Ian made his way through the woods, repeating the trick of using a minor field of life-draining magic to keep the grasping grasses and vines manageable. He tried calling out again, “Montague! Jamie!” but there was no response. He could still hear no sound at all beyond his own voice, which was muffled.

  The Villain cut his way through the forest. Nothing looked familiar. Was he on a new path, or where things growing and changing that quickly? Or perhaps he was simply unobservant.

  This whole thing was absurd. He’d been through these woods before, when he’d hidden the stone in the first place. He’d been along save for a small company of imps. The presence of the forest fairies had given the place and ominous feeling that made him feel unwelcome, but they hadn’t tried to physically stop them. What had riled them up so much in the intervening time? It hadn’t been that long. A month, perhaps.

  Maybe it was for the best that things had gone so badly awry. If that idiotic Hero had come through here to collect the Emerald Stone he may never have made it out. Ian wanted him to feel like he was in danger, wanted him to think that the quest to collect the Crystals was intended to keep him out indefinitely, but it was only really intended to delay him. Once he was ready with the research for his ritual, he needed both silver-eyed elves at Blackwing Manor. Adelchis needed to make it there alive.

  If the light behind those beautiful was snuffed out here, in the darkness, alone… Well, it wasn’t about him, not really. Ian didn’t care what happened to him—obviously!—the point was that if he died here it would have been too soon. The whole thing would have ended in failure, anyway. It was a good thing that the duplicitous Damsel was trying to usurp his Evil Plan, really. She’d keep the Hero safe, and she’d never work out the ritual without him, anyway, so… yes, this was fine.

  The Hero never could have survived these woods, but the Villain would soon master them.

  He just needed to retrieve those other two (or three) morons first.

  “Captain?” Ian called out as he approached the first of the life sources, “I hope that’s you and you can take over cutting through the foliage for me.” He pushed his way through the last layer of trees, growing close together as if to physically bar his way. He didn’t see the Captain, but he didn’t see anyone else, either.

  For the briefest of moments, Ian thought he’d found the cabin. Dismissing that notion, he still thought it was another building. But that wasn’t right, either. It was a row of narrow trees, growing so close together and so neatly aligned that they seemed to be a wall, layered with vines. These he pulled at physically, drawing the life and the water out of them so that he could efficiently burn through. The tree trunks, though, proved more of a problem. They were thin and weak enough that he could bend them, but he was rather short on woodcutting axes.

  “Captain!” he shouted, “Captain Montague!” Still no reply. “Jamie, are you there? Esme!” No word from either of them. Ian pressed a hand against one of the trees and focused on what he could feel beyond it. It certainly was one of them, and they were surely alive. So why didn’t they answer?

  Trailing a hand over the bark of the trees, Ian walked to the corner of the wall and then around it. Perfectly square, but the wall continued past it. And again around three more corners, back to where he started. He hammered on the trunks with his fist. “Montague!” he shouted again, “Jamie! Esme!”

  If the woods were muffling sound magically, maybe they couldn’t hear him on the other side of the curtain of trees, thin though they were.

  “Whither, wild things?

  “Wither and wane,

  “Show me what you hide.

  “Wayward wand’rings

  “Won’t be contained,

  “I’ll break them from inside.”

  There were entire schools of magic dedicated to the power of music and verse. Ian did not belong to such a school, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize the power. The rhythm helped, supposedly. And articulating one’s objective clearly could help a mystic focus. So they said, anyway.

  And sometimes local spirits appreciated a proper poetic incantation and might lend a mage some power. Hopefully in this case he might at least convince the fey spirits here to hold off on trying to block him so much.

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  Ian was hardly one to try to work out a poem for everything, but there were times when, well, when what he was doing wasn’t working and it was time to try something else.

  The trees he touched groaned and cracked. An opening!

  “Ian?” called out a weak voice. Not, alas, Montague’s. “Ian, are you there?”

  “Jamie? You can hear me?”

  “You came to rescue me!”

  “Of course I did, child,” Ian lied with a feigned tone of exasperation, “I could hardly leave you behind here when I might still need your help.” Wait, was this even a lie? Ian was carefully crafting his explanation to lead to the desired response (and loyalty). It didn’t really matter what the truth was, but… wasn’t it that? “I was hoping to find the Captain first so she could do the chop chop thing she does so well.”

  Ian saw an eye looking out at him through the crack in the trees. “You made the water ax,” Jamie pointed out.

  Huh. That was true. He did.

  “I didn’t control it, though. And I’m not getting as much water here.”

  Ian considered. If they power of this forest allowed him to invert his death magic, to track life, why couldn’t Jamie do something similar? Or, well, something opposite?

  “Jamie, this place is full of life.”

  “Of course it is, Ian, it’s a forest.”

  “Life magic Jamie, magic!” Ian tapped on the trees in front of him. He noticed how unnaturally they were growing, fusing together. They weren’t like that when he’d first torn down the vines. How fast were they growing? “I don’t know if it comes from the fairies or if it’s what’s drawing them here, but it’s true. The place is suffused with magic. Can you sense it?”

  “I-I don’t know if I can—”

  “Nature magic and holy healing aren’t quite the same, I know, but they’re both life magic. If you can connect with it—sit down Jamie, sit on the ground and concentrate on the power. Not just in the trees, but in the earth below you.”

  “O-okay, Ian.”

  There was silence then. There was silence for such a long time, Ian took several trips around the perimeter of the house of trees, tearing away the vines that threatened to choke it out again. For such a long time that Ian thought he felt the life force within grow weaker. “Don’t sleep, Jamie! Keep your eyes open, keep awake.”

  And then it grew stronger, and Ian heard the Boy gasp. “Ian, I-I think I’ve got it. I can feel it!”

  “Great. Heal yourself.”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  “Empower yourself! Draw strength not from the heavenly planes but from that power in the earth. Draw it into yourself.” And out of the trees.

  “Weaken,” he muttered, “Wither. Wane. Weaken, wither, wane, weaken wither wane, weakenwitherwane, weakenwitherwane weakenwitherwaneweakenwitherwaneweaken—” Ian’s fingers suddenly broke through the bark. “Oh. Ew.” It felt like rot. He drew moisture out as well, and then the trees began to crumble into powder. He reached an arm through the hole. “Good enough, Jamie, good enough. Just squeeze through, now, and let’s get out of here!”

  The Boy’s arm met Ian’s, their hands clasped. He felt strong, stronger physically than Ian expected him to be. The result of the magic he’d drawn into himself? There was certainly something to be said for empowering magic, though Ian was much more familiar with magic that weakened other things rather than spells to empower the self. But maybe it was time to start learning.

  He pulled, and Jamie’s arm emerged, and then his head, and then he broke free and the two of them tumbled. The weakened, withered trees writhed. “Okay,” said Ian quickly, “let’s move.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going somewhere that’s not here!” Ian shouted, “And then we can pick our next objective after that.”

  The pair of them hurried away before the vegetation was able to start lashing at them. They weren’t able to run, exactly, in the dense forest, but wending their way around the trees they put enough distance behind them at they couldn’t see the square copse any more. “Stop here,” said Ian, “tend your scrapes.” He stopped and focused, repeating his efforts before to find the life signatures.

  It was a little hard to tell, because he knew what to do now and the whole process was faster, but it also felt a little more… difficult? Like they were harder to sense. Weaker, further away, both? “Can you sense what I can, Jamie? The life signals.”

  “I-I think so.” Jamie swallowed. “Which of those is Captain Montague, and which is the Wicked—I mean, the witch?”

  “No idea. How about the one on the left?” Jame’s mouth twitched uncertainly. Slowly he nodded, and the pair of them continued on towards one of their supposed allies. The one on the left.

  JAMIE REJOINED THE PARTY!