Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [49]
Flint’s face flushed in pleasure. He tugged at his beard, then cleared his throat gruffly. “Yes, well, you were always sentimental. Come along. We’re wasting time. I want to get through this confounded forest as fast as possible.” Then he muttered, “Just glad it’s daylight.”
10
Darken Wood.
The dead walk. Raistlin’s magic.
The only thing Tanis felt on entering the forest was relief at being out of the glare of the autumn sun. The half-elf recalled all the legends he had heard about Darken Wood—stories of ghosts told around the fire at night—and he kept in mind Raistlin’s foreboding. But all Tanis felt was that the forest was so much more alive than any other he had ever entered.
There was no deathly hush as they had experienced earlier. Small animals chattered in the brush. Birds fluttered in the high branches above them. Insects with gaily colored wings flitted past. Leaves rustled and stirred, flowers swayed though no breeze touched them—as if the plants reveled in being alive.
All of the companions entered the forest with their hands on their weapons, wary and watchful and distrustful. After a time of trying to avoid making leaves crunch, Tas said it seemed “kind of silly,” and they relaxed—all except Raistlin.
They walked for about two hours, traveling at a smooth but rapid easy pace along a smooth and clear trail. Shadows lengthened as the sun made its downward slide. Tanis felt at peace in this forest. He had no fear that the awful, winged creatures could follow them here. Evil seemed out of place, unless, as Raistlin said, one brought one’s own evil into the wood. Tanis looked at the mage. Raistlin walked alone, his head bowed. The shadows of the forest trees seemed to gather thickly around the young mage. Tanis shivered and realized that the air was turning cool as the sun dropped below the treetops. It was time to begin thinking about making camp for the night.
Tanis pulled out Tasslehoff’s map to study it once more before the light faded. The map was of elven design and written across the forest in flowing script were the words “Darken Wood.” But the woods themselves were only vaguely outlined, and Tanis couldn’t be certain if the words pertained to this forest or one farther south. Raistlin must be wrong, Tanis decided—this can’t be Darken Wood. Or, if so, its evil was simply a product of the mage’s imagination. They walked on.
Soon it was twilight, that time of evening when the dying light makes everything most vivid and distinct. The companions began to lag. Raistlin limped, and his breath came in wheezing gasps. Sturm’s face turned ashen. The half-elf was just about to call a halt for the night when—as if anticipating his wishes—the trail led them right to a large, green glade. Clear water bubbled up from underground and trickled down smooth rocks to form a shallow brook. The glade was blanketed with thick, inviting grass; tall trees stood guard duty on the edges. As they saw the glade, the sun’s light reddened, then faded, and the misty shades of night crept around the trees.
“Do not leave the path,” Raistlin intoned as his companions started to enter the glade.
Tanis sighed. “Raistlin,” he said patiently—“we’ll be all right. The path is in plain sight, not ten feet away. Come on. You’ve got to rest. We all do. Look”—Tanis held out the map—“I don’t think this is Darken Wood. According to this—”
Raistlin ignored the map with disdain. The rest of the companions ignored the mage and, moving off the path, began setting up camp. Sturm sank down against a tree, his eyes closed in pain, while Caramon stared at the smaller, fleeting shadows with a hungry eye. At a signal from Caramon, Tasslehoff slipped off into the forest after firewood.
Watching them, the mage’s face twisted in a sardonic smile. “You are all fools. This is Darken Wood, as you will see before the night is ended.” He shrugged.