SPIRIT WALKER

Chapter 13: The Dryad's Return

As Tull and Phylomon talked, Phylomon saw the mayor's Dryad step from under the trees at the edge of the woods. She was small, almost boyish in figure, wearing a dress of emerald green and carrying a long knife in one hand. She watched them for a moment, then ran through the grass to Phylomon. Grasshoppers jumped from her path.

"Tchavs? Food?" she asked in Pwi.

The child's green eyes were wide with fear, wild with hunger, yet Phylomon could see the beauty she'd become. She reminded him of Saita, a Dryad he'd loved when he was young. He'd met the creature in the mountains during her Time of Devotion, and was unable to resist the aphrodisiac perfume of her body during her mating frenzy. She had been voluptuous, and Phylomon could not imagine Saita ever having been anything like this child—small, boyish. He reached into his traveling pack for a sack of baked and buttered hazelnuts.

"Don't feed her!" Tull warned. "She might follow us."

"I will only follow you to the White Mountains, where I hope-with-painful-hope to find the aspen forests. I can pay for the food!" the Dryad said. Her voice was as soft and musical as the tinkling of small bells. Phylomon had to strain to understand her.

"What is your name, child?" Phylomon asked.

"Tirilee."

"And what coin will you pay for the food?"

"Information," she offered. "Two men followed from town. They circled you and went on ahead. They've got a gun, a big heavy one. It takes both of them to carry it. They tried hard to make sure you would not see them, and they talked of meeting up with others ahead."

It was much as he had expected she would offer. Dryads were notoriously hard to spot, yet they had tremendously keen senses. Phylomon bent his head in thought. "So . . . it does not sound as if they came to return our stolen property."

The Dryad smiled up at him. The mottled coloring of her silver skin gave her face an elongated look. The feral gleam in her eye was uncommon for such a child.

"Do you think they'll attack?" Tull asked Phylomon.

"I'm certain," Phylomon said. "I haven't cleaned the slavers out of your town yet. By executing a few, I earned their resentment. By flashing a fortune in gems before their eyes, I stirred their greed." Phylomon warned. "I certainly don't think that they will attack so near Smilodon Bay. The evidence would be too easily discovered. They'll wait a few days, until we get into the Rough, beyond Gate of the Gods.

"Tell me," Phylomon said to the girl, "Do you know the men you saw?"

"The mayor's brothers," Tirilee answered. "The stupid one, and the longhair."

"Those aren't slavers," Tull said in surprise. "She's talking about Hardy. He's a friend of mine—a simpleminded man. And his brother Saffrey is—"

"Willing to commit murder," Phylomon said. "It sounds as if the brothers were close—if you made an enemy of one, you made enemies of them all."

Tull nodded. "That's the way of it."

"You call Hardy your friend," Phylomon said, "yet in his eagerness to avenge his brothers, he plans to kill you and your wife. Somewhere ahead, they will point that gun at us, and they won't kill me and leave witnesses behind. I'd choose my friends more carefully from now on, if I were you."

Phylomon handed the Dryad the nuts, took some jerky from his pack. "There will be more when you need it, child," he said. "Keep an eye out for us, and you shall be well rewarded."

She flashed a feral smile. Some people thought that Dryads were gentle creatures. Phylomon knew better. This girl would enjoy seeing the slavers die.