Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [109]
Tendays had turned into months as winter vented its fury upon the land and the first bright moments of spring burst forth from the snow-covered earth. Still, Taenaran had stayed within the thickly forested Urling, not really sure what held him there, and Borovazk and the halfling remained with him. They drank and diced, hunted and fought as friends will, but by some unspoken agreement they stayed by Taenaran's side.
Finally, as the snow cover began to melt in earnest, Mahara, leader of the wychlaran, had approached Taenaran with the two fragments of wood that were all that remained of the Staff of the Red Tree.
"Please pardon my interruption," she had said softly. "You and your companions are welcome to remain in the Urlingwood for as long as you like. It is the least of the kindnesses we can offer you. Deep though I know your grief to be," she had continued, "I was wondering if you would do us one last favor?"
There was little Taenaran could have said at that moment, so conflicted was his heart. Instead, he had simply nodded his head.
"We are humbled once again by your kindness," Mahara had replied and had reached forward, offering the burned wooden fragments to Taenaran. He had reached out gingerly, as if the splintered ends would blister his fingers. He had tried not to think of Marissa as he held the ends in his hands.
"These fragments must be returned to the Red Tree," the witch had continued. "Normally one of the hathran would make the journey. However," Mahara had paused for just a moment, "the telthor have asked specifically for you to return the remains of the staff."
So Taenaran now stood in the center of the Red Vale, with the elemental tree looming ahead of him-pushed once again on a quest not of his choosing. He drew in a deep breath then sighed it out before turning to his companions.
"Well, my friends," he said, "thank you for making this journey with me, but I would ask that you let me carry the fragments to the Red Tree by myself."
The half-elf could see Roberc's frown deepen. Both the grizzled halfling and the hulking Rashemi ranger exchanged a look, but both ultimately nodded their agreement.
"Well, you are pretty damn close to the end of the journey, so I suppose we can let you go," the halfling began with a throaty chuckle. "Not even you could mess this up, Taen!"
The chuckle became a hearty laugh as Borovazk slapped the bladesinger's back with a meaty hand. Despite the grief and sadness of the past few months, Taenaran felt a smile begin to creep upon his face.
"I'll shout if I get into any trouble," he replied good naturedly then set off down the path.
Mirth and good humor vanished quickly as he drew nearer to the Red Tree. Its ancient profile interrupted the broad swath of piercing blue sky and warm spring sunlight, brooding over the surrounding landscape like some elemental giant. Taenaran could feel its power emanating from each branch and leaf tip, a deep strength that flowed from its ancient roots, tapping into a magic deeper than any he had ever experienced. It was as if the mystical Red Tree were somehow more "real" than anything else around it-including him.
Long, thick branches blew softly in the wind, enveloping him in its vernal embrace as he walked beneath the Red Tree's cool shadows. A surge of anger crested through him, and it was all he could do to keep the memory of Marissa kneeling beneath the Red Tree from overwhelming him. Taenaran hated this land, loathed every mile of its rugged landscape, for what it had taken away from him, yet he also loved Rashemen fiercely, with a strength that nearly stole his breath away. This land and its people had given him something he had never hoped to receive-himself.
Tears ran down his face as he knelt finally beneath the boughs of the Red Tree and laid the remains