But most of the gold was missing and the beauty of the glade had been savagely destroyed. For the second time on Tungdil's journey, the orcs had got there first. He tried in vain to recapture something of the leafy harmony, but the desecration was complete. "By Vraccas," he gulped. "We'd better see whether-"
"Absolutely," Boпndil said cheerily. "With any luck, we'll find a few runts. You've got to hand it to them: We couldn't have done a better job ourselves!"
"It's what you'd call rigorous," his brother said admiringly, gripping the haft of his hammer. As true children of the Smith, the twins were unruffled by the wreckage around them; it wasn't in their nature to feel pity for elves.
Tungdil felt differently. Wandering through the smoldering ruins, he lifted up planks and peered under girders in the hope of finding Gorйn alive. Instead he found corpse after corpse, some of them horribly mutilated. At the sight of the carnage, memories of Goodwater came flooding back and he stepped away from the bodies, closing his eyes to the horror. The images stayed with him, more gruesome than ever in his mind.
Pull yourself together, he told himself firmly. How are you going to recognize Gorйn if you find him? Where would a wizard hide if he survived? Tungdil's gaze settled on the largest dwelling, which had come off slightly better than the rest.
"Keep an eye out for any trouble," he called to the others. "I need to find out what's happened to Gorйn."
"I've changed my mind," Boпndil shouted jauntily to his brother. "Forget what I said earlier about not going in. We might find some orcs."
While the twins began patrolling the ruins, Tungdil climbed the sagging staircase toward the front door. The charred steps groaned beneath his feet, but at last he reached the first platform and walked across the blackened planks.
The house was pentagonal in form, with the bole of the tree at its center. Linking the rooms was a corridor that encircled the trunk, its inner wall comprised of bark. Rope bridges led out to the sturdier branches where colored lanterns swung mournfully in the breeze.
Leaves were already floating to the ground, as if the tree were mourning the elves who had lived among its branches for so many cycles.
Tungdil gazed at the fluttering foliage, then tore himself away and searched the rooms. There was no sign of Gorйn or any survivors, but the library had been spared the worst of the damage and he came upon a sealed envelope addressed to Lot-Ionan and some objects wrapped in a shawl.
He picked up the envelope and hesitated. Surely these are exceptional circumstances by any standard? He broke the seal, scanned the contents, and sighed. Yet another errand for me to run! In the letter, Gorйn thanked Lot-Ionan for the loan of some books. The wizard had evidently intended to return them by courier, which meant Tungdil had landed himself another job.
There was a second letter, written in scholarly script and therefore indecipherable to anyone but a high-ranking wizard. He packed it away with the other items and continued his search.
A shudder ran through the platform. It started as a slight tremor, but in no time the planks were shaking violently. The wooden dwelling groaned and creaked furiously; then the commotion stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The dwarf took it as a sign that it was time for him to leave.
He hurried into the corridor and stopped in surprise. The tree was moving, its leafless branches squeezing and crushing the groaning timber of the house. The trunk gave a ligneous grunt and swayed to the left. A gnarled bough swung toward him.
"Hey! You've got the wrong dwarf! I'm not the one who killed the sapling!"
The tree took no heed of his protests and swiped at him again. Tungdil ducked, the cudgel-like branch smashing into the paneled wall behind him. He darted to the steps, but found himself engulfed in a sea of white. In his confusion he thought for a moment that it was snowing; then he saw that the haze was made up of petals that were swirling around the tree. The flowers and trees of the forest were hurling their blossoms at him, the glade's shattered harmony turning to violent hatred.
The house shook again, this time cracking some of the joists and sending debris crashing to the ground. Tungdil clattered down the steps to safety.
The twins were no less surprised than he was. Weapons at the ready, they were eyeing the glade suspiciously.
"It's nasty elfish magic!" shouted Boпndil above the din of rustling leaves. "They've turned the trees against us."
"We'd better get out of here," Tungdil called to them. "The trees mean to punish anyone who-" He broke off as a Palandiell beech loosed a shower of withered leaves, exposing the gruesome secret hidden among its naked boughs.
They had found the elf maiden. Her delicate white visage, previously obscured by a thick screen of leaves, stood out against the murky bark. From the neck down she was a skeleton, stripped entirely of flesh but glistening wetly with crimson blood. Long metal nails pinned her slender limbs to the trunk.
The sight was too much, even for the otherwise imperturbable twins. "Vraccas almighty," exclaimed Boлndal, "what kind of mischief is this?"
"That settles it," his brother decided. "We're leaving before the same thing happens to us."
"Not yet," Tungdil told them. "I need to keep looking for Gorйn." The horror exercised a strange attraction on him and he walked on, obliging his companions to follow. "The wizard's body might be somewhere round here too."
On closer inspection, it looked as though the elf maiden's bones had been gnawed. Her murderers had finished the job by driving a nail through her mouth, pinning the back of her skull to the bole of the tree. In place of her beautiful elven eyes were two empty sockets.
"They pinned her to the tree and ate her alive," said Boпndil. "It's a bit too fancy for runts. They eat their victims on the spot and suck out their marrow."
Tungdil swallowed and took another look. Even in death, the elf's face had retained its beauty. For all his inborn antipathy toward her and her race, he was sorry she had ended so gruesomely.
Boлndal rounded the tree and discovered further corpses as well as a trail of curved black prints. "They're hoof marks, but they've been burned into the soil. What do you make of that, scholar?"
Tungdil remembered the two riders who had parleyed with the orcish war bands on the night before Goodwater was destroyed. "Shadow mares," he murmured. "They strike sparks as they walk. The дlfar ride them." It explained why the elf maiden had suffered so cruelly before she died: The дlfar took pleasure in torturing their cousins.
"Дlfar?" Boпndil's eyes flashed with enthusiasm. "It's about time we came up against something more challenging than those dim-witted orcs! How about it, brother? I say we blunt our axes on Tion's dark elves!"
Tungdil, his gaze still riveted on the skeleton, was beset by awful visions of the mistress of Greenglade writhing and screaming on the tree while shadow mares ripped the flesh from her bones. The urge to vomit became uncontrollable and he covered his mouth with his hand, unwilling to forfeit the last shreds of credibility in front of the twins.
One corpse, a male body crumpled not far from the tree, excited their particular attention. A circle of scorched earth bounded the patch of grass where the dead man was lying, pierced by arrows. By the dwarves' reckoning, seven orcs had perished in the towering ring of flames.
Tungdil was as good as certain that magic had been involved. "I think we've found Gorйn. He probably conjured the ring of fire to defend himself."
Hands trembling, he searched the dead man's pockets and brought out a small metal tin engraved with Gorйn's name.
"He would have done better with a shield," Boпndil said dryly. "I always said that magic can't be trusted."