Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [27]
Marissa shook her head in disbelief. This was almost too much for her to handle. She had come to the Red Tree hoping for-what? She didn't even know, but finding herself in the middle of an arcane struggle between the ancient protectors of Rashemen was the farthest thing from her mind. She could almost hear Roberc swearing now, and the thought nearly brought a chuckle to her lips. Marissa clamped down on it fast. This, clearly, was not the time, but what was she to do?
"Why don't you just inform the other hathran of what's happened?" Marissa asked the two witches. "Why do you even need me?"
Tamlith frowned. "We do not know who she is," Tamlith said. "She is strong-and cunning. All of our auguries and oracles have been turned aside by her power. The telthor do not know whom to trust, so we asked for help.
"And you came," Tamlith said, "but we have little time. Though we do not know the traitor's identity, we can feel her power like a canker on the land. She is concentrating her forces in the ruins of Citadel Rashemar. If she unleashes her forces, Rashemen will be divided against itself. Even if the wychlaran manage to win, it won't be long until the wizardlings in Thay smell blood and come raging into Rashemen like a pack of rabid wolves."
Marissa raised a hand to her head, trying to keep the jumble of her thoughts together.
"What can I do?" Marissa asked.
The old witch smiled and drew something from the folds of her robe.
"Take this," Imsha said, indicating a knotted yew limb about Marissa's height, "to the Urlingwood. Stand before the border of that forest and use its power. It will summon the living othlor."
Marissa could only nod her head. "You just said you didn't know who to trust. What if one of the othlor is the traitor?"
"When you have summoned the othlor," Imsha replied, "I will come to them. My power is weakening, for the traitor's corruption taints the very land itself, but if the evil one is among them, I will know. This will expend all of my strength, but at least you will have the wisdom and power of the Wise Ones to guide you further."
"What of my companions?" asked Marissa.
The question drew a smile from Tamlith. "They will be your compass and your strength," the young witch replied. "Keep them close to you, especially the one who is a twisted branch. He will need tending, but there is much power in him."
"Who-" Marissa started to ask but stopped as Imsha raised a weathered hand.
"I am sorry, little tiger," the old woman said, "but we must leave you." As she said this, a thin mist began to rise, turning the darkness into a soft blanket of gray. "Will you help us in Rashemen's time of need?" she asked.
The druid looked at both telthor, watching the outlines of their bodies flicker and fade in the shifting mist. There was so much she didn't understand; so much she needed to understand. Her duty, however, remained clear. Marissa offered a quick prayer to Rillifane Rallathil then spoke her answer.
"I will help you," she declared.
Both witches bowed low to her.
"Then farewell, Marissa Goldenthorn, daughter of Rillifane, servant of nature, and sister of our heart. You have answered the land's need, and we are grateful," Imsha said.
The world shifted and darkness returned.
"Farewell, sister," she heard Tamlith say, as if from across a great distance. "Perhaps we shall meet again one day."
Then she heard no more.
* * * * *
Taen woke with a start. Bright sunlight poured into his eyes, burning away the distant memory of a dream-of two mysterious women whispering wisdom into his ear. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and cursed at his own lack of discipline. He'd fallen asleep.
Asleep! After he'd vowed to keep watch over Marissa through the night.
A shadow fell over the half-elf, and he nearly cried out in surprise.
"Wake the others, Taenaran," Marissa said