."
"What?" Borlos asked, then flushed. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, looking down. "I just-"
"Nay, say nothing, my love. I know what I look like." Pallidice shook her head woefully. "The daemon tree's curse began to work upon my sisters and me, soon after I brought you here. It grows worse all the time. I fear I won't live to feel the weight of snow upon my oak's boughs again."
Borlos's mouth tightened. His hands curled slowly into fists. "No," he growled. "You will. Grimbough will fall, if I have to chop it down myself."
"Peldarin's axe is ours," Trephas added, raising Soulsplitter. "We must take it to my people. Return us to Darken Wood, and I also swear to stop Grimbough from harming you any more."
Pallidice nodded, though there was little hope in her eyes. "Of course. I'll take you. Gather your gear, and follow." She turned, stepping back into the tunnel.
Hurriedly, the companions prepared to go. "Thanks for your help," Caramon said, turning toward the sprites. "We couldn't have-"
He stopped. The winged folk were gone.
"Fanuin?" he asked. "Ellianthe? Where'd they get to?"
Dezra shrugged. "Back home, probably, while we were all staring at Pallidice. Come on. The others are waiting."
Caramon glanced about once more, but the sprites were nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, he put on his helm, shouldered his pack, and followed the others out of the cave.
The earth gave off a faint, noisome stench as Pallidice led them back to Darken Wood. Now and again, a beetle or worm emerged from it and dropped, squirming, to the floor. Strange chittering sounds surrounded them, and obscene, blister-like bulges appeared in the walls and ceiling. The air was dank and close.
Finally, the tunnel opened once more into a familiar earthen vault-the same place they'd met when Pallidice and her sisters drew them in. The tendrils that hung from the ceiling had shriveled; black ichor dripped from them onto the floor. Brown mist swirled about their feet, reeking like spoiled meat.
"Stay here," Pallidice rasped. "I will summon my sisters, and we'll return you to the surface."
Then she was gone, into another passage in the earth. The earth sealed shut behind her.
The companions waited in silence. Borlos turned away from the others, head bowed. Caramon walked to his side and rested a hand on his shoulder. Trephas plucked his lance from his harness and jabbed at a swollen, white spider that crawled across the floor.
Dezra strode to one of the walls, where a huge blister had appeared in the earth. It glistened in the bug-light, and she saw something dark moving within. Grimacing, she drew her dagger to burst the growth.
As she was raising the blade, though, the blister's membranous surface split open, revealing a large, bloodshot eye. She leapt back, yelping, as it stared at her. A heartbeat later, her senses returned, and she lashed out with her blade, piercing the eye. Black corruption spilled forth. She stared as the membrane closed again.
Caramon hurried over. "What in the Abyss was that?"
Dezra shook her head, wiping her dagger with a rag from her pouch. "I'm not sure," she said quietly. "I think someone just saw us."
Caramon frowned, but before he could ask more, a tunnel opened, and Pallidice stepped into the chamber. With her came the other three dryads who'd brought them here. They didn't flounce or giggle, as they'd done before, but hobbled and shuffled like old women. All were horribly marked by Grimbough's magic. Gamaia was obscenely bloated, and had lost all her lovely green hair. Tessonda was horribly scrawny, bones showing through her skin, which was covered with weeping sores. Elirope was worst of all. Her limbs and back were twisted and bent, as though every bone had been broken and badly set. Seeing them, the companions couldn't help but cringe.
“Aye," said Pallidice, laughing harshly. “We are hideous to behold, aren't we? A cruel trick to play on us, who prided ourselves on our beauty."
Borlos shook his head angrily. “This will end, Pallidice. You have my word."
The dryad smiled gruesomely. "Thank you, my love," she said. "Now, shall we bring you back to the surface?"
The other dryads led Trephas, Caramon and Dezra away, leaving Borlos and Pallidice alone. Her eyes downcast, the oak-maiden came forward. "I'm sorry, my love," she said, "but we must embrace for me to take you back through my tree. I won't ask for more than that. I know what I am now."
Tenderly, Borlos rested his hands on her shoulders. He bent down and kissed her gently on her forehead.
"I know what you are too," he whispered. "And it isn't this."
She smiled at him, a joyful look that nearly erased the suffering from her face. Their arms snaked about each other. After a while, the roots came down and lifted them up and away.
Lord Chrethon smashed the runner's face with the back of his hand. The long-legged Skorenos fell to its knees with a howl. It started to rise, clutching at its bloodied nose, and Chrethon kicked it in the chest. It fell flat, wheezing.
"What didst thou say?" he thundered, towering over the fallen runner.
"My lord-I can't-don't-" the runner whimpered, cowering.
Chrethon plucked his lance from his harness and lowered it. "Tell me, or I'll geld thee right here."
The Skorenos looked at the upraised lance, its face filled with terror. "My lord," it groaned, "Lord Leodippos asks more warriors to aid in the search for those who escaped the sacking of Ithax."