Overhead, branches whipped at other branches, trying to swat the flames out.
"Above you," Sir Guy warned softly.
Matt looked up. Tiny figures filled the branches, foot-high humanoids, wearing shaggy tunics of green and brown and cross gartered bias-hosen, throwing shot-glass-sized buckets of water on the flames.
"Elves!" Matt cried. "There's intelligence here to reason with!"
"Dost'a wish to parley, then?"
Matt whipped around and found himself facing a slightly larger elf, poised atop the head of Sir Guy's horse. A circlet of gold bound his brow; he fixed Sir Guy with a glittering stare.
Sir Guy lifted his visor in respect. "You are the king?"
"Headman only," the elf said impatiently. "In your terms, perhaps a duke. I beg you, let not your beast inflame our trees again! If they die, we die! Call them back, the great Barked People! Let them not all flee us! Leave us these, our trees!"
"Yeah, sure," Matt murmured. Then louder, "Sure, anything, you say! If you call the trees off..."
But the duke didn't even seem to hear Matt. He dropped to one knee, pleading hands upraised to the Black Knight. "I beg you, Sir Knight! Let the flames depart! Call our trees to halt and set their roots again enduring!"
Sir Guy glanced at Matt, then back to the elf. "Assuredly, Lord Duke, if you rebuke your trees, instructing them not to harm us and to allow us passage."
"We will; 'tis done!" The elf leaped to his feet and shot straight into the air, landing on the nearest branch. "Old ones!" he shouted. "Ancient people! Speak you to your trees! Make clear to them that these mortals will leave off a-hurting them, if they hold fast, forebearing to molest the mortals!"
A murmur of talk, like the buzzing of a thousand bumblebees, filled the forest. The trees hesitated in their backward push:
"Douse the flames," Sir Guy said quietly to Matt, "and we'll have peace here."
"More hunterzh! I need more!" Stegoman growled, glowering about him. "Couldn't be these tiny ones; a dragon hunter towers high above a hatchling..."
"There aren't any dragon hunters here, old boy," Matt soothed. "Calm down; we're getting something resembling peace here, or at least a stalemate." Then he threw his head back, and called to the sky:
Fitting the symbol to the word, he uncapped his wine-skin canteen and poured a few drops on the ground, then spat for good measure. After all, if it worked for the Indians ...
The forest was suddenly filled with the patter of raindrops, pouring above, but gentled by the time it reached them. Steam hissed as flamelets were doused, one by one.
Matt turned with a sigh of relief and saw Sir Guy. He frowned. "You just paraphrased me, when you talked to the elf-duke; you said the same thing I did! How come he listened to you?"
Sir Guy looked embarrassed, spreading his hands helplessly. "'Tis the nature of this land, Lord Wizard. You are..."
"... Not a knight." Matt nodded, with irony. It was asinine, but he was getting used to it.
The trees had quieted, though their branches still moved in a slow susurrus. But one shuddered, giving off a groaning that seemed to fill the glade. Matt frowned and looked up at the elf-duke. "Hey! Your Grace! What's the matter with that one?"
"Can you not see?" the duke asked grimly. "Behold how greatly that poor trunk doth bulge!"
Matt frowned. It did look like a case of advanced pregnancy ... His eyes widened as a memory tickled his brain. He took a breath and recited, editing:
The tree's groan rose into a growling, splitting crackle. A great rift appeared in the trunk, lengthened to six feet, widened, and rolled back. A nut-brown girl stepped from the trunk with a caroling cry of joy. She threw her arms up, back arching in a long, luxurious stretch, and Matt's eyeballs bulged. Her figure was full and voluptuous, and she moved with a grace that made her part of the trees and the woods. Lush, tumbling hair of green cloaked her shoulders; and her brown skin was whorled, like the grain of knotty pine. She wore a tunic that fitted her like a coat of paint, leaves fastened together, edges forming fringes, revealing and accentuating every contour, though it covered her from the tips of her breasts to the tops of her thighs.
She lifted her face to Matt, eyes widening. They were huge and long-lashed. Then the lids drooped, and full, wide lips curved in a lazy smile. She undulated toward him, breathing, "A wizard! Surely, a wizard he must be, to free a dryad from a tree! My gratitude is deep, unbounded!" Her hand touched his foot, slid up along his leg, upward, coaxing, cajoling, urging him down. "I'll show you how deep, once you're..."
"What is this creature?" Alisande's voice was frigid.
Sayeesa answered. "A dryad, Princess - neither good nor evil, truly, but a nature-child. She does whatever Nature dictates. Avaunt thee, wench! For Nature may not rule us, here!"
The dryad looked up at her. "Be chary of your words; you stand within the forest! Who are you, to speak so to me?"
"One who yielded to the impulse, as you seek to, and knows the sorrow of it! Nay, beware - if you traffic with a mortal, you shall sin against that very Nature that does guide you!"
The dryad stepped back, eyes widening in horror.
"Back, away!" Alisande commanded sternly. "For all things natural must accord to mortal order, or they suffer! Your trees have lately learned this; would you, also?"
"Ladies, ladies!" Matt held up both hands. He swallowed with some difficulty and much regret before turning back to the dryad. "I'm complimented by your gratitude, Lady of the Wood; but I'm afraid our customs are a little different from yours. And besides, I'm afraid we're a little rushed just now - we're being chased by a werewolf."
Her eyes widened as her desire diminished. "Nay, I know that kind! Most foul beasts are they, that cross the mortal order with the natural!"
"As you sought, even now, to do," Sayeesa said dryly.
The dryad gave her a narrow look, and Matt hurried in to fill the breach. "So if you're really wanting to return a favor, Lady, find some way of slowing down that werewolf, will you? And get us through to the western edge of this forest before daylight, if you can."
The dryad looked up at him with lazy, questioning eyes, and Matt felt the attraction of her drawing him. He licked dry lips. "Please. It's a matter of survival.".
The dryad sighed and turned away, shaking her head. "As you wish, then, Wizard. Ho! Duke of Elves!"
"What wish you, Lady?" The noble elf hopped over to her, doffing his golden circlet.
"Long has it been since I have seen you." Warm greetings were in the dryad's eyes; she smiled as she lifted the miniature duke on her hand. "Do you hear what these mortals have said?"