Part 15 (1/2)

”Didn't you set a couple of your plays in forests just like this?” Saint-Germain asked lightly.

”Only the comedies,” William Shakespeare said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, ”and my forests were populated by gentler creatures; this is an evil place.”

Palamedes stopped suddenly and both Francis and William b.u.mped into him. ”Will you two be quiet?” he whispered. ”You're making as much noise as a herd of elephants. And trust me, there are certain things in this forest that even I do not want to wake up.”

”It makes no odds,” Saint-Germain murmured. ”I'm sure they know we're here. They knew from the moment we left the car.”

”Oh, they know we're here. We're being followed,” Shakespeare added.

The two immortals turned to look at him. Although the forest was pitch black, their enhanced senses allowed them to see in surprising detail, though without color. Palamedes looked at Saint-Germain, who shook his head slightly; neither had been aware that they were being followed.

Shakespeare pushed his large gla.s.ses up his nose with his forefinger and smiled, quickly covering his teeth with his hand. ”Right now, we are being observed by a forest spirit, female, short, dark-skinned, pretty, wearing an outfit which I presume is colored Lincoln green.”

”Impressive,” Palamedes said. ”How do you know all this...,” he began, and then stopped. ”She's standing behind us, isn't she?” he asked in Latin.

The Bard nodded.

”And she's not alone, is she?” Palamedes continued in the same language, still looking at Shakespeare.

”She's not,” the Bard agreed.

Saint-Germain slowly turned to look over the knight's shoulder.

”I'll wager they're armed with bows,” Palamedes continued.

”Bows and spears,” Saint-Germain corrected.

The knight turned to face the welcoming committee. Their patterned clothing was the perfect camouflage, so it took a moment to pick out the dozen women scattered among the trees-he guessed that there were probably a dozen more he could not see. They were short and slender, with limbs a little too long, eyes wide and slanted, mouths thin horizontal lines across their faces. He recognized them as dryads, forest spirits.

One, a little taller than the rest, stepped forward. She was holding a short curved bow, a black-headed arrow already fitted to the string. ”Identify yourselves.” Her voice sounded like the whisper of leaves.

Palamedes bowed to the creature. ”Merry meet,” he said, using the traditional greeting. ”I've not seen you before,” he added.

”We're new.”

The knight straightened. ”And with a charming accent too. Naxos... no, Karpathos. So what are Greek dryads doing in an English forest?”

”He called us.”

There was a flicker of movement behind the dryad, and she stepped aside as a tall, extraordinarily thin figure appeared. The face was that of a beautiful woman, but her body looked like it had been carved from the trunk of a tree. Arms that ended in twiglike fingers reached the ground, and knotted roots took the place of toes.

Palamedes turned, on the pretext of introducing the newcomer. ”Don't look into her eyes,” he whispered urgently. ”Gentlemen, it is my honor to introduce you to Mistress Ptelea.” He turned back to the creature and bowed deeply. ”It is always a pleasure to meet you,” he said, speaking in the language of his youth.

”Sir Knight.” Ptelea came forward to stand before the immortal.

Palamedes kept his head bent, avoiding all eye contact. If he looked into her eyes, he would instantly fall under her spell. Ptelea was a hamadryad. The knight was unsure whether she was the spirit of an elm tree or an actual tree given life, and while she had always been courteous and polite to him, he knew how deadly hamadryads were. ”I am here to see my master,” Palamedes said, fixing his gaze on the point of her chin.

”The Green Man is expecting you,” she said. She raised her head to look at Shakespeare and Saint-Germain and they both quickly bowed. ”Does he know you are bringing company?”

The knight nodded. ”I told him that I wish to pet.i.tion a favor.”

The hamadryad turned away and the knight fell into step behind her, taking care not to trip on the cloak of elm leaves that swept along the ground. ”The dryads are new,” he said lightly. ”I've not seen them before.”

”He has called together the forest and tree spirits from all across this Shadowrealm,” the hamadryad said, leading them deeper into Sherwood Forest. ”They have been gathering for months.”

Palamedes nodded. ”I wondered why I had not heard from him in such a long time. I had heard rumors that he was spending a lot of time in the Shadowrealms.”

Ptelea bowed respectfully as they pa.s.sed an ancient oak tree, and for an instant the hint of a beautiful female face appeared in the wood; then it sank back again, only the huge golden eyes remaining on the tree trunk, watching them.

Shakespeare and Saint-Germain looked at one another but said nothing. It took an enormous effort of will not to stare at the tree.

”A sister?” Palamedes asked.

”Balanos,” she said.

Palamedes nodded. He knew Balanos was the hamadryad of the oak, but he'd never seen her in Sherwood Forest before.

”Are all the forest spirits here?” Shakespeare asked. ”Dryads, hamadryads, wood nymphs...? I would very much like to see them.”

”They are all here,” Ptelea whispered.

”Why?” Palamedes wondered. He understood that the forest spirits were solitary creatures, living in isolated forests and woods across the world.

When Ptelea spoke, the knight could hear a thread of excitement in her voice. ”The Green Man has spent the last five centuries re-creating his favorite Shadowrealm, the Grove of Eridhu. It will be ready soon,” she added, ”and then he will lead us away from this foul and poisoned place and return us to a world of trees.”

Looking at the Bard, the knight raised his eyebrows in a question.

”And what will happen to this world without the Green Man?” Shakespeare asked.

The hamadryad waved her long arms dismissively. ”It is not our concern.” Her head turned completely around, with the sound of cracking wood, and all three immortals quickly looked away from her face. ”I have heard that this Shadowrealm will soon return to its Elder masters. We do not want to be here when that happens.”

”Where did you hear that?” Palamedes demanded.

”I told them.” The voice that spoke was male: slow and deep, it vibrated up through the ground, s.h.i.+vering in the air, setting all the leaves trembling.

Ptelea pulled her leafy cloak around her and stepped aside. Pressing herself against an elm tree, she sank into it. For a moment her beautiful face lingered on the bark of the tree; then she closed her eyes and vanished.

The hamadryad had led the three immortals to a clearing in the very heart of the forest. The trees here were gnarled and twisted with age. Oak and chestnut, elm, ash, hawthorn and apple crowded together, all draped with ivy. Holly bushes with unseasonable ripe red berries cl.u.s.tered around the base of the trees, and white pearls of mistletoe speckled the boughs. From a mound in the center of the clearing rose a crude pillar of white stone, every inch of which was covered with a pattern of coiled spirals and intricate whorls.

”This world is coming to an end.” For a moment it sounded as if the voice were coming from the stone. ”And I do not want my creations here when that happens.”

”You could stay and fight,” Palamedes said, stepping into the circle of trees and approaching the stone. ”You did that before.”

”And we lost,” the booming male voice said.

The figure that stepped out from behind the pillar was tall and slender, draped in a long white hooded robe patterned with metallic silver leaves. A fantastically ornate silver mask completely covered his face and head. It depicted the face of a young man peering out from a profusion of foliage that flared and extended behind the edges of the mask, making the figure's head seem enormous. Each leaf had been etched in incredible detail, right down to the veins and threads running through them.