"Gerrard! Sisay! Tahngarth! Come look at this!"

The three turned, making their way to where Ilcaster and Dabis stood near a large mound. Both were holding their hands before their faces, warding off the stench that rose from the mound.

"Phew! What have you two found?" Gerrard's eyes watered.

Tahngarth spat once. "Taumalangah!"

"Spoor!" Sisay translated for Gerrard's benefit. "Droppings from something."

"Humph! Well, whatever it is, it's huge." Gerrard walked around the pile of excrement, careful to keep his distance. "Everybody keep your eyes open-and your noses covered."

The travelers moved on down the road into dim, green recesses.

Another hour of silent tramping brought them to a small clearing. There, they halted for a moment to rest. Sisay sank to the ground, head between her hands, knees drawn up. Although she had largely recovered from the fever of a few days previously, neither she nor Fewsteem were quite as healthy as the others. Tahngarth moved restlessly about the glade, while Gerrard took a long pull from his waterskin. In the forest, they had found several streams, all of which seemed excellent sources of drinking water.

"Sir!" Dabis ran up. The dark-haired Icatian was about as excited as Gerrard had ever seen him. He opened his clenched fist. "Look, sir!"

Gerrard gasped. A powerstone. Tiny, no more than a mere speck compared to the crystal that powered Weatherlight, but it was nonetheless a glowing powerstone, shining with its own source of internal fire.

"Excellent!" He clapped Dabis on the shoulder. "Where was it?"

"Just lying on the g-ground." Dabis, almost too excited to speak, stuttered. "I saw a glow from off to the side, and there it was, just lying on the ground like somebody dropped it."

In an instant, the group was down on its knees in the spot Dabis had indicated, clawing through the undergrowth. After a frantic, silent ten minutes of searching, Gerrard gave up with a sigh.

"All right. This is only one. But the important thing is we know we're on the right track." He lifted his pack to his shoulders. "Let's go."

The companions proceeded, in single file, Gerrard leading the way and Tahngarth, his sword drawn, bringing up the rear. Before them, the path grew more obscure, the trees denser. To either side, they heard a series of deep rumbles, with an occasional hiss that sounded like the heavy breathing of some mighty creature.

Without a word, the party halted, and swords were drawn from scabbards. Gerrard placed a finger on his lips, and they stole cautiously forward.

Suddenly the trees parted. A great vista opened. They found themselves blinking in the unexpected sunlight.

Before them, the land dipped in a wide bowl carved from the living rock, a great arena overrun by weed and creeper. In the center, perhaps a thousand feet from where the party stood, was a great circle of raised sand, low but baked and gleaming in the bright sunlight. Standing stones, carved with Thran glyphs, ringed the sandy circle. In the center of the circle was a large, flat stone table, resembling an altar. The altar stone in turn held five large crystals, glinting in the sunlight.

"Ouramos," Gerrard said in awe.

Sisay looked at him and nodded. "Yes. Those must be the powerstones. The Bones of Ramos."

Takara said, "It's not likely those stones would remain undisturbed all these years unless they were pretty well guarded. Magic. Or worse…"

The Benalian cast a quick glance around. "All right. There's no point in all of us going down there. If ever there were a place likely to be rigged with traps of some kind, this is it. Sisay and Tahngarth, you're with me. The rest of you stay here and keep a sharp eye out-"

His instructions were interrupted by a terrified scream behind him. Gerrard turned.

Ilcaster's dark, handsome face contorted with pain. He was caught in the grip of two vines that had snaked across the path, entwining his feet. The lad fell to the ground, drew his knife, and hacked at the green tendrils.

Gerrard darted in and chopped down with his sword. It clanged away. The vines were as hard as steel.

Ilcaster gave a yell of horror. There was a spurt of blood from a severed artery as the clinging vines cut through flesh and bone in his ankles. Another vine, writhing as if it were a snake, shot across the path and gripped him around the throat, cutting off his cry. A moment later his head rolled free beside Gerrard's feet.

Sisay and the others curved in a tight circle, facing outward. Gerrard joined them. From the woods, more vines groped inward. The crew bashed them back with ringing blades.

A young sapling lashed down atop the crew like a scourge.

Tahngarth reached up, grasped the bole, and viciously snapped off the top. The rest of the tree sprang back. It seemed to give a shriek of pain. Thick green sap surged from the wound.

A vine yanked Sisay's feet from under her. Gerrard jerked her upright and battered the tendril until it let go.

A tree trunk smashed to the ground beside Tallakaster, missing him by a hairsbreadth. Below the feet of the crew-man, the ground boiled and turned to mud, imprisoning his feet. He screamed and sank farther into the morass.

Gerrard pulled at his arms in a vain attempt to pry him loose. Gerrard's fingers dug into the sailor's flesh. Tallakaster's eyes bulged with fear. The sailor slipped another few inches, pulling Gerrard with him. In a moment, he too would be trapped by the mud. Gerrard felt the man's hands slip away. The Benalian had a last brief glance of Tallakaster's fear-crazed face sinking below the mud, and then he was gone.

A blast of wind trembled the treetops and rose to a screaming gale. The trees shook. Leaves, pine needles, and fir cones beat on their heads. The very ground bucked and swayed beneath their staggering feet.

"We can't last here!" Gerrard shouted. "Retreat!"

They did, moving cautiously away from the great bowl of Ouramos.

"Look!" Sisay yelled, stopping short.

The crew were suddenly surrounded by fantastical figures. Roughly human in shape, they had green hair and pale, green skin. Long, slender fingers waved as if branches. They were clad in leaves, twigs, and vines, knitted together in sheaths that barely covered their lean bodies. Their hands were raised, crossed together and linked in a curious pattern. As if from a great distance, Gerrard heard a sound that could only be described as singing.

"More defenders…" Sisay said breathlessly as Gerrard staggered up beside her. "Dryads."

Chapter 18

The two guards lounging about the lower story of the Magistrate's Tower were drunk. Duty shifts among the city guard were observed rarely, if at all, but yesterday Samanalashakal had had the bad luck of beating the sergeant at a game of bones and tosses. This morning when Sama entered guard headquarters, he found the sergeant waiting for him, an unpleasant grin on his face.

That was how Sama came to be sitting on the first landing of the tower, passing a wineskin back and forth with Dromelasthamarab. Above them, the sun rose slowly in the sky, and the shadow of the tower thinned and disappeared entirely, leaving them awash in brilliant light.

The heat made them even more thirsty, so they drank to quench their thirst, and then they drank to forget their troubles, and then they drank because the wine was plentiful and good and neither cared anymore.

Indeed, Sama was so intoxicated that he almost did not notice the small green form that descended the tower steps, poking and prying, flicking long greasy fingers into the nooks and crannies of the staircase and sucking greedily on them. Eventually, the goblin bumped into one of the guard's legs and started back.

Sama and Drome drew aside from the door, their hands rising in clumsy salutes.