And the canes grew. Taller, thicker, but not any closer to them. The opening in the barrier closed. No easy way in, but no way out.
“Oh, good work,” Lorzok said.
“A blackberry hell a hundred feet in any direction is as good a shelter as we’ll get,” Saeldian said. “We have however long it takes—”
A howl, enraged.
“For that,” Saeldian finished. “If you can’t pass through the tree, do we have enough firepower to stop—”
“Maybe for the monster, but not for her,” Kell said. “We won’t have anything left if we succeed.”
“I have an idea,” Lorzok said. “But I need time.”
“You have however long it takes them to get through,” Saeldian said. “So hurry.”
Lorzok knelt beforethe oak’s massive trunk, one hand resting on the bark, the other holding his staff. Timtim scrambled out of his sling and gently herded Jubilee into hopping onto the back of his head and gripping his horn with a toad’s tiny fingers. Behind him, whatever monsters the witch had sent were getting angrier. Nearer to him, Saeldian quietly spoke the Sylvan invocation they’d used at the Tarm job.
Osalor, my protector, I am awed by the gift of the power of your splendor in exchange for my heart—
Kell went cold as he heard the words. Power in exchange for Saeldian’s heart?
—but I ask for the touch of your gift again today. Your might preserves me, your devoted, and I use it to further my promise to you, with gratitude.Recited, not spoken. Saeldian might not know what they were saying.
He hated it. It sounded like a prayer, as if Osalor were a god. It ended in thanks that bound Saeldian’s obligation to their patron more tightly than ever. How many threads of thanks had they tied themselves with over all the years of their service?
No time for that now. He moved around Timtim and Jubilee—how were they going to fix Jubilee? It might simply wear off, but when? An hour? A day? A year?
Whatever Lorzok was doing, he couldn’t help. Kell stood next to Saeldian and touched their shoulder, tapping a rhythm against the thin skin over the bone.
“A little luck?” they asked.
“Can’t hurt.”
“I think I’ll need it.”
The oak boughs above them shook. “What is wrong with my grove? Druid? What have you done?”
Kell went still.
“We are running from danger,” Lorzok said. “Our foe made a wall of blackberry canes around your grove to trap us. I would ask for your aid to escape.”
“Something out there is ripping up the ground,” the oak said, and her boughs shook in outrage. “Saplings and sprouts cry out, even if they are from lesser plants, not so magnificent as I. It must stop!”
“They are trying to break through, great venerable lady, to get to us.”
“What business is that of mine?” the oak asked.
Before Lorzok could answer, the canes heaved violently, and the oak shouted in fury.
“Those could be my sprouts! My own acorns, torn from the loam!”
“We need help to escape,” Lorzok said patiently. “There is a way to open a gate through you to another tree I know, in a domain connected to Eightbridge, that was once—”
“Menoriath,” the oak finished. “I know the story, root and branch. A kingdom fallen, and rightly so, for what could flourish without good earth beneath it? Pure arrogance.”
“Quite so,” Lorzok said. “They should have remembered your wisdom. But we must return. I know the way, but I do not have the power unless you lend me yours.”
A scream from many throats. Too close. A smell like old blood, dead flesh…flies.
