Love And War (7 page)

The dwarf with the company snorted, almost like an animal himself. “You believe old
stories? Here's another, then: Once there was a stag who caused Shadow Wood to turn to
Darken Wood.”

Another companion squatted on the trail, his ears pricked forward. “Nothing like a good
story. When was this, Flint?”

The dwarf scowled at the other - a kender, the stag remembered now. It had been long since
he had seen one. The dwarf went on, “Before the Cataclysm. And it's not a good story, not
any way at all. The stag chose to betray the Forestmaster - the ruler of this wood,
whoever that is. So he - ”

“Why?” the kender interrupted. The stag put his ears forward, straining to hear.

The dwarf admitted, “I don't know why.” The stag relaxed. “But he wanted to. So he - ”

“It doesn't make sense if we don't know why.” The kender clearly enjoyed interrupting.

“Nothing makes sense to you; let me go on. The stag went to the king who was pledged to
guard the wood - ”

“Guard it against what?”

The dwarf reached for the kender. “I'll tie back those foolish ears and make you listen - ”

The half-elf stepped between them. “Let him be, Flint. Tas, let Flint tell his story.”

“That's better.” The dwarf took a deep breath, as much to calm himself as to launch the
tale. “Why this stag wanted to betray the Forestmaster, whatever a Forestmaster is, I
don't know. It's an old story, and parts of it are all muddled by now. The point is, he
did betray the Forestmaster, back in the days when Darken Wood was only Shadow Wood.”

“That's not the point at all,” the stag murmured, knowing he could not be heard. “I've
always thought the why of it more important than the sorrows that followed. Still, I am
glad that the why is forgotten.”

The dwarf went on: “There was a human king in the woods in those days, as well as living
soldiers who guarded the woods. They were pledged to hold the borders against invaders, or
robbers, but especially against the Dark Army.”

“Who?” That was all that the kender said. Flint swallowed his annoyance. “The Dark Army.
An army of the dead raised by dark clerics. In exchange for the dead helping the clerics
take the wood from the Forestmaster and make it a fit place for the Queen of Darkness.”

All, including the stag, shivered.

“The clerics would cast a spell that made the forest a place where the dead would live
again. That's why the Forestmaster set guards on the border, to keep the wood free of evil
- but mostly to ward off the Dark Army.”

“But the guards failed,” the half-elf said softly. Flint snorted again. "Failed? Failed?
They broke their vows. The stag offered the king and his men a chance to hunt in the woods
- the story's messy there;

I can't tell whether they hunted the stag or something else - and the king leaped at it.
He was rebellious, or untrustworthy, or wanted some time away from his job. That's another
missing detail. Anyway, the king and his men left their posts at the edge of Shadow Wood,
for only one day."

“But that was time enough.” The knight who had first seen the stag sounded grim. Clearly,
the stag thought, this one took oaths seriously. The stag shifted from hoof to hoof
uncomfortably.

The dwarf went on, “Time enough and more. While King Whoever and his oath-breaking guards
hunted, the clerics led the dead into Shadow Wood. Once inside, the dead formed a circle,
and inside it the dark clerics did something, it has a name like the Song of Dead Land or the Chant - ”

The hooded mage in the company said abruptly, “The Curse of Carrion Land. If it is spoken
over a place, all shadows deepen into darkness, and all the buried dead rise again.” He
smiled at his own knowledge. “It's quite easy to do, once you are inside the borders of a
land.”

After an uncomfortable silence, Flint said, "Right. And then the dead hunted down the
traitor king and his men as if they were animals, and killed them and buried them.

“But the dark clerics had made a mistake. The Dark Army hadn't been buried in Shadow Wood,
which was now Darken Wood, but the traitor king and his men had been. So at sunset of the
first day, the Dark Army died again, this time for good. And that night the buried king
and his men rose again and chased the clerics out.” Flint looked around uneasily. “But the
Curse of Carrion Land stayed. That's why Darken Wood is evil. And every night, the traitor
king and his men go hunting, with no rest for them until they redeem their pledge somehow.”

The kender sighed loudly in the silence, making the company jump. “But what about the
stag? And doesn't the story have an end?”

Forget the stag, the listening animal thought. And no: there is no end. There will never
be an end.

“The stag. Right.” The dwarf thought a moment. “There was something - ”

The listening stag was relieved when the dwarf admitted, “I don't know exactly what
happened to the stag. He died, too, and he had some kind of punishment for his betrayal.
He and the king are tied together, but the story is all twisted up by now; in some
versions the king and his men hunt the stag, in some they hunt a unicorn, and in some they
hunt the Forest-master, whatever the Forestmaster is. But I know that the stag is like the
king; he's punished every night for being a traitor. He has to repeat the betrayal over
and over, and he and the king can break out of it only if they fulfill their vows of
service and loyalty to the Forestmaster. Only they can't. Somebody else is pledged to
guard Darken Wood now, and the story says that the stag is too proud or angry or something
to renew his vow of service. So there isn't an end. Yet,” he finished uncertainly.

“Not a good story,” the kender said firmly. “I've heard better.”

“So have I,” Flint said. “The point is, which kind of stag are we following? The one Huma
saw, or the traitor in Darken Wood?“ The stag barely listened to the argument. ”Perhaps,” he said to himself, “they are the same stag, servant and betrayer. Have any of these fools
considered that?” He was relieved when the company, done debating his past and intentions,
chose to follow him. He led silently, thoughtfully.

By night he watched the company discuss with the king of the dead. “They are greatly
afraid,” the stag observed. “That must please the very-late King Peris no end.”

Later still, the stag watched them mount on centaurs, who were the Forestmaster's pledged
guards, and ride to the Central Glade. Two centaurs remained behind, guarding the way. The
stag, freed of his duties as guide, was about to follow the riding company when he heard
one of the sentries sing, in a rough and uncouth voice:

THERE WAS A PROUD AND NOBLE STAG, IN SHADOW WOOD WAS BORN, AND THERE HE GREW, AND THERE HE
MET AND LOVED A UNICORN.

The stag froze, listening.

“There now,” the sentry said to his companion with satisfaction, “years it's been since
I've sung that, but I can still put it to the tune.”

The other centaur answered dubiously, “It rubs against the tune, some places. Are the
words right? I wouldn't know, it being new to me.”

“New?” the first one questioned. “New? Why, that's the oldest song I know. It was old when
our folk fled to the wood, in the time - what's the name? When the seas shook and rocks
charged downhill like wild beasts - ”

“Cataclysm,” the other said.

“Cataclysm,” the singer said carefully. “Right. And that's when we were pledged to guard
this place. The Forestmaster, she had no living guard then, her own guards being dead and
a lot of traitors.”

“Traitors? Why?” the other asked.

The stag held his breath, thinking quietly, “Let them not remember. Let it be lost in
time. If I know, and if she knows - and if the king knows - that is more than enough.”

The first centaur slapped his own bristly side.

“Why? The song tells why. Let me see if I can put more of it in mind. Somewhat about the stag serving the unicorn - ” He sang more hesitantly:

HE SERVED HER LONG, HE SERVED HER WELL, HE SERVED HER, WHOLE AND PART UNTIL ONE NIGHT IN
SHADOW GLADE HE TOLD HER ALL HIS HEART.

The other said firmly, “If this song turns filthy, I'll hear none of it.”

“No, no. She turns him down. 'She did not laugh - ' No, that's not it. 'She told him no' -
I have the matter of it there, but not the music.”

The centaur guards moved off on their rounds. The stag remained, then sang softly, to
himself:

SHE DID NOT MOCK, SHE DID NOT LAUGH, BUT SOFTLY TOLD HIM NAY; HE DID NOT GRIEVE, BUT CHOSE
TO LEAVE AND PLOTTED TO BETRAY.

HE SOUGHT OUT THEN KING PERIS'S MEN; HIS WORDS WERE COLD AND BLUNT, “OH, SENTRY HOSTS,
DESERT YOUR POSTS: I OFFER YOU A HUNT.”

The stag stopped and said bitterly, “Ill-rhymed, ill- metered common trash. The song about
my leading Huma is doubtless long gone, but this wretched lyric - ” His own ears pricked
up at the rancor in his voice, and he bounded after the riding company.

He watched them look up at the rock and stare in awe at the Forestmaster. The stag,
remembering his own first meeting with the Forestmaster, nursed his dark heart and said
nothing as the unicorn met the companions, fed them, advised them.

Finally they were away, born aloft by pegasi. The stag looked at the ridiculous bipeds,
particularly the dwarf, and felt contempt for the vileness of the winged horses'
servitude. (Cloven-hoofed animals feel naturally superior to those with unsplit hooves:
the horses, the centaurs, even the pegasi.) “How typical,” the stag said to himself, “that
they would degrade themselves in that obedience, as close to the stars as they are.”

Even after a long and often painful history, the stag was quite sensitive of his honour. He entered the glade and called, as much command as request: “Master.” “I am here.” The unicorn had returned to the rock above the glade. Forestmaster and stag stood poised, as though pausing before re-entering an old ritual. Each knew what the other would say.

Still they looked, as though they could not help themselves. The stag stood proud and
erect, as though posing for a statue. Every hard muscle and taut sinew, every sharp line
of limb and deadly point of antler, was etched in shadows. As with all shadows in Darken
Wood, they seemed deep and full of death.

The Forestmaster herself seemed all light, as though the curse that held the Wood could
never touch her. Her mane shone and half-floated, and the arch and curve of her neck
seemed to draw all the way down her flanks and stop only at the ground. Only her eyes were
dark, and those not the tainted shadows of Darken Wood but the liquid blackness of a wild
thing's eyes, pure and powerful nature.

The stag spoke first. “I have served you this night.” “I know.” “Did I not serve you
well?” “You did.”

“Have I not always served you well?” “You have often served me well” The stag seemed not
to notice the distinction. “And I have asked little in return.“ ”It was service freely given, gladly accepted.” She stared down at him, her horn pointing into the night. “You have more to ask now.”

“No. More to offer.” “It is the same thing.” That nearly silenced him. Finally, however,
he went on: “I offer my love. I give it freely, generously; since there is none like me, a gift without parallel.“ ”I know.“ After a silence, the stag
finished angrily, ”Yet you refuse.“ ”I must.” The Forestmaster broke the feeling of ritual by saying, “Humans say of my kind that only a virgin may catch me.”

“It is an old legend. That is not why you refuse me.” “It is old, and it is exactly why.”
She spoke less firmly, more sadly. “And like most old legends, it is twisted and half
true. It is not the humans who must be chaste. To be who I am, to serve whom I must - “ ”Enough,“ the stag said harshly. ”Noble vows aside you have refused my love.” The Forestmaster stared into his death-laden, proud eyes and closed her own. “I have.” “Why?” The word came out hard and sharp, as fresh and painful as it had been the first time it was spoken. “Why, when I have told you my own
weakness and admitted that I love you?” For a moment the stag's proud pose was gone, and
he looked almost alive in his hurt and desire.

The Forestmaster said quietly, “Because I must.”

The stag had regained his poise. “Because you choose. That choice is not without
consequence.”

“For you? For myself?”

“For both. How do you dare refuse me?” He tried to sound dignified, arrogant. His voice
barely shook.

“I have refused others.” “None like me. There are none like me.” “And that, you feel,
obliges me to yield the needs of a world to you. Go then.“ She added, ”But know I never wished you to.”

He snorted, derisive even in a deer. “Naturally not. Service without debt is more pleasant
than solitude.”

As the Forestmaster watched him stride off, she murmured, “Anything is more pleasant than
solitude.” He did not hear her.

“One thing more.” He turned back to her, and she bent her head to listen. “You said
something about destiny to the strangers.”

She nodded, her mane rippling. “I said it to the warrior, though I was thinking of the
knight. 'We do not mourn the loss of those who die fulfilling their destinies.' ”

“Coldly put. Whom do you mourn? Those who die unfulfilled? Those with no destinies at all?”

“All have destinies.” She looked up at the sky. From where he watched, her horn drew a
line from him to the north star. “As all have stars. As you have a star.”

“What of those who refuse their own star and would choose another?”

She held the point of her horn unwavering. “Stars last. We do not. Refuse it as long as
you must; it will still wait for you.”

“But I may refuse it as long as I wish.”

When she did not respond, he said, "If I cannot shape my own destiny, I still refuse the
destiny shaped for me.

Farewell - again.“ He barely heard her say, ”I know - again." He wondered if she were mourning. Near dawn the stag came to a dark and cheerless spot.

When he arrived at the point near which the sedge was withered from the lake and no birds
sang, he gazed around.