1 Eleint, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR)

Parnast, Weathercote Wood

He can scream himself blue before I let him in, Rozt'a had sworn last night before Tiep left the rented room.

She'd been even more emphatic after midnight when he'd returned from a tryst with Manya.

No way, she'd growled as she'd usurped Dru's place at the threshold. No way beneath the sun or stars that I'm doing anything on a dog-faced goblin's say-so. I'll show him the flat of my sword first.

Tiep had been in absolute agreement. He'd gone to sleep confident that there was no chance whatsoever that he was going off on some early-morning hike into a forest that Manya swore was home to dire and magical creatures. So why was he trudging through dead leaves and treacherous roots behind Druhallen, Galimer, and the dog-faced goblin, with Rozt'a bringing up the rear?

Because Rozt'a had had a dream, that's why. The most reliable, least superstitious among his adults had had a dream in which she met a tall, pale-skinned woman with white-and-brown striped hair and the woman—Lady Mantis—had whispered: I'm waiting for you. Come quickly.

Rozt'a had awakened them all and shared her dream before it was cold in her memory. Then she announced, We're taking Sheemzher's offer. We're going into Weathercote Wood to meet with Lady Wyndyfarh.

Suddenly both the goblin and the wizard-lady had had real names again and Tiep hadn't needed lamplight to see the determined look on his foster-mother's face. Galimer was shrewd and Druhallen could be downright scary when he was casting a spell, but Rozt'a was the warrior among them, the brawler who backed up her words with her body. When she lowered her voice and her eyebrows, you knew you were in for a fight.

Rozt'a had pitched her voice so low that Tiep had known for certain that her eyes had disappeared.

He'd lain very still then, praying to Tymora, the notoriously fickle goddess of luck, that one of his foster-fathers would challenge Rozt'a's declaration. Tiep thought Tymora was on his side when Galimer demurred, saying he had merchants to meet and arrangements to make, if they were going to get out of Parnast without paying court to Amarandaris. Tiep thought that was reason enough to stay out of the woods, but Rozt'a disagreed.

One day. One day, that's all I'm asking. The rest of our time belongs to you—

When Galimer fell silent, Tiep had pinned his hopes on Druhallen. Rozt'a tended to back down from confrontations with Dru, but Dru said he'd take a walk in Weathercote Wood with Rozt'a, with or without the goblin, and regardless of the path or the light. What he'd said didn't make sense, but nobody argued with Druhallen and Rozt'a.

When dawn came and brought the goblin with it, Tiep had pretended that he wasn't awake. He'd hoped that Galimer would stay behind with him. It wasn't fair, but the desert trader would give gold-haired Galimer a better price for the carved boxes than he'd give a mongrel like Tiep. But his fantasies of profit had suffered total defeat when the goblin announced that he'd lead them all to his lady's glade or he'd lead none of them.

No problem, Galimer had said cheerfully. We'll go with you, Roz—as long as we're back tomorrow. We can be back by then, can't we?—Good. Give me a few moments at the charterhouse. I'll be back before you get the youngster woken up.

Tiep had clenched his fists beneath his pillow then and he clenched them behind his back now. When they'd given him a partner's share this spring they said his opinion mattered, not as much as theirs, but enough so he'd no longer feel like a child tagging along behind his parents. Tiep had never had the luxury of parents. He'd been making his own decisions as long as he could remember—including the one that took him to the Berdusk temple when he'd heard that a sick lady and her moon-eyed husband were mourning an unborn child and likely to adopt an orphan if an orphan presented himself.

Dru and Galimer were always talking about how Ansoain had died on the Vilhon Reach and Rozt'a described busting her captain's face as if nobody had ever stood up for themselves before. Well, Galimer had been full-grown when his mother died and busting someone's face wasn't worth mentioning unless that someone was twice as tall as you were and four times as heavy. None of Tiep's adults understood that he was older than all of them together. Lately, they'd been whispering about cutting him loose because his notion of risky was bolder than theirs. Maybe he should just leave before they got the chance to slam the door.

Maybe he should have left before they started hiking through Weathercote Wood.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they'd been riding. Tiep was used to being astride all day and each of their horses was a sensible creature that took care of itself and its rider on the roughest road. But, no—the dog-face said horses weren't allowed on the Weathercote paths and that was that. Horses had four legs, one at each corner. When a walking horse stumbled, it still had three feet left on the ground to keep it from going splat! in the leaves. People had two legs and when people got tripped up by roots lurking beneath the leaves, people went down.

Tiep had fallen twice already when he felt his toes catch beneath another root. Flailing like a tethered hawk, he managed to land on his rump instead of his face.

Rozt'a offered her hand. "It's your own fault. You insist on scuffling your feet. Pay attention and you'll stay upright."

Tiep accepted the boost, rejected the advice. "I am paying attention," he insisted, testing his abused ankle. It was sore but held his weight. "That's the whole problem. We're being watched. The trees are staring at us. I'm about ready to jump out of my skin. We should hie ourselves back to Parnast before it's too late."

She gave him a lethal look. "Don't start with me. You can spend tomorrow with Manya and tell her how brave you were in Weathercote, but until then, don't carp about shadows. Quit being a sulky brat and try to enjoy this. Look over there—have you ever seen a more beautiful tree?"

Tiep had never paid much attention to trees. They were all green in summer and a few stayed green in winter. They made shade when they were growing and fire when they weren't. What more did he need to know? But it was wiser to sight down Rozt'a's arm than to argue with her. His eyes came to rest on a tree that was shorter than its neighbors and speckled with sky-blue flowers, each about the size of his open hand. For a tree, he supposed that it was beautiful. Beyond doubt, he'd never seen another remotely similar and mentioned this to Rozt'a.

"There's magic here," his foster mother explained with exaggerated patience.

"That's not a good thing, Rozt'a, not for the likes of you and me. Last night, I told you what the Parnasters say about this place: folks go in but they don't come out, sometimes for years, sometimes never."

Rozt'a scowled. "I'm sure you didn't say that."

"You weren't listening," Tiep lied. "Tymora's tears! I never thought you'd be the one to cave in. You were going to smack the dog-face up if he showed up, remember?"

"I had a dream—more than a dream. I saw her ... I didn't cave in, Tiep. I'm getting closer to something I never thought I'd find in this life."

Before Tiep could ask what that might be, they both became aware of the goblin hurrying toward them.

"Call out if you need to rest," Sheemzher said, as if it were perfectly normal for a goblin to give orders to humans.

Sheemzher had added a thrusting spear to his blue and green costume. The weapon was a bit longer than the goblin was tall and its gnarled shaft had been oiled so much that the wood was glistening black. Beads, tattered feathers, and strips of fur hung from the cording that lashed the flint point to the shaft. The ornaments rattled with the goblin's every move and effectively drew Tiep's attention from the point.