The Chronicles of Nir

5 | Rollin' Down the River

Gazing through the mental link he shared with Tallon, Ben watched, entranced, as Erianthus revealed the fascinating hidden room filled with arcane instruments. When the strange elf set out his tray of little knives in preparation for the actual operation, however, a queasy feeling struck Ben's stomach, and he withdrew, severing the connection. He then entertained himself by inspecting his immediate surroundings more closely, though he was careful not to touch anything for fear of breaking it.

In the others' absence, Sprout emerged from Ben's hair and jumped from his shoulder to a shelf, on which, among other things, sat a bowl of polished stones, a vase full of feathers, and the skulls of several animals arranged by size. Ben recognized the smallest as a squirrel and the largest as a bear. While Sprout poked about among the elf's decor, Scamp curled up atop a pillow, as if to prove that she, at least, was well-behaved.

When the sproutling climbed into the jaws of a wolf skull, examining the teeth with bright-eyed curiosity, Ben opened his mouth to remind it to be careful when the bark of a living wolf reached his ears.

It was Fann, and although some distance off, the sound carried hints of aggression and alarm, and ended with a sharp yelp.

Fann? Ben reached out along their link, but only silence answered him.

He glanced uneasily at the stairs leading down to Erianthus' laboratory. Not wanting to interrupt what might be a delicate operation, or to take Tallon's attention away from Maisie, he decided to investigate alone.

Lifting the trapdoor, he descended the rope ladder and reached the ground. Sprout skittered after him, leaping from the ladder to his hair. To Ben's surprise, Scamp came as well, alighting on his shoulder with a, 'Well, if you must look for trouble,' sort of air.

After checking on Starlight, who nickered nervously as she sniffed the air, Ben started off in the direction from which he'd heard Fann.

He hadn't gone far when gruff voices broke the peace of Erianthus' woods. Ducking behind a thicket, he peered into a clearing and felt his heart drop at the sight of three horribly familiar rough men dressed in buckskin surrounding Fann's unmoving form. The fourth was nowhere to be seen.

"Never seen 'un this big," said the man with a scraggly red beard that Ben remembered as Len. "Pelt'll fetch a good price."

He drew a knife. Ben nearly bolted from his hiding place, but a second man—the one with the refined voice and who seemed to be in charge—spoke first.

"Put that away," he commanded, and bent to pluck a long dart from Fann's flank. "Her ladyship will want him alive for the games. He'll sleep for a day, at least; plenty of time for us to get back to the trading post. We're still in the witch's woods, remember. Best not linger."

After turning his head from left to right as the others made signs to ward off evil, the man knelt and lifted Fann, slinging him over his shoulder.

Not knowing what to do, but desperate to stop them, Ben sprang into action. Reaching for his magic, he opened himself to the living energy of the forest and summoned it forth.

A mass of thorny vines erupted from the earth. The men screamed in pain as the writhing growth swiftly entangled their legs, tripping and enmeshing them in a living snare. Stepping forth, Ben approached. Sheer terror shone in the men's eyes.

The forest's rage filled him, and green fire licked up and down his arms. He abhorred violence, but these bandits were far from innocent, and they would never harm another beast if he could help it.

Ben raised his hands; magic hummed in his veins. He was the forest, and the forest would destroy them.

A sharp pain struck the side of his neck, breaking his concentration. He slapped a hand to the spot and pulled a needle-sharp dart from his skin. Blood stained his fingertips. He stared at it, not quite comprehending, and the world tipped to the side.