“My knowledge is limited,” Naia said, turning up his face to feel the sunlight, “but, like I said, anyone who’s seen magic can tell.”

Efrain had let the question of hypocrisy float away over the wind, and took a different tact.

“And yet, I’ve never heard of them. Curious, that.”

The man was silent for a moment, as he shuffled down through the grass.

“They only became widespread knowledge after the second set of missions to Pasgrima,” he said.

“So, what a hundred-and-fifty-years? Two-hundred?”

“Closer to the former - the purge made everything chaotic. The dust needed to settle.”

Efrain supposed his ignorance made some amount of sense.

“So, where did they find the children? They can’t have scoured the entire world to…”

He stopped when he saw the apologetic smile.

“Oh, you cannot be serious.”

“Searching the ‘whole world’ might be a little far, but we have had sixty years. You’d be surprised how much ground two generations of paladins can cover.”

Efrain thought back to the crash of Dalia Sphrent upon the stones of his castle, and decided that this was a distinctly likely possibility. That being said, he was somewhat apoplectic at the implication that he’d somehow managed to miss such prominent figures.

“So, you just roved around until you just happened to run into them?” said Efrain.

“You’ll have to ask the paladins for the specifics, although given your record…”

“You’re the best I have, at least until I meet a paladin that doesn’t want to behead me on the spot.”

“Well, we’ll have to leave that to the road, I’m afraid,” he said, as they passed through into the camp proper, “I’ll need a few minutes to prepare, Efrain. The rest of the troops should be ready to go within the hour.”

Efrain nodded and departed back towards where Tykhon lay, staring incuriously at the various soldiers that shot him concerned glances. Tykhon’s saddle proved to be particularly difficult to adjust, given the broadness of his back, but Efrain would be damned if he had to hold his arms out the whole time riding. Stiffness and soreness were a foreign concept to him at this point, but there was a certain displeasure that came from the positioning.

By the time he’d managed to pull the straps back into an alignment that would serve his purposes, a young woman stood patiently beside him. When he turned she greeted him with a gesture - a touch of the hand to the heart, head, and lips, held out palm up. Efrain recognized it, and reciprocated, mirroring the movement in reverse.

“You saved many of our men, for that I offer thanks,” said the woman, who Efrain quickly recognized as Naia’s second-in-command.

“I did what benefits me - thanks is unnecessary, but appreciated,” he said.

She nodded, and tapped the ground with her foot, probably thinking what way was best to broach whatever subject she had on her mind. Efrain guessed that she was even less acquainted with small talk than he was.

“You have visited Nieth, no?” she said.

“A handful of times, quite long ago,” he said, “it was just after the burning of the Makqtabith, I seem to recall.”

“That was almost two centuries ago,” she said, confused.

“I’ve lived a very long life,” said Efrain, wary of the territory this conversation was going, “If you must know, I helped archive some of the surviving texts.”

Her eyebrows shot up at the admission, no doubt knowing of Niethian scholars’ almost religious devotion to textual preservation. Efrain pushed his head into Tykhon’s side to muffle any further frustrated emissions.

“All I did was transcribe a few dozen older books. I didn’t do much in the way of aid,” he said.

“It was obviously a greater service than your modesty rendered,” she said, “Naia says we are to go into the woods.”

Efrain stood up straighter, grateful for the change in conversation.

“We are.”

“And we are to sacrifice some of the dead ones,” she said.

“That we- so he told you,” he said, “why do I get the feeling that will be a common occurrence?”

“Naia knows who to put his trust in,” said the woman, ‘Damafelce’ Efrain thought he’d overheard.

“And is that why you seem to trust me?”

“I trust few people,” she said, grinning, and placed a hand on the swords at her hip.

“I assume you’re less perturbed than some of the others because of skadufin.”

She nodded, eyes glimmering with obvious excitement - she must’ve not met many who knew of the customs of Nieth. Most continental people considered the practice of open burial, which is to say, leaving the body to nature, with distaste. To Efrain, it was a common way to get rid of unwanted test subject remains.

“From the land we come, and unto it we render,” she said, a common sentiment in her homeland.

“Close enough, though whether they’re going to into the embrace of Embass Aliya…” Efrain shrugged, “but, if it means I have one less sword at my throat for the time being all the better.”

“Embass Aliya is everywhere. That aside, I guess you trust me,” she said.

“Being very generous with that phrase, young lady,” said Efrain, parking his hand on his hips.

“Well, you sound like what I’d imagined, all the old speech,” she said, grin widening further as she turned on her heel and walked back into the camp.

Efrain hmphed as he made the final adjustment on the saddle, mumbling to Tykhon as he did so.

“I don’t sound that old. It’s not my fault language has changed in the last two hundred years.”

The mount watched him with what Efrain thought was silent judgement.

“Fine, it is a silly thing to worry about,” he huffed, before pulling himself up, “now where is that cat?”

It didn’t take all that long before they found her, sitting near one of the cookfire, what looked like a younger squire sitting right next to her. He was strained with trepidation over what Efrain assumed was a desire to pet her.

“I wouldn’t do that, lad,” he said, causing the squire to nearly jump out of his skin, “she’s a powerful spirit, that one. She doesn’t do ‘petting’.”

The man stood up, apologised profusely, bowed, apologised again, and suddenly found that his captain needed him across the camp. Innialysia, for her part, turned over and scowled at Efrain.

“You know I ‘do’ petting. This body is still a cat,” she said sourly.

“Seems like a very nice young man. Would hate for him to singe his hand if he gave one too many bellyrubs,” he said, “besides, I’ve been putting up with countless annoyances for the past hours. Seems only fair that you share some of the burden.”

The firepit’s embers glowed brighter as Innie decided whether or not to take the bait. She sighed, and hopped up on the log to groom herself.

“So, we’re still going to the Pourjava’s hollow, are we?”

“Unless you have any better ideas,” he said.

“Many, actually. But most of them you wouldn’t find agreeable.”

“Probably not,” Efrain shrugged, “do you still want to come?”

“You’re lucky I like you,” she said, before drifting up on a gust of hot air.

“Yes. I am,” said Efrain.

The two rode for the base of the hill, watching as they soldiery packed up and prepared for an unknown journey into the woods. Efrain wondered at his lack of worry, that he might be leading many of these young men and women to their deaths. Then again, they were a foreign army on his doorstep, so his duplicity might be counted as a stroke of genius. Efrain shrugged the thought off as mere idleness, and turned to what he knew of the green road.

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The basics of it were simple indeed - a path through the deepest, darkest parts of the world, tended to by those spirits who were closest to the hearts of the forest. Actually getting onto it, however, was entirely predicated on the kindness of said spirits, who were the only ones that held the keys, metaphorical as they may be, to the path. Efrain hoped that they were of a forgiving character.

It took a good few minutes more before the soldiers were ready and gathered, Naia and the paladins, along with their charges waiting for him.

“So, Efrain,” he said, nodding towards the forests, “lead us to your forest gods.”

“It might be in your best interests to call me ‘lord’ Efrain,” he said, drawing a frown from those assembled.

“What exactly are you a lord of?” ventured one of the paladins, the male one.

“That word didn’t used to be tied up to land ownership, paladin,” Efrain snorted, “it was a denotation of mastery. Ironically, your order is one of the few that still uses it correctly. Either way, the point is, while Angorrah might’ve forgotten the root of the word, the old places of the world haven’t, and that might be just the thing to buy you an important ear.”

Feeling awfully good with the lecture, Efrain wheeled around on Tykhon, and moved in towards the trees. The warmth of the sun was muted as they passed into the tree-cover, and deeper into the forest. It was well over an hour of silent riding to the west before Efrain was willing to first dismount in front of the older cedars.

“We’ll take a brief break here,” he said, as he rooted around in the undergrowth near a tree.

Naia stepped down with him, crossing over to kneel by his side as Efrain brushed away leafs and earth from the root.

“What exactly are we doing, lord Efrain?” he said, glancing down at Efrain preparations.

“Finding the way,” he said, laying out his bag and drawing a long thin steel nail from one of the slots, “don’t suppose you have any game, living if possible, somewhat fresh if not?”

The man frowned, and shook his head.

“Eh, you’ll be good enough. Hold out your hand,” said Efrain, before pricking one of the fingers offered, eliciting a sharp hiss as he drew blood.

“I trust you have a very good reason for that,” said Naia, with a scowl.

“You’ll see,” Efrain said, pressing the nail into earth, wiping it clean with a leaf, and pushing into the root. Almost immediately, the faintest of glows permeated through the bark.

The directions to a Porjava’s hollow, like many places of magic, was less a matter of navigation, but more rather of impression. Efrain shrank and slid into an endless network of fibres, chaotically disjointed, yes, but having a greater symmetry beyond.

He was simultaneously confronted by two different perspectives - a larger survey of the magic of the trees, and where it flowed and cycled, and the actual growth. It would’ve been disorientating even with just two trees, but Efrain had to oversee hundreds, then thousands. Finally, he broke off the flow of magic and stumbled back to reality.

“Well then, time’s wasting,” Efrain said, as he packed away the nail.

He turned to see Naia with his arms crossed, waiting for an explanation.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Efrain said as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

They set off again, to the north this time, Efrain noting some of the soldier’s confused expressions. He couldn’t really blame them - riding back the way they’d been heading would be confusing. Naia rode alongside him, trying very hard to peer out into the trees.

“The place we’re looking for is deep in the forest, but the problem is that it constantly moves,” Efrain began, “I needed to see ‘as the forest sees’. To follow the magic to its source.”

“So what part did my blood play in your sight?” Naia asked, with a decidedly less than satisfied tone.

“Oh, nothing. A courtesy payment to the tree for harming its root, nothing more.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Absolutely, but then again, so are you - letting a mage lead you into a mysterious old growth,” Efrain said.

Naia scowled, but didn’t contest the accuracy of the observation.

“So, we get to this location you want to find, and then what?”

“We offer the bodies, ask nicely, and hope that the greenfolk are in a pleasant mood.”

“And how far is it from here?”

“If I’m right, and I have no reason to doubt my talents, I believe it’ll be another two or three hours of riding. You’ll see.”

And so they rode on into the afternoon, the light growing thin as the sun fell over the valley peaks. As the hours wore on, the soldiers began to look around nervously, no doubt beginning to feel the unnatural pressure as they neared the source of the wood’s magic. The temperature started to drop as they reached areas of the forests where the roots fell into shadow.

The trees here were thick, ancient, and covered in coats of moss and lichen, the earth rich with the scent of decay. Efrain ordered a halt and turned to face Naia on horseback.

“This is the border to the hollow, where the mist begins,” he said, pointing to where the vapour was wrapping around the base of the trees, “now, it’s very, very, important from this point on. No fire, no swords, no matter what sounds or sights you think you might see, do not panic. Most things that reside in the mists are merely curious.”

He gave a pointed stare at the paladins, who already had their hands at their waists. They alternated between giving him a glare in return, and glancing around at the trees.

“This is about respect,” he said, raising his voice so that the whole column, or close enough, could hear him, “you’re entering a place as old if not older than your city, with inhabitants much the same. Anger them, and you’ll be sorry in short order. Honour them, and the worst they’ll do is ask you to leave.”

The male paladin - Efrain would have to ask Naia about his name soon, sneered, and was about to offer some no doubt snide retort before Efrain got out ahead of him.

“And stay together. Keep your eyes and ears on the person in front of you, and follow closely. Ignore anything you see, no matter how familiar. It’s all too easy to get lost in this place, and exactly not that to get out.”

Efrain wheeled around and took off - he no longer needed to rely on the memory from the trees, he could almost see the magic drifting toward the clearing, like smaller streams into a river. Innie was sitting upright, not alarmed, but more alert than her usual lazy continence.

It seemed every step they took into the forest brought the mist higher and thicker around them, until trees ten steps from them were just dark outlines. The sounds started a bit further in, some commonplace, like the long low call of a bird, or wind blowing through leaves. Some less so, similar to the chimes of bells, of whispers in the fogs, the trickle of a stream.

This was the first time Naia looked genuinely concerned and possibly regretful of his decision to trust Efrain.

“No need to fear, commander,” Efrain said, “if the masters of the woods had marked us out for trouble, they would’ve already come for us.”

“I’m less concerned about them,” he responded, “and more about a man scampering off.”

Efrain chuckled grimly at the prospect.

“The green-folk can find them if they so choose, hence all the more reason for respect.”

“How much farther to go, then?”

“No idea,” Efrain said, nearly gleefully. He was enjoying the man’s discomfort.

“I hope that’s a joke.”

“What’s the paladin’s name?”

“Who, Lillian?”

“No, the other one.”

“Niche.”

Efrain hmmed as he considered the name, trying to divine a root, but finding it far too generic to be of note.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I didn’t. We’ll get there when we get there, commander.”

That response got him a disgruntled expression, but no further conversation. Efrain was telling the truth - in reality, they were on paths that only seemed straight, but often curved and slanted back on themselves. If a less experienced mage had tried this, even ones that could ‘see’ the magic around them, they would’ve likely been lost as well.

Efrain however, felt no small amount of pride that he was able to at least get a general direction out of the fog. Innialysia could likely give him specifics done to the footstep, but he wasn’t about to dampen his mood by asking. It was maybe another twenty minutes before the land started to slope down, the mist coiling so thick in the depression that the ground vanished into a grey pool.

Efrain shivered as he remembered the mist that’d heralded the emergence of the monsters, but this was different. It lacked the rending cold that reached into his bones and tried to pull his body apart. Magical as it was, this was just mist.

Deeper and deeper they went, the earth rising over their head as dark, tall tree roots began to creep over them. They reached out over the procession, intertwining and growing thicker as they formed a lattice. The gaps grew smaller and smaller as they went further, the passage growing darker in tandem.

He stopped for the final time, called out without turning back.

“Here’s the unpleasant part. Just keep going forward, and under no circumstance light a torch.”

Hearing the orders being relayed back through the line, he began again. Efrain grimaced as he progressed deeper into the tunnel, the whispers that had once been far off in the fog now growing loud and numerous. The others would be completely blind, but Efrain could see the sheen of bones embedded in the earth of the walls.

He sighed in relief as the pass began to lighten and rise - no one so far had tried to light a fire. The last of the group left the darkness a handful of minutes later, most visibly unnerved. The whispering was both quieter and less hostile.

“What… was that?” Naia said, his face dotted with sweat as he pulled up next to him.

“The dead,” Efrain shrugged, “resent might be a strong word, but they don’t appreciate the living among them. Here we are.”

The clearing they exited out into was large with a veil of mist obscuring the canopy. This was not the grey opaqueness of the outer edges of the hollow, but a golden twilight. No doubt that many of the men thought it was a sun, and were relieved, but Efrain knew better. It was always twilight here, and that had nothing to do with the cycles of day and night.

“Right,” he said, “Innie if you wouldn’t mind doing the honours?”

“Last chance to turn back,” she said, “once you call out, we’ll lose any deniability.”

“Just do it. Mine is rusty,” said Efrain.

Innialysia sighed and Efrain felt a rush of heat as the cat rose to dissolve into fiery light. Innie, circling the trunks in her true form, called out, with a sound ironically similar to a bird’s chirp, much to the clamour of the troops.

At first there was nothing, and Efrain wondered briefly if he’d have to add his own voice. Then the whispering changed to voices like creaking bark and trickling brooks as balls of leaves and earth drifted out from between the trunks. They flitted to and fro, circling the party, as the knights began to point.

“I’ve had enough of this!” came a voice, and Efrain turned to see one of the paladins, Niche, that was his name, unsheathing his sword. Of course things have been going too well, Efrain thought as he wheeled around, to find the length of steel pointed at him.

“You,” he accused, “what have you led us to?”

“Put that away, fool, before you get yourself killed,” hissed Naia, surprising Efrain with his ferocity.

“What? On his word? Commander Naia, you have recklessly put your trust in this man, if he even is a man.”

“You know,” Efrain remarked, his voice carefully maintaining a neutral tone, “as funny as it would be to watch this unfold, I have a vested interest in keeping you alive. So drop the sword away before you do indeed get killed.”

“Is that a threat? Are you going to try to?”

Efrain cocked his head, as he watched one of the trees detach itself from the earth in eerie silence for something so large.

“I could do many things to you paladin, many of them unpleasant, some of them lethal. However, I’d rather save myself the effort and let nature take its course.”

Efrain pointed behind the paladin to the giant that now towered over the group.