But even that brief, frantic effort had exhausted him. The baker sat for a while with his eyes closed until his head stopped spinning, and when he opened them again and looked around, he saw to his surprise that he had almost reached the forest, after all. It was there ahead of him, on top of the next rise. He had no idea whether horses could see in the dark—his obviously couldn’t, he thought sourly, glaring at his fallen mount—but it had probably smelled the trees, or whatever horses did, and had been making for their dubious shelter when it had fallen.
Well, at least the stupid creature had almost got him where he wanted to go, Bern thought. He pulled himself stiffly to his feet and limped over to the body, unfastening his blanket and pack from behind the saddle with numb fingers. He threw the blanket around his shoulders as an extra cloak and rummaged in his pack until he found some cheese and a heel of hard, stale bread. He washed down the unpalatable breakfast with water from his bottle, thinking wistfully of porridge and bacon—though the latter had not been seen in Nexis for a long, long time. But these accursed rebels must have some food—and the sooner he found them, the sooner he could eat. Refastening his pack, he slung it across his shoulder and, after a bad-tempered kick at the moribund horse, was on his way.
Three hours later, Bern was still outside the forest. It simply would not let him pass. Bruised, begrimed, and bleeding, he threw himself down on a hummock with his back to the impenetrable wall of trees, and swore horribly for several minutes. What the bloody blazes was going on? At first he had tried simply pushing his way through the tangled thicket, but the interwoven branches, all seemingly armed with sharp, hooked thorns, had blocked his path. When he tried hacking a way through them with his sword, they sprang back into his face, clawing at his eyes—and once a heavy branch had fallen, narrowly missing his head. In desperation, he had tried fire, but as soon as he had kindled a small blaze, a freak gust of wind had blown it out, whirling smoke and sparks into his eyes. By now, Bern was at his wits’ end. What in the world was going on? Anyone would think that the bloody forest was alive!
All at once, an arrow came zinging through the air. Almost parting Bern’s hair, it planted itself in the turf beyond the hummock. “Ho, stranger!” called a voice. “What’s your business here? Get to your feet and turn around slowly—and keep your hands well away from your sword.”
Shaking, Bern did as he was told. To his utter astonishment, the tangled undergrowth had vanished, and a narrow path, arched over with leafy branches, had opened in the ranks of trees. (But where had all the leaves come from? It was too early yet, and there was no sign of them from the outside of the forest.) In the opening stood a tall, bearded young man clad all in green and brown, wielding a bow that was almost as tall as himself. He held another arrow nocked to the string, aimed at Bern and ready to fire.
“I said state your business!” the archer shouted impatiently.
Bern pulled himself together. “I come with news from Nexis,” he blurted. “News of Vannor!”
The arrow dipped and wavered for an instant. Fional pulled it quickly back into line and squinted at the stranger down the long, straight shaft. His heart had leapt to hear Vannor’s name, but he tried hard to keep his emotions in check. This could be an ambush—or a trap. “Who are you, and what do you know of Vannor?” he demanded.
The invader’s face took on an expression of sorrow. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “To be the bearer of such grave tidings. Vannor is dead. He was captured and slain by the Magefolk.” The arrow fell from the archer’s nerveless fingers. For a moment, the world stood still for Fional. All sound ceased in the forest around him. Swallowing hard, he finally found his voice. “Dead?” he whispered. “Are you sure?”
The stranger nodded. “I’m certain,” he replied. “My name is Bern. I was a servant at the Academy, and as soon as I found out what had been done to Vannor I came to warn you. I barely escaped the Magefolk with my life… Please—let me in. They know who I am now, and I daren’t go back to Nexis!”
Fional frowned, and tried to gather his reeling wits. There was more to this business than Vannor’s death, and any decision he made now, when he was at his most vulnerable, might have serious repercussions for the rebels. He looked again at the stranger. The man seemed genuinely terrified, but… “How did you know where to find us?” he demanded.
The stranger was sweating visibly now. “There’s talk all over the city about how Angos’s mercenaries went to the Lady’s Vale and never came back—but that wasn’t how I came to find you. Vannor himself told me where you were, before he was slain. He begged me to come to you and warn you of his plight—but I had no chance to get away until it was too late. Nonetheless, I came as soon as I could, for Vannor’s sake. It is only right that you should know his fate—and even if it is too late for a rescue, there is still the matter of revenge. Should such a good man die for nothing?”
The archer cursed softly to himself. This did not bode well! Should he allow this man—this complete stranger—to enter the secret stronghold of the rebels and lure them away from safety to avenge Vannor’s death? Fional’s own mind was still too raw from shock to work out the implications of such a venture—he hardly knew, yet, what he thought. But if this Bern now knew the whereabouts of the rebels, it would be safer in any case to have him under their eye. And at least he had seen Vannor before the merchant’s death… Dulsina would want to talk with him, for certain. She had been going out of her mind with worry ever since Vannor had failed to return. Poor Dulsina! How would she react to this terrible news? He could hardly bear to tell her.
Fional made up his mind. Quickly, he notched another arrow to his string. “Put your weapons down at the edge of the trees and come with me,” he told the stranger. “For the time being, until you prove you can be trusted, you must consider yourself my prisoner.” Even though the man was weaponless, the archer was not foolish enough to trust him completely. He whistled, on a shrill, high note, and a dozen wolves came melting out of the forest’s shadows. Snarling menacingly, they surrounded the captive. “Make one false move,” Fional warned him, “and they will tear you to pieces.”
The stranger turned pale, and shuddered. “I won’t, I promise,” he vowed.
“After you.” The archer gestured with his bow and the man walked on obediently, surrounded by his guard of wolves, along the path that opened up ahead of him between the trees. Fional followed, grieving. Nonetheless, he kept his arrow at the ready.
“What is that idiot doing?” D’arvan muttered to Maya. From the shelter of the trees he had watched the stranger’s approach, and it had taken him little time to decide that he didn’t like the look of the man at all. The Mage had used every trick he knew to bar his entry to the forest, and had almost discouraged him sufficiently to make him go away when Fional had arrived and ruined everything. Then had come the news that Vannor was dead—and for a time, there had been no room in D’arvan’s thoughts for any other consideration. Only the sight of Fional leading the stranger into the sanctuary of the forest had shocked him out of his sorrow. Later, there would be time for grief. Now, there was the matter of this invader to be dealt with. Was the forest in danger from this man, or were the Mage’s suspicions unfounded?
D’arvan sighed. “The trouble is,” he told the unicorn, “that I can’t really keep him out now without killing him, and that would not be wise at present—not if he really knows what has happened to Vannor. Besides, we know no real harm of him… Am I making the mistake of confusing the messenger with the message he bears—or can it be that my instincts do not mislead me?”
The unicorn tossed her head and whinnied softly, seemingly in agreement—but in agreement with what? D’arvan wished—oh, how he wished—that she could talk to him. Not only did he miss his Maya desperately, but he could use her common sense right now. This was the first time, in his role as Forest Guardian, that he had found himself at a loss, and it worried him. So far, friends and foes had been easily recognizable, but this man was an enigma.