The Councilor-Generals' camp was unlike any other army. When giant and human soldiers were at ease, they gambled, drank, and told bawdy stories. As elves and goblins had both men and women in the ranks, there were fewer ribald stories, but more gambling and boozing, and instead of bragging about conquests, they made something of their desires.
By comparison, the dryad warriors were not only at ease, but idle; though all were quiet to some degree, some were completely still, as if they took root while waiting for battle to be joined. Though some soldiers drilled, and others returned from maneuvers, all of this activity was silent. A thoughtful observer could not be faulted for thinking them clockwork soldiers assembled by Nahurian ingenuity, or wooden golems set in motion by enchantment, as the noiseless dryad discipline seemed mechanical or magical in its effect.
One exception was the group repairing the cwamtu, which was partially split from its discharge in the battle with the giants. While most Tree-Women in the siege were in armor of lacquered wood over cloth or laminated steel plates over coats of rings, depending on rank, these five were stripped to the waist, and wore only linen pants. With the dryads' charms on display, Eurilda felt contempt for Khyte, for the Tree-Women were not beautiful; the green cast to their breasts looked less seductive than relaxing, like a meadow to lie in, and their red-gold ropy tresses looked less practical for lovemaking than for climbing up a mountain. How could he love such a creature, knowing what he loved was not a person, but the shell of one, animated by the past thoughts of a distant tree?
Not that it was easy to remember that these creatures, with their semblance of purpose and reflected consciousness, were only sparks sent from the Tree-Mothers; that their work ethic might be coveted by a captain of industry, their diligence might be admired by kings and generals, and their ethic might serve as an example for philosophers, seemed a loud argument both against and for duty and conscience, those automata of the soul. But Eurilda was not impressed. Their silent contentedness reminded her that she consorted not with people, but with the Tree-Mothers' violent playthings
If the Ielnaronan army seemed a watch wound tight, one place in the camp marked its own time: the kiuvathi grazing grounds, where the enormous creatures indifferently munched tall grasses, hunks of bloody flesh, and fruit rinds and cores. Though Leitara and Eurilda steered a wide berth around the kiuvathi grounds, the beasts' flatulent stench reached them nonetheless.
From her habit of traveling the Five Worlds in human form, Eurilda had become an accomplished rider of Baugn, horses, and the other tiny steeds, but the kiuvathi were the first domesticable animal on the vermin worlds to look capable of carrying a full-grown giant, and Eurilda wanted to try it out.
Ten minutes later, Eurilda was enveloped by the sprawling encampment, which blocked not only any sight of all but the tallest spires of Wywynanoir, but any view of the woods. All about there were only Tree-Women, their tents—flaps, hides, spikes, and ropes—and carriages pulled by gnurza—smaller cousins of kiuvathi, used as pack-beasts.
When Leitara parted the flap of a large tent, Eurilda went inside. On two tables were bright candles, unfurled maps, wet quills, ink, and a large scroll upon which ink dried in vague shapes that possibly represented the siege of Wywynanoir. A dozen Tree-Women circled the larger tabletop, each gesturing to the war plans when they spoke in the mellifluous Ielnaronan language. During these monologues, the others patiently waited, rather than interrupting, quite unlike the belligerent brainstorming sessions of giants.
On seeing that function so ruled over form in the makeshift war-room that there wasn't a single chair, and all the Tree-Women stood, it struck Eurilda that they were little like Princess Inglefras, who was indolent to a point of pride, only standing to walk, and only sitting when she couldn't sleep.
Two turned from the table to approach Eurilda and Leitara.
"Well met," said an impossibly young Tree-Woman, only a little taller than a goblin, and with orangish undertones to her green pallor and long locks colored the auburn gold of autumn. This one, at least, resembled the spoiled princess. In her gown, blue flowed to green through aqua, teal, olive, and emerald. As those of rank wore only their own floral creations, grown from their own bodies, this dress was no doubt an illusion.
"Call me Councilor-General Teuren." Though her voice lilted musically, there was a hint of heaviness, as if she was part of a darker composition.
"And I am Councilor-General Quhinei." She affected a deep bow fashionable among the giantesses of Uenarak. While extremely tall for a Tree-Woman, she looked taller, an impression accented by her gaunt and leggy frame, as well as the tightly cropped row of dark brown needles that was her hair. Her complexion was a vibrant emerald, and her self-grown garment was groomed to resemble a pink blouse and dark pants.
In gawking at these outlandish personalities, Eurilda waited a little too long to introduce herself, and in the awkward lull, Teuren tittered, "Is that what is in fashion in Uenarak?"
Eurilda was already self-conscious of her robe; usually immaculate, it was streaked with dirt from the knees down, and its sleeves torn running through the woods. Still, this mortification dimmed in comparison to the irritation of hearing this Tree-Woman's jingly laugh. No doubt her full-blown belly laugh would break glass. Though it wasn't hate at first glance, it was hate at double-take.
Quhinei's laugh was a coarser, less musical sound. "Please forgive Teuren. Or don't, if such is your custom. Though we have seen a handful of late, we don't know much about giants."
Teuren said, "Yes, excuse me. There isn't any good taste knocking around in this wooden head."
"'Wooden head.' Tsk. Don't feed superstitions," said Quhinei.
"It's not skin and bone," said Teuren. "And really, I am fascinated by the wide, bold cuts of your robe and sash."
"Yes, enlighten us," said Quhinei, "but first recount your journey to Wywynanoir."
Eurilda then told the tale of their flight from the toxic ensorcelment of Otoka to the tragic deaths of her fellow apprentices. On reaching the moment Gitala's cavalry crushed the assassins, Quhinei cut in. "Though I've heard this part from Gitala, I'll take your embellishments under advisement as a commendation. What I'm interested in is the why of it."
"The why?"
"Yes, why were assassins waiting for your master to falter? Why was his death necessary?"
Though Eurilda expected the geas to prick her, to silence any mention of the grisly political realities in Uenarak, the giantess found herself suddenly on her own, without the guidance of Otoka's geas. Her master never directly forbade the subject, and the spell had only magic sense, not the common sense to understand changing the dryad perception of giants might endanger the students.
Fortunately, while Eurilda wasn't the most reasonable being, she was rightly loath to reveal that giants with a taste for thinking flesh desired to expand their island city-state into a far-flung empire. Not only did she not want their hosts to compare them to cannibals, but if Eurilda revealed that Uenaraki politicians proposed sacking Ielnarona and Nahure to stock their larders before moving on to the richer prizes of Alfyria and Hravak, she would be starting a war.
Eurilda chose her words carefully. "Otoka has enemies."
Teuren asked, "On what causes do they differ?"
On realizing she was unprepared for this conversation, Eurilda revealed a lesser abomination to conceal a greater one. "Our largest dilemma has plagued us for centuries. Though we use all the agricultural assets of our island, and the surrounding seas, we only barely feed our people. Our culture expands at a glacial rate in the shadow of these ceaseless appetites, for if we did increase our population, where would we get the food?"
"Do not think us unapprised of these things," said Quhinei. "Are you suggesting Otoka risked his life in taking a stand on the second-most miserable part about being born giant?"
Eurilda said, "he proposed we bring back the ancient practice of lukyral."
"Lukyral? Don't be absurd. You reinstated the practice of eating your dead twenty years ago. That's the first-most miserable part about being a giant. Frankly, I'm surprised you held the moral high ground for so many centuries. We have wondered when you'll start eating your babies."
Eurilda's heart skipped a beat, then drummed, and her lips were seared by jets of hot rage from her nostrils. "How easily you conceive horrors for others from your forest of evil. 'Second-most' and 'first-most'--how long is a giant's list of miseries, and can I see the one for dryads?"
"Young giantess," said Teuren, "remember where you are."
Quhinei said, "the only motive for such an outlandish lie, and attributing this horrendous suggestion to Otoka the Wise, is horror of the truth."
"Moreover, if she conceals what happens on Uenarak, it affects us."
"It is easy to surmise the upshot of all this."
Teuren added, "and she must hope to benefit by concealing their plans."
Not expecting this much astuteness from the waifish Tree-Women, Eurilda blurted out, "I don't stand to benefit!"
"I don't think she would," said Teuren acidly. "She's not that clever."
"Don't expect too much of her," said Quhinei. "She's only a giant." Though Eurilda could not stop her eyes from widening, nor the rushing pulse of blood, she walled in her murderous rage before it spilled into the Dryad World.
"Leitara," said Teuren. "Confine our guests, starting with the giantess. No more than four together, and this one by herself, with cwamtu-mounted kiuvathi standing guard." When Leitara drew her sword, so did the other tent guards.
"Wait!" said Eurilda. "I'll tell you!"
"No need," said Teuren. "We're happy to plunder Uenarak for our answers. We were only testing if your master opposed your cannibal cousins, as we want spies and allies."
"After this insurrection is quelled," said Quihinei. "Unfortunately, we must hold her until we clean house."
"Before you take me away," said Eurilda, "by betraying a confidence, I might regain your trust. Otoka is not yet dead; my companion prolonged his life by prolonging his death. If you purged his poison, and asked his views directly, he would not dissemble, as I have done, but share his wish that the giants were a nobler race."
"Were he here, that might be amenable," said Quhinei.
"Otoka is here with us," the giantess said, tapping her pouch.
Quhinei sniffed. "More size-changing? If only giants had never practiced sorcery. Leitara, bring me the pouch." The lieutenant pulled Eurilda's sash, parted her robe, and cut the pouch from Eurilda's belt. While Eurilda had liked Leitara up until then, now she added her, and both Councilor-Generals, to her list.
"This pouch is flat. There's nothing in it," said Teuren.
Eurilda said, "Otoka ensorceled it, that I might be a better errand-runner. While the inside is the same size as the outside, and the pouch contains no more than an ordinary pouch, it displaces its contents."
"What do you mean?"
"Everything inside is three seconds in the past, perpetually unaffected by a present that will never arrive. Until you open the pouch."
"It's very useful for carrying a miniature wizard," admitted Teuren, "but why do you need it to run errands?"
"I thought that went without saying, but as you said, I'm not very clever," said Eurilda. "Whether I put a bottle inside, or my master, nothing can happen to anything three seconds in the past; even fragile glass or shrunken flesh and bone are invulnerable from a perpetually postponed moment. Though the bag might fall down a flight of steps, nothing would transpire inside, and its contents would be as impregnable as the irreversible moment I entrusted my treasure to the pouch. Perhaps the concept is too small to be noticed by your large mind?"
"I though you were persuading me not to confine you with this argument?"
"Forgive me," Eurilda said, but couldn't help a small snicker.
Teuren pulled the drawstrings, looked inside the pouch, then reached in. Not a hair was out of place; Otoka looked as he did when Eurilda stuffed him inside.
Quhinei looked at Teuren, and at the other's nod, said, "though we must confine you, if your master opposes the cannibals, we will re-open negotiations."
"Leitara, take her away. And you"—here Teuren indicated the other guards—"go with the lieutenant."
Eurilda allowed them to lead her to a trampled-down clearing, where from the ground up, slat by slat, the carpenters built a crude stockade around her, while she faced a cwamtu-mounted kiuvathi led by the two huskiest Tree-Women she had ever seen.
As this prison was built around her, she guessed the dryads had no stockade because they did not capture opposing soldiers, but treated them as the nonentities they were, for the Tree-Mother that spawned them suffered not in their brutal dispatch. Moreover, considerations of class entered into it; though the highborn Tree-Mothers treasured their own seeds like jewels, they cared more for their dead wood, if it still stood upright, than the fallen corpses of common Tree-Women, which they treated with as much care as cleared pieces from a tabletop game.
Whether or not Tree-Women were people, Eurilda acknowledged they were shrewd. To prevent her shrinking under the wall, they swung mallets to drive the slats fifteen inches into the ground, and the opposing wooden cannon would bar her from crushing her impromptu cell with her giant fist. They needn't have bothered with these precautions if they'd known about the geas, but Eurilda wasn't about to tell them, as it was amusing to put them through their paces, and she didn't want them to know the depth of her dependency on Otoka. The geas was stronger than hunger or thirst, and even held the high ground against self-preservation, so that while she wouldn't leap to her death fulfilling the geas, she would sooner let them build a coffin around her than deviate from Otoka's bidding. So long as the apprentices were little better than hostages, she would stand wherever they placed her, in four walls or under a rain storm.
When the builders finished, Eurilda was stockaded in four doorless walls, though the guards could observe the giantess through a one foot square. Not only did she awake this morning in a doorless room, but she would likely fall asleep in one. The thought of sleep fell heavier than the threat of the cutornu, the assassins that flowed like water, or the javelin that scraped her temple.
"Do I get my meal?" she called through the hole.
"Did you not eat?" asked Leitara.
"I had a little while I was attending to the others, before I was called to this treacherous sit-down with your Councilor-Generals."
"If you had been more forthright," started Leitara, but Eurilda interrupted.
"I could have said nothing they wouldn't have twisted."
"You judge us like giants," said Leitara. "While Tree-Women are born with thoughts, ideas, and opinions, we neither make nor mold them, only the Tree-Mothers do. Neither I, nor Quhinei, nor Teuren, nor even Inglefras, think anything not preconceived. We live our brief seed lives in an unyielding maze, following the constrained, convoluted route of inherited preconceptions. Your memories are rooted in sense; our senses are rooted in the memories of former lives, so that we never look on the earth with new eyes, but through the crystal-clear sight of past Tree-Women. For us, what was lived is still living, and what is living has once lived. In some ways, the past is more real to us. If we have the power to choose outside our lived path, by doing so we risk not being dryads."
"Were those words tied up in your shell, waiting to be said to me?"
"Like magic, words and actions are only the expressions of ideas."
"I would be more inclined to hear this provocative argument were I not walled in, and had I not skipped two meals while trekking two worlds and a fragment of one."
"I will bring your meal."
"And plenty of water! I need to wash my face."
"I will see if water can be spared."
"It's for treating a wound," said Eurilda.
"Even so. Though Dryads eat little, we do require water."
"Will you withhold air because you need to breathe?"
When Leitara did not respond, the stockade window was so small that Eurilda did not know whether the Tree-Woman stepped away, or if her heart wasn't in the conversation. After a few minutes, the giantess sat on the simple cot nailed to the back wall. Even calling it a cot was generous, for it was simply elevated slats, a tied bedroll, and clean linen. She sulked for an hour on the unmade cot. She was not only with a loveless lover's child, but in the city where that faithless man chose her rival, then watched her brush with death; she was chased from home by a sarcastic wedding announcement that sparked a chain of fatalities and failures like dominoes; and, her freedom depended upon the awakening of the mortally enspelled master whom she let down in the worst way, by leading his pupils into death.
Though night glided inexorably into morning, Eurilda was no closer to bed, and she had just unfurled the bedroll when Leitara returned, bearing a wooden tray and a brass jug. "You're awake. Good. You're wanted by the Councilor-Generals, but I thought you might need this first." In the cold air, steam flowered from the bowl on the tray.
"That smells halfway good," said Eurilda.
"Then I haven't lost my touch. For the first two years of my cycle, I served in a cafe, offering food to weary Alfyrians and Hravakians, and every now and then, a giant or goblin that defied convention."
"Lost your touch? Shouldn't cooking be second nature by now, with many lives seeing through your eyes?"
"As we had never cooked before, those years mark new life memories for my Tree-Mother--assuming I survive this siege."
Eurilda might have said the food tasted more than halfway good—perhaps as much as three quarters good—were she not shoveling it into her mouth. The thick pudding of cooked grains, brown sugar, dried fruit, and flowers was swimming in an unfamiliar but unbelievably sweet syrup. Praise be to the Divine Atheist that Otoka the Wise revived magic, so that this early breakfast could nearly satisfy her shrunken stomach, so that having scraped it clean, she only wanted seconds, not sixtieths. If only magical learning had spread. Not for the first time, she bemoaned the ignorance of giants, who might have satisfied their ambition for a larger territory and plugged the drain on their island's resources by shrinking every giant in Uenarak.
Having finished her meal and washed it down, she dampened a folded napkin, and wiped her blood-crusted cheek and temple. Though the javelin dug a shallow but gory furrow in her scalp, it was now a thin scab due to Otoka's aegis, which healed his apprentices' sprains and flesh wounds and made small accommodations to the receiver's luck. While sprouting a new head for Jyantu was out of the question, the powerful warding had nearly effaced Eurilda's injury, though there it would surely leave a scar. Though she wished for a mirror, she would not have the naivete to ask for one, for just as those without tails or shadows do not look for them, those without selves would not dote on their images in glass.
"That looked much worse when I found you."
"It was, but Otoka the Wise is very wise," said Eurilda.
"Moreover, he was when it counted," said Leitara. "Ready?"
"Not until morning, but that won't stop you."
"No."
"What were your thoughts on this doorless stockade?"
"The kiuvathi could pull it apart."
"Don't bother." Eurilda uttered a few syllables, diminished to four inches high, spoke a syllable more, then flew through the window.
After Eurilda grew to dryad height, they walked through the camp, which was as active in the middle of the night as at twilight.
"Was it acceptable?" asked Leitara.
"The stockade? No, I wouldn't call that dryads at their best."
"I meant your breakfast."
"It was good," said Eurilda, "though there were tastes I did not know. Something syrupy and sweet, and something scented like wedding or funeral flowers."
"The floral scent is iupelli, which improves the mood, and the sweetener is yinet, the nectar of an orchid that grows on Tree-Mothers."
"Why do you care?" When Leitara did not answer this, Eurilda elaborated. "More to the point, if the personalities of Tree-Women are unreal, and no one real hears my response, why should I answer?--and to whom do I answer?"
"That's a good observation. Over the past few centuries, dryads have observed that other peoples have higher standards for communication, expecting rapport and desiring rapture, when our highest aim is that our Tree-Mothers learn from our recorded intelligence. While I believe that I care how you feel, my feelings are a fiction fabricated by my Tree-Mother to better serve her purposes."
"It makes me wonder."
"What?"
"Would your cultural fiction last if we stranded a dozen Tree-Women on an oasis in the Abyss?"
"What are you saying?"
"That more than the Tree-Mothers they serve like slaves, Tree-Women have personhood."
Leitara grabbed Eurilda's shoulder. "Do not be heard saying such things at your meeting with the Councilor-Generals."
"Have you read Uluin's Apostasy of The Lie?" When Leitara did not answer, Eurilda continued. "The author, a Nahurian famous for his skepticism, states The Five Worlds evolve when culture denies nature; not by expanding consciousness, but by repressing any resistance to social change, do customs become created. Before they are traditions, these contradictory practices are the habits of iconoclasts, who in either accelerating or moving counter-clockwise to cultural evolution, create new movements for these unquestioning masses to mimic."
"These are dangerous ideas on Ielnarona."
"Perhaps. This skeptic continues, saying that a century ago dryads would kill to protect their right to exchange ideas."
"A way of life dies from too much freedom; philosophies kill given too much liberty," said Leitara. "Let's leave it at that."
Eurilda's eyes narrowed. Leitara had quoted Uluin. "Would a non-entity think that?"
"Don't make too much of dryad words. In speaking, we do not think, but only rehearse new ideas, or rehash variations on long-held opinions. We're here."
They had arrived not at the Councilor-Generals' tent, but a smaller tent, in which Otoka lay on a sumptuous bed of silky linens, propped on a velvet pillow, and with what looked like Teuren's flowering mantle pulled up to his chin like a blanket. The thought of that counterfeit personality gifting her master with her castoff effluvium, however beauteous, enraged Eurilda. They treated Otoka the Wise as if he was a hayseed, and covered him in grass. When she turned to Quhinei and Teuren--who had, indeed, grown a lissome black gown, and somehow altered her eye blossoms from violet to black dahlia, the combined effect not only sylphlike but waspish—she calmed herself, for their peaceable conversation boded well.
"Ah! Eurilda! Come in." Otoka was so much the master of his tent that when he turned to the Councilor-Generals, and said, "leave us now," Teuren and Quhinei backed from the room, their bowed heads nearly scraping the floor as if he was imported royalty. Not that the giantess was surprised at their meekness, for these weren't Teuren or Quhinei, but the hand puppets of the real ones, rooted who knows elsewhere. If even the independent Leitara believed this, it must be true, although Otoka taught that axiomatic truths wither without the incessant storm-clash of doubt and belief, so that if her argument had subtly uprooted the lieutenant, introducing her to new soil might be invigorating and reaffirming. But she doubted it; Ielnarona was so far from what Uluin described a century ago that it was more of a drought of ideas than the oasis of learning that he immortalized. For Leitara to be liberated, she would need a helping hand to cut the ties to her Tree-Mother, and though Eurilda was tickled by the thought of having a dryad friend to cultivate in any fashion she chose, it was not realistic, for she had no ambition of being a gardener of seeds or souls, and even flowers died in her hands.
When the Tree-Women left the tent, Eurilda felt the coldness of solitude, for while her master lay before her, alive and awake, did he count her a friend after the events of the day? Not that the saturnine wizard would ever embrace her; the moment he lay in her palm was likely her last touch of Otoka the Wise. But Eurilda dreaded that Otoka might distance himself further; she would have dropped Khyte from a cliff, and given up her vacillating heart's skip from one earthly love to another, to have Otoka's trust restored and inviolable forever more. Eurilda was nothing but caprice and vengeance outside of her devotion to the plenipotent sorcerer.
After the long pause, Otoka peered at her and harrumphed. Twenty years ago, he made the same face—an imperious mask with an impaling glare—when he haggled with her parents; though he was the illustrious wizard, Eurilda was gossiped far and wide as the girl who shrunk herself with a thought, and despite his fierce demeanor, her parents parlayed a windfall from their leverage over the mighty sorcerer. The toddler's innate genius for diminishment set the philosophers of Uenarak in a vicious debate over whether the world was sense or material, subjective or objective, and it raged to this day.
Had Otoka heeded the rumors a few days sooner, he might have prevented this mystery from becoming commonplace, and the childhood of the giants themselves might have lasted a golden age. "There are secrets for good reason," Otoka said to the girl she was, with the patronizing tone of one who assumes you will not remember. "Paramount among these, the notion that reality is illusion, the dream of the Disbeliever, is a pernicious idea that blights the seed, root, stalk, and flower of morality."
However, Eurilda had a special kind of memory; the giants' brief-lived culture had no word for what the Alfyrians called tukoru-kalai, iridescent mind, a mode of thought not only perfectly transparent, but mirror-reflective, and irradiated with universal truth. While Alfyrian scientific terms are rife with poetic overstatement, this meant Eurilda's mind was a well-ordered place in which her memories were dusted, orderly filed, and retained forever. Eurilda's lifelong memory of Otoka's early revelation had a guiding influence on her apprenticeship. Believing reality was a puppet play made a game of everything; when she tired of games, she had become enamored with achieving; when her achievements piled up, she became addicted to winning.
"I won't say you were right," said Otoka. "But I'm here, you're here, and ten of my apprentices are here. And if your judgment was good, your execution was horrific, though my other senior apprentices have yet to arrive." When Otoka trailed off after this bitter summary, it was like a death knell to Eurilda. Even if she was the only senior apprentice to survive, he would have only censure for her, and she would never hear a word of praise.
When Eurilda had nothing to say for herself, he continued: "Though I'm disappointed in you, Eurilda, don't think me unappreciative. I prefer living to dying. That said, having lived for three hundred years, it was my sacrifice to make. Some that were slain had not reached twenty."
"Your magic would have died with you." The thought, more than the words, choked Eurilda with sobs. Until she broke her silence, she hadn't known she was crying, so rapt was she to see Otoka alive.
"Though I lifted many veils of understanding, peeled back the skin of the universe, and glimpsed the beyond, too much knowledge kills the spirit of inquiry, and any knowledge I left untaught and unwritten is not worth preserving. That said, even if my every word faded from the Abyss, better that others rediscover my wisdom than that so many young giants lie dead."
Eurilda stopped sobbing when she heard the finality of the sorcerer's tone. If she was being let go, Eurilda would take the brunt of the judgment unbowed. She wiped her eyes on the hem of her sleeve and mustered a mocking laugh."If my devotion offends, it is because it holds the mirror to your own self-importance."
Gone was the shrewd haggling face, and gone were the lofty airs of the lecturer. Otoka the Wise was speechless. After a minute, he said, "I should expel you for such impertinence."
"Do it," said Eurilda.
"Though I teach that truths are as suspicious as lies, your rebuff has the ring of truth and passes muster." Otoka referred to an oft-used adage in his senior philosophy classes—"let truth ring—then sound it out." He commonly used this refrain when countering the unexamined axioms of facile student arguments.
"A fitting punishment would be to give you your sorcerer's robes unearned. Because size-changing was instinctual for you, you only know a handful of skin changes, you've barely mastered levitation and creation, and you would be distressed by premature success. Not that you surpass me in illusions—including the fabrications of morality, character, and personality." Otoka stared past Eurilda's shoulder, as if he talked not to her, but to the Worlds in the night sky. When his gaze shifted to Eurilda, he said, "since you style yourself wiser than the Wise, what would you have me do?"
"I would prefer that you not do—not expel me, not hate me, and not insinuate that my heart and soul are fantasies. Since I think of you as my father, it is hard to hear such harsh words."
"Your father? Don't mention me in the same breath as that scoundrel. But let me hasten to disillusion you: though I thought you dutiful and competent until today, I never showed you special treatment, or even observed your birthday."
"Why choose me for errands to other Worlds?"
"Eurilda, your attentions can be exhausting, and when I could no longer bear the way you hung on my every word, I sent you away, hoping you would find an object for your affections. Would a father turn a blind eye to your dalliance with that Drydanan?"
Tears again came unbidden to Eurilda. The truth was even more painful than what she imagined—while her beloved master did not hate her, neither had he ever loved her, and for fifteen years she had thrown away unwanted devotion.
"If you wanted me to make friends," she said, "you should have informed my peers that you gave me those assignments to be rid of me."
"I might have, if I was one of those detestable teachers that make student gossip the subject of class in place of lectures. Don't think I'm singling you out, you see; I never wanted to be their friends, either, or popular with my students. Not that I wasn't their benefactor. If I rescued you from your parents' squalor, many of my apprentices share this humble origin. Why are you any different, when they weary of my face, and long for their sorcerer's cloak?"
"You're not indifferent," said Eurilda. "The geas is my proof. What of this?" Both hands pointed to her midriff. "If your enchantment minds my offspring, you care about mother or child."
Otoka heaved a sigh so deep it made him wince."Let truth ring—then sound it out. If caring for your fate, or your child's, entangles me in emotion, I must root out this sentimentality. If you persist in studying magic, you must also steel your heart, for weakness detracts from magical discipline."
Eurilda's heart skipped a beat. "You're not expelling me?"
"Even if I wanted to, I have no more competent agent. I want answers, which only you can gain. Who tried to kill me, and why? What connection does this have to your friend's nuptials? Why now? There's only one place where you can get these answers."
"Wywynanoir," Eurilda yawned, stretching out the last syllable, and rubbing eyes red-rimmed from sorrow, anger, and exhaustion. "Forgive me, master. Without sleep, I will be no help."
"Do worlds sleep? Do the rocks sleep? Do the dead sleep? Why should the living? Close your eyes." When he commanded, she obeyed.
"Follow my voice through a dark circle—a dead world. You fall to the cracked ground, diminish, then pass through arid soil. You slip past the motes into cascading light, as the barrenness of reality is also illusion; underlying everything is undying energy. You are the mote, the world, and the undying energy. Grasp the heart of the dark circle."
Eurilda was so adrift in visualizations that listening had crystallized into seeing. As Otoka the Wise rerouted the lines between sound and sight, she slipped into the reservoir of light in the dark circle. "Now!" she heard, "grasp it! What are you waiting for?" Eurilda descended on the rapids of black-fringed illumination, saw the fade from whence existence emerged and submerged, and though she could see neither her hand, nor the dimensions of what she grasped, she seized it, then opened her eyes.
Though her master's scowl had not altered, her eyes were now wide-awake, her aches and pains were erased, and her hunger and thirst obviated.
"What did you do?" she asked.
"Did you think the Abyss only sustained The Five Worlds?"
"That was the Abyss? Is it always so close, that words and closed eyelids can serve as a bridge?"
"While most live their lives numb to the Abyss of Worlds, you, with your magical gift, have always teetered over the Abyss of Souls, from whence comes life, mind, and magic."
"Thank you, master," she said. "Now no barrier will bar my way."
"While the siege may present some difficulties, the Councilor-Generals have provided a guide, and the two of you might reason a point of approach and a method of entry. Though your Alfyrian friend has his uses, leave him under guard, as he will be loath to aid the enemies of his friends."
"What if Inglefras will not deal with this enemy dryad?"
"Then reveal yourself to Khyte, not Inglefras. Here is your guide."
Leitara lifted the tent flap. She had buffed her lacquered armor, changed her cloak, and brought Eurilda's scabbarded sword and enchanted pouch. "Otoka, there is no more time. When we freed your students, and went to take the Alfyrian into custody, he was not in any of the tents."
"You kept Frellyx in a tent?" asked Eurilda. "For all his pretensions to forgotten lore, he proved a competent sorcerer. If you had asked me—if you had trusted me—I could have told you he was dangerous. Now our rope is shorter."
"Next you'll say the fool poisoned me intentionally," said Otoka. "Nonsense. Those who play the fool often are. Will he not head for the Doorway to save his skin?"
"Captain Gitala dispatched soldiers there, as well as patrols to sweep the roads."
"The question is, can this fool skin-change?" asked Otoka. "If so, your soldiers will never find the elf."
"It's best to assume we don't find him," said Eurilda, "and beat him to Wywynanoir."
"It's best to assume he beats us there," said Leitara, "and strategize accordingly."
"As there is no time for strategy, we must proceed by necessity. By strategy, we would backtrack to the catacombs and enter under Wywynanoir's walls, but by necessity, we will take the straightest route and use magic for our egress."
"Surely we can find a single strategem?" grumbled Leitara.
"Making do with what we have is strategic," said Eurilda.
"It's nothing but luck."
"Trusting to luck is a dumb strategy, but strategy nonetheless, and a viable one, luck willing."
"What is luck?" snapped Otoka.
"Existence is not the only measure of reality," quoted Eurilda. "What we cannot touch can be known."
"I was speaking of negative numbers," sighed Otoka. "When your foolhardy plan kills you, I'll take consolation in knowing you remembered my lectures."
"That almost sounds fatherly," smiled Eurilda. "Do not worry, master. My judgment is true, and if I deem it dangerous, we will come back."
"Speaking of bad judgment, your ill-advised belief in luck should be disentangled from another influence that might impair your mission." At Otoka's silent gesture, the geas slipped away, leaving her inmost space devoid of that simulated conscience, and the echo of second guessing was drowned out by an upwell of anxiety and relief. Though she felt lighter, she also felt stripped down, as if this shadow fled with a layer of skin.
"Is this wise?" After using the geas as a crutch of good judgment, Eurilda was unsure if she could trust her own senses for bad or good.
"On such a dangerous mission," said Otoka, "you must look out not for my good, but for your own."
"Never. I won't return without your answer." Eurilda bowed, then waited outside the tent. Though Leitara came out not a minute after, Eurilda wondered whether the Tree-Woman merely observed the proper respects, if Otoka gave her secret instruction, or if they shared a laugh.
"I had a kiuvathi fed and watered," said Leitara.
"Nonsense. We'll run." When Eurilda spoke her lightening glyph, then tapped the Tree-Woman's shoulder, the lieutenant's next step shot her ten feet, to land with an ungainly stagger and windmilling arms as she accustomed herself to having little weight. "You'll get used to it. We'll practice on these wide camp routes."
"Why is this necessary?" asked Leitara, "when we have a perfectly good kiuvathi that needn't relearn how to walk?"
"Kiuvathi can't leap walls, and I wouldn't want to lighten one, for fear that its mighty leap would kill itself and crush its riders. Which brings me to my first suggestion: always land on your feet. Though your head can't take the force of your descent, your legs can. My second is: don't sprint, spring." Eurilda leaped sixty feet off one foot, landed on the other, then, turning to the perimeter, vaulted another three tents.
Leitara's stumbles and laughter made a marked contrast to the taciturn dryad soldiers, who didn't even spare a glance at their unusual locomotion. In sorcery, the lightest touches were the most effective; while they might have flown there, sorcerous flight was draining and plodding compared to the accelerated motion a strong, sure-footed person could achieve with the lightening of their body. Not that they could leap all the way to Wywynanoir, where sentries watching for troops and catapult stones would also sound the alarm for sorcery.
Eurilda stole a look at her new pupil, who she judged less natural than Khyte, but more enthusiastic. When Leitara looked likely to fall with impaling force on a flag pole, she curled around it instead, flinging herself in a different direction, so that the giantess had to change course. Their pace was so rapid that one moment they were in camp, and the next they were in forest, hurdling trees, shrubs, rocks, and streams.