The Forest of Peldain

“I marvel that you are able to face me, after your behavior,” Vorduthe said. “One thing baffles me. No travelers passed us on the way here. We watched you all the time. Yet you still managed to give warning of our approach.”

“Cog Wood,” Octrago supplied curtly. “I told you it could sense, even think after a fashion. Did you not notice how I tarried there? I wanted the wood to convey our perturbing presence to one of Mistirea’s sensitives here in Lakeside. From then on our movements were followed.” He smiled. “Our land has held a number of surprises for you. And now, my lord, it seems I must explain what really has been happening since the day I landed in Arelia.”

Chapter Twelve

“The Forest of Peldain has existed for as long as anyone can remember, and so have the bountiful trees which provide us with all our needs.”

Prince Askon Octrago filled a beaker with a light yellow liquid poured from a green gourd. He had changed his apparel and wore garments seemingly made of oversized flower petals of various colors, though on closer inspection the material was substantial enough. He slaked his thirst, filled the beaker again and handed it to Vorduthe to drink.

They were in a small room somewhere in the palace. Vorduthe sat in a wooden chair, watched over by two guards. On one side of a table Octrago sat, relaxed and casual. On the other sat Mistirea.

Vorduthe did not know where his men had been taken. But Mistirea, unexpectedly his ally, had extracted a promise from King Kerenei that they would not be harmed—yet.

“You can see why we, at least, never considered the forest an enemy,” Octrago went on. “It was—and is—our defense against invasion from islands we vaguely knew lie across the sea. We have lived safely for generation after generation, inside that impenetrable coastal barrier.

“The forest, however, is ferocious in more ways than one. It has a prodigious capacity for change. It can develop new plants, new weapons, more swiftly than you could believe. And if left to itself it would spread to cover the whole island, extinguishing all other life.”

While Octrago spoke, Mistirea’s expression became more gloomy and he lowered his head. Octrago glanced at him before continuing.

“That has not happened because the forest has always been kept under control. I have told you something of the cult of the lake. You imagined that this concerned ceremonies which had to be performed if a superstitious populace was not to become agitated. Not so. The duties of the cult are real. That lake is no ordinary lake. It is not water. It is a spiritual presence. In its depths, the spirit of the forest truly dwells.

“To control the forest by communing with this spirit is the function of the High Priest. Only a rare individual can do this, and he is selected for training early in life. Yet this is the duty that High Priest Mistirea chose to betray!”

Octrago’s voice became loud and angry. He cast flashing glances at Mistirea. “He ceased to dive into the lake or to exert himself in any way. Instead he withdrew to the mountain fastness with the larger part of his servitors, offering no explanation. Since his departure the forest has turned rogue. It is spreading and eventually will engulf all Peldain. Even the artifact trees are beginning to turn savage and mutate into wild forms—does this tale not prick your conscience, High Priest?”

Mistirea seemed close to weeping. He shook his head, not in answer but with an air of misery.

“Tell your tale, Prince Askon,” he mumbled.

“I shall.” Octrago turned back to Vorduthe, with a sour look. “If only there had been another able to act as High Priest all would have been well. But none of the remaining sensitives were able to appease the spirit in the lake—not even the one Mistirea was supposed to have been training as his successor. Two sensitives drowned trying.

“All appeals to Mistirea to return were ignored. Three times we tried to take the fortress by assault, with considerable loss of life. We began to think our ancient, beautiful land was doomed.

“Finally I decided upon a truly desperate enterprise. Peldain disposes itself thus: the eastern limb is all forest, which also spreads a coastal strip to north and south one hundred leevers deep on average.”

“You told us thirty to forty leevers, and no more than twenty where we were to cross!” Vorduthe interjected indignantly.