The Forest of Peldain

Beyond reach of the gushes of liquid fire, the whole orchard was discharging its acid in an orgasmic frenzy. The mind-deluding perfume, the acrid vapors, the smell of oil and smoke, all mingled to concoct a nauseating stench.

After burning a path nearly a leever long, they broke through to more open ground. Vorduthe proceeded another leever, then consulted Octrago again.

“Is there any point in continuing farther today? The light is fading, and the men need rest.”

Even the Peldainian looked tired. “Probably not,” he said. “This spot will do. Make camp here.”

As the barrier went up, and the covering net was fitted, it became pitifully obvious how much Vorduthe’s army had shrunk. Few trees needed felling: the camp area was far smaller than the previous night’s.

Neither would the coming hours be plagued by the intermittent explosions of men into whose bodies dart-thorns had entered. All such men had been slain, frequently in the face of their frantic protests.

Most of the force, after devouring a hastily prepared meal, fell into an exhausted sleep, oblivious even of the pressings of the forest against the barriers. Vorduthe ordered the guard shifts to be changed every hour; any longer, he feared, and the sentinels might not be able to stay awake.

As before, he sent Lord Korbar to tour the camp and make a count of losses. When he returned with his report he was glowering. He cast an accusing finger at Octrago.

“This man has deceived us, misled us—guided us into our own destruction!” he fumed. “Five hundred men, my lord—that is about what we have now!”

Octrago returned to Vorduthe. “This man’s loyalty to King Krassos is touching, my lord,” he said, “but I grow tired of his calumnies. You must tell him to forebear.”

“He has lied to us!” Korbar insisted. “His tale falls to pieces in the light of what we have suffered! If he truly came to sea by this route, then he must have set out with a body of men and equipment at least as large as ours. Why, then, did he have to come at all? He already had the army he claims he needs!”

Korbar was in a fury. Vorduthe could see that only the iron discipline of an Arelian nobleman was preventing him from falling on Octrago’s throat, so convinced was he of his treachery.

“Well, what do you say to that?” Vorduthe asked Octrago.

Octrago rose. Vorduthe was suddenly struck by his regal appearance. It was easy to imagine him wearing the pearled shoulder-plates that were the insignia of the kings of the Hundred Islands.

“Believe what you will,” Octrago said superciliously. “What difference does it make? I undertook to guide you through the most deadly place in the whole world, and that is what I am doing. Kill me if you think it will improve your situation. None of us can tell if he will live through another day in any case.”

He strode from the campfire, spurning the bowl of food that was about to be handed to him. Korbar fell silent. For all his anger, he saw the logic of Octrago’s words as well as anyone.

As for Vorduthe, he suddenly realized that he had, to some extent at least, fallen under the spell of this putative king of Peldain. The ground of reality had been cut from under him. Only this peculiar foreigner sustained him, with promises that mostly, it seemed, were lies.

Chapter Six

Next morning Vorduthe assembled a force that, if still haggard, was less bleary-eyed than before. Yet when he came to deliver his exhortation, and demanded the same courage in the day’s march that had been shown already, few eyes met his.

There would be mutiny, he suspected, but for the knowledge that there could be no turning back.

He took Octrago and Korbar to one side as the wagons were being lined up, and spoke bluntly. “You have not been honest with us,” he said to Octrago. “That is evident to me as well as to Lord Korbar. You claimed the forest was little more than twenty leevers deep at this point, yet by my estimate we have traveled thirty leevers already. Tell me now, without prevarication, how much farther we have to go.”

“We may have marched thirty leevers, but not in a straight line,” Octrago responded smoothly. “To avoid various dangers I was obliged to divert us hither and thither. In this forest you would not be able to keep track of every change in direction, or know where we were headed. As the seabird flies, we have not progressed more than fifteen leevers.”

“Then you still say no more than five leevers separates us from safety?”

“Perhaps.”

“Nothing but deceit and prevarication!” Lord Korbar burst out, exasperated. “How can you listen to this man, my lord? For all he may know, the forest covers the whole of Peldain, as our forefathers have always believed! I for one have no hope in a kingdom of Peldain—or that he is any kind of king, either.”

“That is only your assumption, Korbar.”

“Think, my lord. Could a party only fifty strong, without fire engines, have made the journey we have made? It is preposterous. Yet that is what Octrago’s story requires.”