“We’ll reach the confluence today,” Colin said.
Both Eraeth and Siobhaen looked up from where they sat around the fire, Eraeth holding a pan over the flames, the scent of frying eggs drifting up to mingle with the smoke and smells of the hundred fires already burning as the dwarren roused themselves from sleep. With a casual gesture, he flipped the eggs.
“And what will happen once we get there?” Siobhaen asked. Exasperation tinged her voice.
Colin shrugged. “There will be a Gathering.”
“And what does that mean?” Siobhaen snarled. “I’m tired of traveling without knowing what’s going on. We came to the dwarren to find out what they know, but they haven’t told us anything. You’ve dragged us along with this war party without any explanation of why, gone wandering off on your own to visit the sarenavriell, and brought us these weapons that you claim are a gift from the heart of the forest, and yet you haven’t told us anything about what you found out or what they’re to be used for!”
Colin stared at her a long moment, at a loss for words. He glanced toward Eraeth, the Protector meeting his gaze with a shrug.
“She’s right,” he agreed. “It’s frustrating.”
“It’s frustrating for me as well,” Colin said, letting anger touch his voice. “I know as much as you.”
“No,” Siobhaen said, cutting him off. “You know more than you’ve told us. You’ve met with the shamans on more than one occasion since we left the Thousand Springs cavern. I refuse to believe that they’ve told you nothing, and I refuse to believe you haven’t kept something from us.”
Colin considered her intense gaze for a long moment, then said stiffly, “I haven’t told you everything-”
“Ha!”
“-but that does not mean that telling you will make anything clearer.”
“It might help,” Eraeth murmured, removing the eggs from the fire and separating them onto three plates. “We’ve been on edge for the entire underground excursion, not knowing whether we can trust the dwarren, not knowing where we are headed or what we will find when we get there.” He caught Colin’s gaze and lifted an eyebrow in rebuke. “It’s difficult to protect you when I don’t know what I’m to protect you from.”
Colin shifted uncomfortably as he accepted the plate of eggs. He was willing to brush off Siobhaen’s complaints as an effort to gain information for the Order of Aielan, but if Eraeth also felt compromised.…
He sighed. “If I knew for certain, I would have informed you. This is all I know:
“Perhaps eight months ago, something-I assume Walter and the Wraiths-awakened a Well to the east. This Well has a reservoir of Lifeblood greater than any of the Wells we know of, so vast that the Faelehgre believe that it is the source of all of the Lifeblood across the continent.”
“Why?” Siobhaen asked. “Why would they awaken this Well?”
“It will expand the territory that the Shadows can hunt extensively, perhaps as far south as Yhnar, or further.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. There aren’t many humans down that far, and no one has traveled or settled in the Flats or the Thalloran Wasteland. There must be another reason to awaken the Well.”
“Such as?” Colin wondered if Siobhaen would answer, wondered if she knew something she’d learned from Lotaern or the Order, perhaps unwittingly.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what the Wraiths and the sukrael want.”
Both Colin and Eraeth shared a glance. She’d answered too quickly to be lying. “The Shadows want freedom,” Colin said, rubbing his eyes. He’d just rested, but he already felt tired. “They were trapped near the Well and Terra’nor for so long their only goal is to escape it so they can feed. You saw their hunger in the years after the Wells were awakened.”
“No, I didn’t,” Siobhaen said. “I was not born until after the Winter Tree was planted. But that is what the sukrael want. What of the Wraiths? What of this Walter who leads them?”
Colin frowned. Walter wants to kill me, he nearly said, but stopped himself. It had to be more than that. But what did Walter want? He knew what the bully who had beat him in Portstown had wanted: the attentions of his father, Sartori, as well as his respect. That boy had gone on the expedition that had ultimately claimed the lives of everyone Colin cared about, so that Walter could prove himself to his father.
But Walter’s father was dead. He would never find the acceptance he’d craved as a boy, would never be the Proprietor of Portstown, the predecessor of what was now a GreatLord. Was that what Walter strove for now? Power? Did he want to rule as his father had?
Or did Walter’s wishes no longer matter? Had he been tainted by the Lifeblood to such an extent that the Shadows and their goals were all that mattered now?
Colin shuddered at the thought and unconsciously clutched at his own arm and the marked skin beneath his shirt, an empty pit opening in his stomach.
“The Seasonal Trees,” Eraeth said suddenly, dragging Colin away from his thoughts. The Protector glanced between both of them. “You asked what the sukrael and the Wraiths want. You say they want freedom to roam the land and feed. The only things stopping them now are the Seasonal Trees. They want to eliminate them.”
“Can they do that with a new Well?” Siobhaen asked.
Colin bowed his head, staring into the fire, brow creased in thought. “I’m not certain. The Lifeblood and the Trees have never appeared to interact with one another in any way.” Except that was a lie. In order to create the Trees, he had used the Lifeblood to give their seeds strength, in order to augment their powers so that it would spread across the lands of the three races to protect them, and to make certain the Trees would last for hundreds of years. The Lifeblood was an inherent part of the Trees’ power.
He looked up. “But it’s possible. The Trees appeared unaffected when I checked with the Winter Tree in Caercaern, but I will look again once we reach the Confluence.”
“How?” Siobhaen asked.
“I’ll use the Summer Tree.”
At the front of the dwarren encampment, drums sounded and the dwarren began to stir, tents collapsing as they began packing, fires doused with water from the river cutting down the center of the round cavern they’d chosen as a rest area. Colin glanced down at his eggs. He hadn’t had a chance to eat. Both Siobhaen and Eraeth were nearly done.
Siobhaen caught his arm. “What else? What did you learn from the shamans?”
“The Faelehgre told me to find the Well and do whatever was necessary to find balance again. None of the head shamans know anything of the Source. They only know the Wraiths and the rest of the creatures of the Turning have been gathering in the Thalloran Wasteland, creating an army, one to rival all of the races-dwarren, Alvritshai, and human-combined. They think that the awakening of the Well is a sign that their armies are ready to begin seizing control of all of Wrath Suvane. But it’s all speculation.”
“What do you think?”
Colin paused, then said quietly, “I think the dwarren are correct. They have prepared for the Turning their entire lives.”
All around them, the dwarren were smoothly and efficiently breaking camp. None of the fires remained, all of the tents were down, and the gaezels were already being spread throughout the group.
“Eat,” Eraeth said, nudging Colin’s plate of eggs. “We’ll get the horses and pack our tents.”
Without waiting for a response, he poured a bucket of water onto the fire, smoke and steam rushing upward. Colin began shoveling the eggs into his mouth as Siobhaen headed for the horses. They’d learned from experience that when the dwarren were ready to depart, they wouldn’t stop to wait for the human or the Alvritshai to catch up.
The two Alvritshai had their gear ready by the time Colin finished his breakfast; Eraeth washed the plate clean in the river and stuffed it into one of the saddlebags. The pounding rhythm that signaled the dwarren to move out came a moment before Colin swung himself up into the saddle.
Then they were riding, the dwarren leading them through one of three possible branches from the room, none of them markedly different from the others. As soon as they entered the tunnel, Colin turned his attention to what Eraeth had suggested, that the Wraiths were using this new Well to affect the Seasonal Trees. He had sensed nothing when he checked the Winter Tree in Caercaern, but he didn’t think the Well had been awakened long before that. And from what he had discovered using the Well in the White Wastes, the newly awakened Well in the east was still drawing Lifeblood from the reservoir beneath it. It was still gaining in power and strength. The Wraiths may not have attempted to use it to affect the Trees yet.
But the more he thought about whether it could affect the Trees, the more uneasy he felt.
He needed to see the Summer Tree, needed to touch it as he’d done with the Winter Tree in Caercaern.
They heard the Confluence before they saw it, a slow roar beginning to build beneath the sound of the gaezels’ hooves against the stone of the tunnel. The roar grew, until it thundered through the tunnel, shuddering against Colin’s skin and shivering deeper in his bones. When the noise had reached an unbearable pitch, the tunnel suddenly ended.
Colin had been to the Confluence before, but the immense cavern still took his breath away as the dwarren army spilled out of the corridor and down the short ramp to the main floor. To the north, cascades of water fell from the heights of the rock wall, over a hundred streams and rivers converging on this one location, spilling down from the rock watershed in a torrent. Mist rose from the falls, glowing with the pale green luminescence of the moss and algae that coated the damp, exposed rock around them and from the soft red light coming from the center of the chamber. There, the immense stone floor fell away in two short circular tiers to a red-tinged lake-the Sacred Waters of the dwarren. The roar of the churning water was deafening, but as the column of dwarren raced across the vast open area, a trick of the architecture of the cavern deadened it to a bearable level.
Colin felt dwarfed by the immensity of the room-if it could be called a room. Massive arches, thicker than the boles of the most ancient trees he’d seen in the heart of the Ostraell, curved up from the sides of the cavern, terminating in a huge circle of stone that formed the apex of the dome. Chunks of that stone had crumbled and fallen away over time, the gaps in the flowing architecture glaring, but the structure had withstood the ages well.
To the right of the massive falls, the dwarren had carved out rooms between the pillars and arches. Hundreds of dwarren were gathered along the massive wall and the tiers that led up to its base, yet beneath them, on the floor that surrounded the lake, there were thousands more. Tents riddled the area, dwarren in the armor of Riders milling about, their gaezels corralled off to one side. Others wove among the groups, dressed in the everyday garb of the dwarren, distributing food and blankets. It appeared that another group had arrived shortly before them, their gaezels only now being taken to the main stabling area. The leaders of that group were greeting the Cochen and the Archon, the head shaman easy to pick out of the crowd due to his massive feather headdress.
Colin scanned the bed of activity, taking it all in as the column of dwarren headed directly toward the Cochen and Archon, drums announcing their arrival, but his attention shifted almost immediately to the right of the falls, toward the Summer Tree. It had been planted in the middle of the tiers, the shaft of the seedling he’d brought slammed down into the stone of the cavern’s floor much as he had done with the Winter Tree’s seed in the marketplace in Caercaern. Its roots had cracked the stone as they burrowed and climbed down the tiers, the bole of the tree shooting skyward, although there was no sky for it to find. It had branched almost immediately, spreading outward rather than into the heights, more rounded than the Winter Tree, like a sycamore or oak. Its leaves were the darkened green of summer, as wide and flat as those of the Winter Tree, but not rounded. These leaves came in groups of three and like the oak were serrated. They rippled in a breeze generated by the falls, revealing the silvered undersides in flashes, like reflected sunlight on water.
Colin searched for signs that the Tree was failing, but saw nothing. Beneath the branches, nestled within the giant root system that trailed all the way down to the Confluence, he could see where the dwarren had set lanterns in stone bowls. The light was reflected from the walls of the cavern, providing more illumination than could have been generated solely by the lanterns. A few of the dwarren shamans sat among the roots, kneeling in contemplation or prayer, or tending to the Tree’s needs.
A shout tore Colin’s attention back to the Riders. The column slowed as the three clan chiefs and the three head shamans pulled away to meet with the Cochen and Archon. Colin searched the dwarren already encamped on the tiers, seeking out clan symbols, trying to gauge how many of the clans had already arrived.
He was shocked at how many dwarren had gathered.
“There are approximately ten thousand dwarren in the encampment,” Eraeth said.
“And there are two clans not represented,” Colin added. “I see no groups of Riders from Painted Sands or Broken Waters.”
“Which means what?” Siobhaen asked. The awe of seeing the Confluence for the first time had not yet faded from her face.
“It means that there will be more dwarren joining us shortly. And that I may have time to check the Summer Tree before the true Gathering begins.” He glanced back toward the Tree, distracted.
“Quotl is attempting to catch your attention,” Eraeth said.
Colin swung around to find the elder head shaman frowning in his direction. He nodded toward Colin.
Colin sighed. He wanted to know what had caused the dwarren to call such a large Gathering, but the need to verify that the Summer Tree still held was more pressing. “Follow me.”
He nudged his horse forward, the ranks of dwarren parting for him and the two Alvritshai. As they reached the front of the column, a drum sounded and the entire group broke, scattering toward an empty section of the encampment, bags and pouches already being removed from their gaezels. Dwarren rushed forward to seize the animals’ reins and lead them off to be scrubbed down, combed, and fed.
The Cochen and Archon quieted as Colin and the Alvritshai drew close and dismounted, all of the dwarren considering them with narrowed eyes and taut faces. The Cochen had scars down one side of his face, emphasized by the angle of the chains that draped from the ring in his nose to his ear. Glancing at the intricate beading of his beard, Colin could tell it came from surviving a lion attack when he was younger. The scars made him appear more dangerous and brutal than the other dwarren clan chiefs, which was likely why he’d been chosen as the Cochen.
The Archon appeared older than Quotl, thin and frail in comparison to the Cochen’s brusque stature, although Colin could sense the power the Archon commanded. He carried the scepter of the shamans, resting his weight upon it like a walking stick. He inclined his head toward Colin, but cast a glare at Eraeth and Siobhaen.
“Clan Chief Oraju of the Red Sea, Cochen of this Gathering, and Archon Kimannen of Claw Lake,” Quotl said as introduction. “I present the Shadowed One, and his two Alvritshai companions.”
“You have come to warn us,” the Archon said, “but you are too late. It has already begun.”
Oraju glanced toward the rest of the clan chiefs and shamans, but answered as if the Archon had not spoken. “We are honored to have you here for this Gathering, Shadowed One. I hope that you will help us decide the right course of action.”
The Archon snorted. “Our actions have already been decided, by Ilacqua and the actions of the elloktu! We must act now, before it is too late!”
The clan chiefs shifted awkwardly, not daring to look at the Archon, but Quotl met Colin’s gaze. “The Archon speaks truly. Ilacqua will guide us through this Turning, as he has through all of the Turnings before.” He turned to the Cochen. “Are we ready to call the Gathering?”
Oraju shook his head. “We wait for Clan Chief Asazi, of Broken Waters.”
“What of Painted Sands?” Colin interrupted. “I don’t see their Riders here.”
Oraju made a sound deep in his chest. “Clan Chief Corranu cannot attend the Gathering. It is news from Painted Sands that has caused the Gathering in the first place. But that should be discussed once we have all gathered beneath the eye of Ilacqua. Clan Chief Asazi and the rest of the Broken Waters Riders should be arriving shortly. We will Gather tonight.” He turned toward the Archon. “Archon Kimannen, prepare the keeva.”
The Archon nodded and the cluster of clan chiefs and shamans scattered, the Cochen heading off toward the cliff dwellings, Tarramic and the rest of the clan chiefs toward the encampments to one side. The shamans trailed after Kimannen.
Quotl remained behind, turning to Colin as soon as the others had moved beyond hearing. “The Cochen did not tell us everything-he’ll explain why the Gathering was called tonight-but he did say that there is a force gathering in the Thalloran Wastelands near the edge of Painted Sands land. Corranu has sent word of what he has seen, and he has gathered his Riders to meet this army.”
“Which army?” Eraeth said. “No one lives in the wasteland to the east.”
Quotl shook his head, lips a thin line. “The Cochen did not say.”
“And what of the occumaen-the Eyes of Septimic? Did he mention those or the unnatural storms caused by the unbalancing of the Wells?”
“He mentioned neither.”
“I have news on both, but I need to touch the Summer Tree to verify why the Wells were unbalanced.”
Quotl pursed his lips in consternation and flicked a glance toward the retreating Archon. “Matters regarding the Summer Tree are sent to the Archon, and he has no respect for you or what you have done for us. I doubt he will let you near the Tree.”
Colin felt a moment of annoyance, followed by defiance. The Archon could not stop him from seeking out the Tree. He was Shaeveran, the Shadowed One.
But then Quotl turned back, a hint of a wicked smile in his aged eyes. “However, I think the Archon will be busy at the keeva. Come. I will escort you to the Tree.”
“Won’t you be needed to prepare the keeva?” Eraeth asked.
Quotl chuckled. “The Archon and I have never seen eye to eye. He will not miss my presence.”
The head shaman motioned for a few of the dwarren to take the horses, the lucky few approaching the animals with trepidation. As they led the animals away, three dwarren to each horse, Quotl headed around the edge of the Sacred Waters toward the Summer Tree. All three non-dwarren traded glances, then scrambled to keep up.
“He moves fast,” Eraeth grumbled, “for one of the dwarren.”
They skirted the lake, crossing over numerous bridges where the water was being channeled and siphoned off to form smaller pools for dwarren use. At one such bridge, its arch higher than many of the others, Siobhaen gasped and pointed down toward the center of the lake, moving to the railing at the edge.
“There’s something in the Blood of Aielan,” she said, “something in the water’s depths.”
Eraeth shot Colin a questioning gaze, but when he didn’t answer, the Protector moved to the railing beside Siobhaen. They both stared at the depths for a long moment. Colin moved up behind them.
“It looks like some kind of reddish light,” Siobhaen said. “As if there were a fire under the water.”
“No.” Eraeth shook his head. “There are multiple rings of fire, all of them swinging around a central sphere, some faster than others. The sphere in the center is what’s glowing.”
“There is another in Andover,” Colin said. “They call it the Rose. Its discovery was what caused the Feud that drove my family and the rest of the Andovan refugees across the Arduon here, to Wrath Suvane. The power struggle there for the Rose ripped the Andovan Court apart, and nearly destroyed all of its Families. It also allowed the Proprietors of the settlements on the coast-towns like Portstown-the chance to break free from Andover and form the Provinces. If it hadn’t been for the Rose, and the Accord with the Alvritshai and dwarren, the Proprietors would never have been able to keep Andover at bay. Their attentions would have been split.
“This Rose has been the heart of the dwarren religion for as long as the dwarren can remember. It is what gives the waters of the Confluence their reddish tinge, and imbues it with the healing powers that it is known for.”
Eraeth crossed his arms over his chest. “This is what the sons and daughters of the Alvritshai lords used to search for during their Trials, what Aeren was searching for when he first met you and your wagon train crossing the plains: the Blood of Aielan.”
“Yes.”
“You two are the first Alvritshai to be allowed to see the Sacred Waters,” Quotl said from behind them. “You should feel honored.”
Eraeth bowed his head. “It is an honor.”
Quotl nodded in acknowledgment. “We should hurry if you wish to touch the Summer Tree before the Gathering,” he said to Colin, then moved on.
Colin stepped up to the railing and looked down through the depths at the Rose, the rings of fire rotating beneath the churning surface, broken and indistinct through the waves.
“It’s beautiful,” Siobhaen murmured, “almost as beautiful as Aielan’s Light beneath Caercaern.”
Colin said nothing, thinking of his family, the memories dredged up by his thoughts of Andover and the Provinces. He had kept himself distant from his own kind, but with what was happening now-with the Seasonal Trees and the Wells-he was beginning to think that his isolation from them had been a mistake. They might need the Provinces’ help before this was done; they might need Andover’s, even though the relationship between the Provinces and Andover was still strained.
Troubled, he turned away to follow Quotl.
They rounded the edge of the lake quickly, halted only once more when a sudden flurry of drums sounded from the far side of the dome. Quotl listened attentively, but merely shook his head when questioned by Colin. As they drew nearer to the Tree, some of the shamans Colin had seen meditating beneath its branches noticed them, stirring from their positions to come out to meet them. Their stances were hostile and protective until they recognized Quotl. Even then, a few of the younger shamans glared at the Alvritshai and Colin, clearly ready to protest.
Quotl conferred with a slightly older dwarren who stepped to the fore of the group, the leader’s gaze flickering toward Colin and the others as they spoke. Then the dwarren stepped forward and bowed slightly toward Colin.
“Shadowed One,” he murmured, head still lowered. “It is an honor to meet you. I am one of the Keepers, as are those gathered behind me.”
A sudden flurry of gasps and whispers spread through the shamans on all sides. A few of them bowed their heads as well, all of the hostility suddenly gone.
“I need to touch the Summer Tree, Keeper. I fear that what is causing the dwarren to Gather has something to do with the Seasonal Trees.”
The leader lifted his head. “We have not noticed anything in our ministrations to the Tree. If there is something that we have done wrong-”
“I don’t believe the dwarren have had anything to do with it, Keeper, if there is even anything amiss. But I will not be certain until I have spoken to the Tree.”
The Keeper’s eyebrows rose, although he was clearly still worried. “What can we do to aid you?”
“Nothing. Except make certain that I am not disturbed.”
“That we can arrange.”
Colin turned toward Eraeth and Siobhaen. “Stay here. I won’t be long.”
“You intend to go on alone?” Siobhaen asked, frowning around at the younger Keepers. “They weren’t all that friendly when we approached. You should have one of us with you.”
“I’ll stay within sight. I only need to touch the Tree.”
“But you will be vulnerable while you speak to it,” Siobhaen muttered. “You forget that I was there when you touched the Winter Tree in Caercaern.”
Colin frowned as he glanced back over the Keepers. They had begun to spread out around the Summer Tree, forming a rough perimeter, others stepping up through the tangled roots and broken stone to those who were still meditating, gently touching shoulders and drawing them down away from the bole of the Tree.
“We need to trust them,” Colin said, “especially if what I believe I will find is true. We’re going to need them.”
Her jaw clenched in disagreement, but she said nothing as he turned away and stared up at the tangle of roots and the Tree overhead. Gathering himself, he sighed once and then struck out, passing the dwarren Keepers, their eyes following him as he climbed the massive root system as he’d done in Caercaern for the Winter Tree. Unlike the Alvritshai Warders though, the dwarren had built paths through the roots, stairs and bridges of stone and wood winding among them, lanterns on tall poles at irregular intervals.
When one of the paths veered near enough to the base of the Tree that he could reach out and touch its bark, he halted. He planted his hand against its side and closed his eyes.
The Tree sensed him instantly and drew him into its heart, the pulse of its sap enfolding him. Like that of the heart of the forest in the Ostraell, he felt the Tree welcome him, recognize him as a part of its creation, but the Tree was more sentient than the forest. As soon as he’d accustomed himself to its soft summer taste and smell-like honey and sweet corn-he felt the shuddering discord at its edges.
Something was definitely wrong.
He surged out along the Tree’s roots, down toward the Rose, where it drew strength from the healing waters deep below, and then he spread outward over the Tree’s field of influence, as he’d done in Caercaern with the Winter Tree so many months before, searching for damage, for the source of the malignancy that he could feel at the heart of the Tree. The farther from the Confluence he moved, the weaker the Tree became, but that was normal. Nothing appeared to be wrong-
Until he hit an obstruction to the east and south.
He shifted his focus, drew himself back from the north and west and concentrated his attentions eastward. Something hindered the protection of the Summer Tree there. Something had pushed that protection back, was eating away at the boundaries of the Tree that should have extended all the way to the edges of the Thalloran Wastelands. Instead, the Tree’s protective barrier had been shoved onto the plains, the force weakening that protection on all sides. The grasslands that formed the largest portion of Painted Sands lands were now exposed, no longer under the influence of the Summer Tree. And the degradation of the barrier grew worse the farther south Colin traveled. He felt his heart shudder at the extent of the damage already done as he skirted the barrier and tested its edge, traveling farther and farther southward. But even as he did so, he could taste that source-like snow and loam and leaves.
The Lifeblood. The force pushing against the protection of the Trees, the force slowly breaking that protection down, was the Lifeblood.
Eraeth had been right. The Wraiths and Shadows were using the newly awakened Well to compromise the Seasonal Trees.
He hesitated, his essence hovering along the invisible boundary between the Source and the Tree. He could feel the two forces battling against each other, a subtle ebb and flow as the barrier shifted and gave. The power behind the conflict was immense, the friction sending waves of residual energy across the plains in all directions. He could feel those stresses building, knew that they would find release in the unnatural storms that battered the grasses and the occumaen that riddled the lands to the west. Even now, purplish lightning flared to the far north along the barrier’s edge. As he watched it etch a jagged line across the sky, black storm clouds building at an impossible rate, the truth of what he was seeing struck him.
The Seasonal Trees were failing.
A wave of despair and hopelessness washed over Colin, stultifying in its depth. He staggered back from the barrier, began retreating back toward the Confluence and his own body, but then forced himself to stop, to draw deep breaths to control his stampeding heart, to steady the trembling that coursed through his body even though it was hundreds of miles distant.
The Trees were failing, but he’d known they would not hold forever. He’d simply assumed they would last longer than this, hundreds of years longer. He had not anticipated that Walter or the Wraiths would find a way to circumvent or destroy them. Not so soon.
But they had. And now he and the rest of the three races would have to deal with it.
Pulling himself together, he glanced toward the gathering storm, more lightning seething across the skies in a spider’s web of raw energy, then turned his attention southward. He needed to know how badly the Trees had been compromised. He had felt nothing wrong when he touched the Winter Tree in Caercaern, but the Wraiths had had months since then to wreak havoc here in the east. The Summer Tree was under attack, but what of the Autumn Tree in Temeritt? He needed to check both it and the Winter Tree again.
He sped southward, blazing along the barrier between the Summer Tree and the Well to the east, feeling the fluctuations, taking note of how far the Summer Tree’s influence had decayed. As he came to where the Andagua River broke apart, the massive system of tunnels and ancient buildings that the dwarren used here shattered by a cataclysm in ages past, he slowed. The dwarren called the region Broken Waters, the river collapsing into thousands of smaller streams and cascades that spread through the chunks of stone and seeped out onto the plains and the region beyond called the Flats, but this was also where the Summer Tree’s influence ended and the Autumn Tree’s began.
Except he couldn’t sense the Autumn Tree at all.
Nausea rolled through his stomach. Where the Autumn Tree and the Summer Tree were supposed to merge, he sensed only the intruding presence of the Source. It cut into the area where the two Trees had mingled.
Colin followed the edge south and west, shuddered with relief when he finally sensed the Autumn Tree merging with the Summer Tree. The two had not been separated and torn apart completely. Walter and the Wraiths had merely used the Source to drive a wedge between the two.
But what he sensed from the Autumn Tree, even weakened by the distance from the Confluence, left the taste of ash in his mouth.
He lingered long enough to verify that what he’d felt was true, and then he turned to speed toward the Confluence and the Gathering of the dwarren. He thought he knew now why they had Gathered.
And he needed to warn them of what they faced.
“Is the Tree safe?” the leader of the Keepers asked anxiously as soon as he came within twenty paces. They had all watched him as he descended from the bole of the Tree, had already seen the serious cast to his face, the numerous shamans collecting near their leader, surrounding Eraeth, Siobhaen, and Quotl.
“The Tree has been compromised,” Colin said, turning his attention to Quotl as the rest of the Keepers gasped. “The Wraiths are using their newfound power to attack the protection that the Tree offers. There is nothing that the Keepers can do here to salvage the situation, except to bolster and support the Tree as much as they can. They may be able to hold off the destruction for a time, but they cannot hold it off forever unless someone seizes control of the newly awakened Well.
“And there’s more-”
Before he could continue, a sudden flurry of drums resounded throughout the chamber, all of the dwarren turning.
“The Broken Waters Clan is arriving,” Quotl murmured.
Even as he spoke, a column of dwarren emerged from one of the widest tunnels leading to the southeast. Colin estimated at least two thousand Riders poured forth, spilling across the stone floor, spreading out as they emerged into the massive chamber. A roar rose among the dwarren, voices raised and weapons clattering against stone and chests.
Quotl turned to Colin. “The Gathering will be called immediately. We must return.”
“What can we do for the Summer Tree?” the Keeper asked. His eyes were still wide with shock.
“Lend it your strength,” Colin said, glancing around at all of the dwarren shamans. “The Summer Tree still holds, and the longer it holds, the greater the chance that we can find a way to defeat the Wraiths.”
“Shadowed One!” Quotl called. The head shaman of Thousand Springs had already climbed down from the edge of the Summer Tree’s roots. He motioned toward the milling group of dwarren who had just entered the chamber. “Come!”
Colin nodded toward the Keepers, then urged Eraeth and Siobhaen after Quotl.
“You said there is more?” Eraeth said as they moved around the Confluence, the background roar of the turbulent water to one side.
“It’s far worse than I thought possible in such a short amount of time,” Colin said in answer. “But I’ll explain it all at the Gathering.”
They reached the chaos created by the arrival of the Broken Waters Clan and forced their way through the group to the forefront, where Oraju and Kimannen were greeting the clan chief. The Archon shot Colin and Quotl a dark look but said nothing.
“-unusual activity to the south,” Clan Chief Asazi was growling as they approached, “on the Flats. I sent out scouts to determine who and what it was, but they did not return. We only have the word of one of our trettarus, and they say that the group was headed southward, not toward dwarren lands.”
Oraju raised a hand to forestall him. “Save the report for the Gathering. Is the keeva prepared, Archon?”
Kimannen nodded. “All is ready. The fires have been lit and the yetope prepared. The blessings have all been spoken. Ilacqua has been called to give us counsel.”
“Then we will begin immediately. Summon the rest of the clan chiefs and the head shamans.”
“And the Shadowed One?” the Archon asked with a glare.
“Ilacqua has seen fit to bring him to us at this time. He must attend as well.”
The Archon grunted, but Colin ignored him. “My two Alvritshai companions should be part of the Gathering as well,” he said. “As we will see, there is more at stake here than dwarren lands and dwarren interests.”
The Cochen frowned, eyes raking the two Alvritshai before he nodded in reluctant agreement. “Bring them.”
The entire group turned and followed the Archon up into the myriad stairs and walkways of the cliff dwellings carved into the side of the chamber. As they ascended, Eraeth tugged on Colin’s sleeve.
“Why did you want us as part of the Gathering?”
“Because what I said is true. You will both be there to represent the Alvritshai’s interests. You will represent the Lords of the Evant, and Siobhaen the Order of Aielan.”
“But we have no standing in the Evant,” Siobhaen pointed out. “And I have little in the Order. Besides, I don’t understand dwarren!”
“That does not matter. The Alvritshai need to be seen here, or they will be forgotten.”
They reached a wide opening, rounded like an egg, where three of the head shamans of the clans waited, chanting quietly. They bowed to the Cochen and Archon, the chants never ceasing, and motioned with their scepters, the snakes’ tails tied to them rattling as they shook them. The Archon bowed in return and ushered the Cochen into the chamber, the rest following. Inside, embers pulsed red in a pit dug out in the center of the floor, yetope smoke already rising from the dried weeds tossed on it. Like the keeva at the Thousand Springs Clan, natural worn seats surrounded the central pit. The Archon and Cochen took up positions against the far wall, the rest spreading out around both sides. As Colin settled down, Eraeth and Siobhaen to his right, he glanced toward the rest of the clan chiefs and their shamans. Tarramic and Quotl were seated across from him, Quotl removing his pipe and packing dried leaves into its bowl. He placed the end of a stick into the coals of the fire pit and lit his pipe with a few puffs of smoke, a contented smile entering his eyes.
Then the doors to the keeva were closed.
The heat was instant, sweat breaking out on Colin’s face as he tried to find a more comfortable position. The smoke from the fire pit began to fill the chamber.
Siobhaen began to cough, but Eraeth leaned over and said, “Breathe it in deeply and let it out slowly.”
After a moment of struggle, her breathing steadied.
When the smoke had grown dense enough that Colin could barely see Quotl across the fire pit, the Cochen stirred.
“We Gather for war,” he said bluntly. None of those within the keeva acted surprised. “This is what is known, sent to us by Clan Chief Corranu: A force of many thousands has gathered in the Thalloran Wastelands to the east. We have seen signs of this gathering for many months. Corranu and Asazi reported bands of men along the desert and in the Flats to the south, although never more than a hundred at one time. In addition, the creatures of the Turning have increased in number. War parties were sent, and the trettarus have noticed that the creatures are no longer acting singly. They are acting in groups, attacking as one more and more frequently.
“Corranu believes that the small bands have come together and, at last report, were moving toward Painted Sands lands.”
“There is more,” Asazi said, speaking before anyone could react. “As the Broken Waters Riders were preparing to leave, we received reports that a second army of creatures of the Turning had crossed the Flats, heading south.”
“So you are saying there are two armies prepared to enter dwarren lands?” one of the other clan chiefs growled.
Asazi nodded.
“But how is this possible?” the Archon said sharply. He shot a glance toward Colin. “The Summer Tree protects us from the creatures of the Turning. How could these armies threaten dwarren lands?”
A murmur of agreement rose from nearly all of the dwarren gathered, although it wasn’t as hostile as the Archon’s words.
Colin sighed. “Because the Summer Tree is failing.”
A few of the dwarren cried out, one of them leaping to his feet, his figure vague in the thick smoke. Colin saw Clan Chief Asazi nodding, his eyes dour. Broken Waters had already been affected by the failure; he had likely suspected it before he had arrived.
“What do you mean the Summer Tree is failing?” the Cochen asked, a tremor behind the grave words.
“The Seasonal Trees were created to hold the urannen and the other creatures of the Turning at bay, a barrier they could not cross, but they were not intended to last forever, only long enough for us to find a defense against them. And they were not intended to withstand an assault.”
The head shamans suddenly leaned forward as the words sank in.
“What kind of assault?” Quotl asked, drawing on his pipe.
“One that I believe has been organized by the Wraiths.” He glanced around the dim, smoky keeva. “You have all witnessed the abrupt return of the unnatural storms on the plains and the resurgence of the occumaen.”
At a few confused looks, Quotl said, “The Eyes of Septimic.”
“The reason these have returned is because the Wraiths have reawakened a massive Well somewhere in the east, somewhere in the Thalloran Wastelands from what I can determine. They are using the power of this Well to assault the barrier provided by the Seasonal Trees. I touched the Summer Tree before the Gathering and I have learned that their assault has pushed the barrier within the boundaries of the dwarren plains.”
“How far into the plains?” the Cochen demanded.
“Far enough that if Corranu sends the dwarren to meet this army coming from the Thalloran Wastelands, he will not be protected by the Summer Tree. But there is more. The assault is not on the Summer Tree alone. The Wraiths have also targeted the Autumn Tree and the human Provinces to the south. They are driving a wedge between the two Trees, separating them at their weakest point, where the two merge. This threat is not strictly a dwarren threat. It encompasses all three races-dwarren, human, and Alvritshai. In fact, I believe that one of the two armies is headed toward the human Province of Temeritt, even as the other heads here.”
Arguments broke out on all sides in the rough, guttural language of the dwarren as the consequences of the Summer Tree’s failure began to take hold. As Colin settled back, Eraeth leaned closer and said forcefully, “We must get word of this to the Evant.”
“And the Order,” added Siobhaen from across Eraeth’s body. Eraeth had been translating as much as he could of the discussion. “The Chosen must know, so that he can prepare the Order if the Winter Tree fails!”
Colin nodded. “I know. I’m hoping that the dwarren will see the significance of this and abide by the Accord and send word themselves. Otherwise, I’m not certain how we will let them know.” He caught their gazes. “Unless one of you is willing to return on your own to warn them.”
Eraeth and Siobhaen cast each other heated glares. Colin knew that Eraeth would not leave him alone with Siobhaen; he still did not trust her. And he knew Eraeth would not trust Siobhaen to deliver the message. He didn’t know what kept Siobhaen at his side-a sense of duty to Lotaern, or a sense of guilt over what had happened in the White Wastes-but he doubted she would leave him now after traveling this far.
“What about you?” Eraeth said abruptly. “You could travel to Caercaern and forewarn the Evant and then return in far less time than it would take one of us to reach them ourselves.”
“I could, but it would still require days of travel and I would return exhausted. I don’t think the dwarren or the human Provinces have such time to spare. You heard Asazi. The Wraiths are moving now. If the dwarren or the humans are to have any chance of stopping them, we need to act now. And there is something that only I can do to help them.”
Before Eraeth could ask what, the Cochen stood and bellowed, “Enough!” cutting all of the arguments off. He glared around at those gathered, the scars on his face highlighted by the pulsing reddish light of the fire pit as he spoke. He focused his attention on Colin.
“You say that the Summer Tree is failing, Shadowed One.” His voice throbbed with the weight of the Cochen. “What, then, can we do to fight these armies?”
Colin stood, barely able to fit within the keeva without hunching forward. He scanned all of the dwarren gathered. “You must fight them on the grasses of the plains. You must take your Riders and meet them head on, before the Summer Tree weakens so much that they are upon your doorstep, within your warrens or even here, at the Sacred Waters. You must battle them with ax and sword and spear, with the blood of your Riders and their gaezels, protecting the Lands that you were sworn to protect ages past. And you must honor the Accord that you signed with the Alvritshai and humans. You must call them to action to aid you against this threat, as the treaty proclaims.”
The entire group began to murmur among themselves, but the Cochen’s gaze did not waver. “And what of you? What will you do to face this threat?”
Colin smiled, his eyes flashing grimly. “I will find this Well the Wraiths have awakened and halt the attacks on the Seasonal Trees.”