Sleep did not come easily to J'role. First his father's coughing kept him awake, and when Bevarden finally fell asleep, J'role couldn't sleep for wondering if Garlthik was waiting for the chance to slit his father's throat. Exhaustion finally took its toll, and with the coming of dawn, J'role at last dropped off to sleep.
When he woke later that day, the sun was high above, brilliant as a dream. Garlthik sat against a tree, cleaning his sword. His father, still alive, slept.
"Good day,' Garlthik said without looking at J'role.
J'role glanced about, taking in his surroundings. Earlier he'd been too tired to really look around. Now he saw that they were in the midst Of about twenty trees, all three times his height and with thick branches spreading out overhead. From the rough branches grew long, large leaves that offered shade against the noon sun. J'role had never seen so many trees growing in one place. He wondered if magic was at work, for his village had needed magic to grow crops in the fields. To grow trees like these seemed just as difficult a task.
He also wondered who could afford to use magic for something as frivolous as making trees when growing crops was so much more valuable.
On the ground under the trees grew grass, green and several inches high. J' role had never seen the stuff before, but he had heard it said that grass was one of the things the Horrors had ruined.
He touched the grass, so smooth and giving so easily under his fingers. He plucked a blade and examined it. So small, thin. What did it do?
As he looked around for any other strange sights, J'role suddenly let out a gasp.
Immediately beyond the copse of trees, the ground was as barren and brown as most of the other places they had traveled. But ahead, across a space of perhaps a mile, he saw a brilliant island of green: a forest. Catching the leaves, the sunlight shimmered emerald as the leaves fluttered slightly back and forth.
"J'role? What is it?" asked Garlthik as he stepped up alongside him.
Then the ork too began to stare at the forest, drawing in a long, deep breath. "Last night I thought that was a hill."
J'role nodded slowly. When he looked around he saw that the copse to which they had retired was only one of several groups of trees circling the massive forest. It seemed to J'role that the copses were distant parts of the forest, and that some day they would all be linked together, forming a monstrous wilderness of trees.
The thought terrified him.
"Look.” said Garlthik, pointing to the north. Perhaps some three miles back was a trio of travelers descending a hill. Though none seemed to wear scarlet robes, J'role knew magicians sometimes covered their bright and colorful garments to disguise themselves.
"If they've followed us this far, they might be able to walk right up to us." For a moment Garlthik pursed his lips together, then finally said under his breath, "He must have something. Something."
Garlthik was already gathering his things and stuffing them into the sack he carried.
"We'll have to move quickly."
J 'role walked over to his father. The man's flesh was gray and his breathing very shallow.
He shook his father awake, and as soon as Bevarden opened his eyes? The coughing started again. He reached up and grabbed J'role's arm. He looked J'role straight in the eye, but the boy thought his father did not recognize him.
"Drink?" he begged. "I need something to drink."
J 'role shook his head and dragged his father up to his feet. He realized suddenly that he was as tall as his father, probably had been for some time. Exactly when, J'role wondered, had he gotten bigger? Or his father smaller?
Garlthik had already left the shelter of the trees and J'role ran quickly, dragging his father along, to keep up. The ork maneuvered their path so that the trees they had just left behind would hide them from the magician's sight for as long as possible. Bevarden smiled an idiot grin at the forests and actually increased his pace.
J'role looked back and saw that Phlaren — he could see her long hair clearly now-had traveled away from Mordom, and was now signaling to Mordom and Slinsk, who remained hidden from view behind the copse. She was starting to get closer, slowly at first, but then at a run.
"Come!" said Garlthik, running quickly toward the forest.
J'role, still holding his father's hand, stood in place watching Garlthik dash away. He could not move forward, even with his father struggling against his grip to get to the forest. The forest was too big. It seemed to J'role that the overabundance of life would wrap itself around him and choke him. The thought of approaching the forest made him tremble.
His father turned to him, leaning forward like a child held back from a treat by a parent.
"A forest," he said plainly, a bit of a smile in his eyes. "Elves."
"Come ON!" shouted Garlthik, with a wave of his arm. Phlaren would reach J'role any second now if he did not move.
The wash of green filled his vision and rooted him to the spot.
Garlthik took a few steps toward J'role, then t threw his arms out wide in frustration and started rushing toward the wood. In an instant he vanished, swallowed up-by the thick green.
I don't stand a chance now, J'role thought weakly. His father stared at the trees and licked his lips. We don't have to go deep into the forest, J'role decided. We don't have to go deep at all. With a sudden lurch he started to run toward the forest. For the first time in the whole journey, his father kept pace.
They raced toward the tree line, and as they got closer it seemed to sweep around J'role, arms coming to smother him. The brilliant green beauty of the leaves became dark and menacing, and the thick maze of branches and trunks became a single, powerful creature that would eat him as soon as he got near. It was too much life. J’role thought of the clean, straight corridors of his kaer, or the open plains of the rest of the world. But this forest. . a jumble of angles and lines and life.
Closer and closer. His breathing became heavy and labored. Bevarden began to stumble and then finally lost his balance completely. He and J'role tumbled to the ground, a tangle of limbs. J'role glanced back. He could see their faces now. Slinsk, dark-skinned, a hungry smile on his lips. Phlaren, closer, determined and impatient. Far beyond them walked Mordom, willing to let his two assistants handle the first melee. J'role scrambled back up and dragged his father with him.
They ran, and now it was upon them, thick, shading leaves rushing over them like the maws of a dragon. Coarse vines crisscrossed between the trees and hung down to the jungle floor. Bushes caught their legs and scratched them. Birds sitting in trees suddenly took flight, the flapping of their wings like water flowing swiftly over rocks.
J'role did not want to go in any deeper, but he heard the crash of footsteps behinds them.
"Danger," Bevarden said, and giggled in glee as if the thought of impending danger was the best thing in the world. J'role ran on, holding his father's hand.
They continued to speed through the trees, the sounds of their pursuers close behind at first, then growing more and more faint. Shafts of shadows cut across their route, and after fifteen minutes J'role realized that he had no idea which way they had traveled.
He tried to listen for: Slinsk and Phlaren, but could hear nothing over the sound of his own heavy breathing. He noticed that the tree trunk against his hand felt exceptionally warm. He attributed it to his own heated state and did not think about it until he pulled his hand away.
It was wet and sticky, the palm covered with blood.
J'role stared at his hand and then at the tree bark, which oozed with blood where he had touched it.
Then the tree moved.
It uprooted itself and backed away from J'role. A face, formed from the knots in the tree, stared down at him in horror. It bellowed something at him in a language J'role could not understand. He only had time to catch the slightest motion out the corner of his eye before he realized that a flurry of activity was rushing toward him from all directions.