Chapter 5: DEATH 5: DRYAD’S GROVE

Bangs and grunts loud enough to make my ears ring, cut off as the blacksmith’s door swung shut behind me. A new short-sword hung from my hip, my reward for enduring the noise. Expensive? Yes, though still cheaper than The Guild run stores. Necessary? Without a doubt.

The rusted metal was no match for the stone skin of Cragbears, who arrived back at their cave homes near the end of my latest job.

Their interest in protecting their cubs over killing me was all that allowed me to escape. A pleasant change of pace to dying at the end of every mission. My new sword came with a second-hand scabbard thrown in for free. His version of a thank you for both my repeat custom and also for promising to send more work his way.

He worked hard, and few people rewarded anyone for that. Besides, The Guild stores were closed at the moment. None were allowed to reopen until they rebuilt Westington’s Weapons.

No one appreciated that news. As it was the single place, according to regulations, we could purchase weaponry. Its owner being the eldest councilor's son.

Nobody appreciated the man who brought the news, either. Howard Stalker. Sallow-faced, with greasy hair, he carried his bow strung and at the ready. He was quick to inform us he dealt only with those adventurers who styled themselves as rangers.

His next proclamation shocked us. We were not to make any equipment purchases until they finished rebuilding the store. When complete, the four-story general store would supply all our needs, and at a discount.

An older Elven woman, Mithirella, asked what she was supposed to do. Her quiver containing a single arrow, and her bow string was fraying. Howard’s reaction was swift.

Mithirella’s gasp drew our attention to her flushed face and the arrow that stuck out of the table in front of her.

There were no more questions.

The memory of The Guild’s cruelty brought the catkin boys’ face to mind. Whiskers drooping, and his whole body shivering as he huddled under that awning. His illness turned out to be a version of the flu his malnourished body couldn’t shake. Medicine for it was cheap, easy enough for The Guild to afford.

Not that they would consider it.

Bastards. They refused us service, attacked us, and kept us ill. Stomach-churning in anger, my fingers brushed the hilt of my sword. Nothing that the likes of me could fix. They were too big.

Big. That thought reminded me of Minnius. She had a problem, a big one, one that should have been insurmountable. But she asked me for help. Help she received if the rumours were anything to go by.

Sure, it wasn’t possible to fix the whole thing, but a smaller part?

That was easy.

A sneezing catkin came to mind.

The bell to the apothecary chimed.

Scents of herbs and earth mixed to create an aroma that you couldn’t find anywhere else. A dwarven lady hummed a gentle tune behind the counter, focus entirely on pruning a small bush that sat nearby.

It took several attempts to get her attention, and it became a fight to keep it. She seemed more interested in the bush than the sale, but eventually, she wrapped up the medicine in the bag. The door was half-open when she finally spoke.

“All plants need a bit of tending too before they can bloom. Not everyone is born with a green thumb. But I’ve never believed you needed one to tend the soil,” Her pupils vanished, overtaken by an emerald hue that created both a feeling of dread and comfort as it washed over me.

She refused to answer questions, before the noise of the street once again buffeted me on the trip back to The Guild Hall, package in hand. No one else looked any different, and no other signs of magic were present along the walk.

Who was that dwarven lady? An acolyte, or maybe something more?

Shaking my head to clear it of such thoughts helped somewhat. It didn’t matter, a warning was a warning, and when eyes started changing color, best to pay attention.

My head was still full of the meeting when the scent of burned wood and smoke invaded my nostrils.

Ruined stores sat around the charred stone buildings, work crews still busily fixing what they could under the watchful eyes of hired adventurers. As everyone knew, abandoned or broken buildings could attract monsters, not that it often mattered in the poorer districts.

Everyone remembered the Rat King that infested the slums for a fortnight before the adventurers got involved. A pity too, as according to some, the monstrous monarch did a much better job at peacekeeping than the guard.

None stopped me from entering, as the sounds of their hammers faded into the distance.

However, the sight at the bottom of the stairs stopped me in my tracks. The Thieves’ Guild was back, and they were early. Through the crack in the door, one poor surveyor looked close to tears as the Orc enforcer berated him for being too slow to produce his coin.

That left me barely enough time to hide the medicine in my bag, alongside a majority of my coins. When the Orc finally turned to leave the room, my coin purse held exactly 100 gold, my full payment from the dogman cultists.

Broken teeth were on full display, as the Thieves’ Guild enforcer sneer widened upon catching sight of me. His eyes fell to the new sword at my hip, and he grunted in clear disgust.

“Look at the fancy warrior over here,” With exaggerated motions, he strutted over, bag in hand, before leaning over me. “Been keeping something back for yourself, have ya?”

He interrupted my stammering denial with a wave of his large hand. “Oh, I hope that’s not the case. Cause if I find your purse light?” He emphasized his next words with quick stabbing motions. “I’ll. Gut. Ya.”

He ripped the purse out of my hand. With glee, he counted out each coin, grunting in satisfaction before turning and heading up the stairs.

A shiver ran up my spine as quiet whispers filled the hall from the basement. That was close, too close. But it also couldn’t matter now. All we could do was work.

And fix a smaller problem.

***

No one in the room spoke. Awe at the speed of the transformation in front of us stealing our attention. Zekkas, the catkin boy, was worse than before. His coughing reaching a point where it sounded raw, and parts of his coat were falling out. Now though? A warm smile graced his face, whiskers twitching as he stared around at the shocked faces that surrounded him.

Luxurious was the best description for the golden fur that covered him, and his thank-you came out strong and healthy. Co-workers slapped my back, begging to know where such a miracle came from.

Upon the completion of the story, declarations to visit Greensors temple ran throughout the room.

An elderly halfling named Convon moved to a wall and slapped at the stone. Everyone gasped in excitement as it slid up to reveal a small bottle of liquor. Whispers spread across the room, as cups filled, and we all raised thimbles in a toast to health.

As we drank, the idea of a party made me chuckle. They told us repeatedly that we were enemies, rivals, obstacles. But looking around now, with everyone speaking and toasting together? The entire idea seemed silly.

Our only obstacle was the people upstairs. The ones who shot us, controlled us, and pitted us against one another. An untouchable elite. They showered us with gilded promises, preaching about how we could join them. Even as they allowed predators like the Thieve’s Guild to extort us, forcing us to toil without potential for reward.

Laughter broke me out of dour thoughts, sweeping me back into the festivities. Dancing broke out, as several surveyors produced well-loved lutes. As a lizardkin woman, slender and strong, twirled me around, a giggle burst forth.

Nonasia would get this story for sure.

Tired from dancing, the elders that sat among us, told us stories of how The Guild used to be. How surveyors mingled, and in The Guilds squat one-story building. Sure, the segregation among members was still present. After all, you would always have overachievers. But while praised, The Council would use them as an active example, not hide them away.

As evening approached, people left, sure there wouldn’t be clients today. Zekkas hugged me tightly and thanked me profusely before running out the door. He was a good kid. It was nice to see him happy.

Cold air filled the room when everyone left, and my bed called. Tired legs, overtaxed from dancing, shook under me at the thought of having to climb all those stairs. That would not be fun. At least with everyone gone, no one would mind a slower speed.

Not that fate gave me the chance.

Howard Stalker’s sallow face appeared even gaunter as he stared at me, hand outstretched as though to open the door himself. With a scowl, his hand dropped to his side, fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his leg.

“Where is the rest of your ilk?”

“I—”

“Never mind. They only need one. Come. The Council wants to meet you. Don’t dawdle,” He said, voice filled with resentment.

There was no chance to respond, as he slipped behind me. His bow poking me in the back anytime my pace slowed.

My legs protested at his pace, but his hunched shoulder and angry muttering told me he would be in no mood for complaints. Though, The Council requesting any lower floor surveyor was odd. They didn’t let us speak to those on the upper floors under normal circumstances. Excitement filled me. Maybe this would be an early promotion?

While the competition stipulated a gold amount, perhaps they would wave it in my case? A testament to my stellar work ethic. That thought made me laugh, an action that caused Howard Stalker to glare at me. We never got reviews about our work, another important guild rule designed, so that any success couldn’t go to our heads.

The sparse decorations and stone walls of the foyer turned into a gallery of gilded frames, each holding portraits of The Guild’s greatest surveyors.

One, in particular, caught my eye. It depicted a woman, carrying a bag overflowing with coins under one arm. Her long brown hair, appeared well cared for, and her piercing green eyes were painted as though to stare into the viewer.

Pride radiated from her posture. An odd expression for anyone who wore our uniform these days. Was this painting done after she returned from a difficult job? Or was it simply the pose they asked of her upon her return to The Guild Hall?

A single glance at my guide’s hunched shoulders made it obvious. The Council, forcing pride filled poses during portraits for advertising? It was strange that it didn’t happen more often.  

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Light music spilled into the hallway as Howard opened the door to the upper floor common room. None of the occupants looked our way, and my quick scan didn’t find my Master. That didn’t surprise me. Her appearance was rare, even during my training.

A flash of jealousy filled me as we crossed the room, heading towards another, more ornate, set of winding stairs. People milled about holding filled wine glasses or napping on comfortable couches. They even hired a bard to play in the corner!

More stairs and the walls again changed. Expensive tapestries fashioned from brightly colored silks covered the walls and mosaics showed The Guild leaders in their prime, striking heroic poses. Laughter bubbled up at the thought. Those poor artists, forced to fake such daring scenes.

Howard left me at the door, backing away with a relieved expression. He vanished from view before the door swung open, and a voice called out.

“Come in recruit,” The voice was kind, reassuring.

It reminded me of an old man who visited the docks with his grandson, explaining the basics of ship combat. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Nothing inside the room matched the hallway’s glamour. Bare walls encased the circular room, with a large table in the middle, at which six men sat facing me. All bore white hair and wrinkles, though their piercing eyes didn’t wave as they focused on my face.

“Name.”

The nameplate before the man read Westington, and by his tone, it wasn’t a question.

“Leiko. Sir. Junior Surveyor.”

Each of the men nodded without a smile among them. Westington spoke once more.

“I’m glad you volunteered. We have a problem, you see, one we need solved. You would be doing us,” He paused and cleared his throat. “The Guild. A great service. I’m sure you’ve heard of the rebuilding projects?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What you may not have heard is we are having some issues getting a particular type of wood from a rare tree in the local Forest. Our work crews have vanished. You will get to the spot and discover why. Submit a report the usual way when it is done. That will be all. You’re dismissed.”

***

My new sword came in handy on the trip over, easily cutting down the smaller monsters that roamed the path. A part of me considered using this opportunity to detour and make my way through the forest towards the maze. It might be fun to check on Minnius.

It took me longer than it should to stop thinking about it. The Council gave me a task, and that should be my focus. Besides, the foreman’s worried expression, while giving directions, showed it wouldn’t be right to waste time. They deserved to know what happened to their friends.

Though, it surprised me to find out they weren’t Soulbound. Wasn’t the King’s decree designed to stop this exact situation? It didn’t matter, not really. Their closure was important either way.

As the tree line obscured my view, an odd realization came to mind; the monsters were no longer attacking. Even the pack of Yuliops gave up their chase and fled back into the ditch beside the road.

A bad sign. Everyone knew that smaller monsters fled the biggest of predators.

Which begged the question. What exactly was in here? Following the foremen’s path wasn’t straightforward. While the path she described was there, the forest itself appeared against my journey. Any time my vision wandered, a tree would move into my path. Bushes grew at incredible speeds to act as natural barriers and to hide the vines that snaked around the ground to trip me up.

Not that this would stop me. My orders came from the top.

Failure wouldn’t require them to banish me from The Guild, but competition or not, the chance of me escaping the basement would fall to zero.

One of the nearby bushes withered, decaying to a brown mush. Underneath the pile, a metallic glint caught my eye. A tool maybe? Upon closer inspection, a gasp escaped my lips. It was a tool, a wood saw, one held by a skeletal hand, missing several fingers.

The tool itself looked new, but the bones looked weathered and worn. Decayed, as though rotting for years.

It was tempting to grab the saw, the tool worth something second hand. As my hand brushed the bone, it crumbled to powder, and the wind howled.

A warning, not an offering. Turn back or suffer the same fate.

At least the foremen would get her closure. Her workers were here and buried to a degree.

My pace slowed to a crawl as worry about what would happen filled me. Would my bones be the next warning for whatever poor soul The Council conscripted next? Did the forest bury them alive? Shudders overcame me at the thought of choking down below, in the dark, nose filled with dirt and insects.

Nobody should suffer that. Nobody.

Preoccupied, it took longer than it should have to notice that the forest was no longer fighting my progress. No obstacles blocked my path, and a cool breeze brushed against my skin in a gentle caress.

Something was very wrong.

Trying to stop proved futile. If at any point my pace slowed to nothing, the forest would react harshly. The wind would whip into a frenzy. Leaves and branches would smack against my legs, slashing through the coarse fabric of my pants, causing blood to stain my boots. Each time this occurred, a barking laugh filled the air.

The sound was high-pitched and irregular, as though whoever was delighting in my pain couldn’t breathe for several minutes between exhalations. It never emerged from the same direction twice, nor from the same distance.

Whatever monster lurked in between the trees was leading me somewhere. More signs of the workers piled up: axes, saws, bones. Some hung from branches as though macabre fruits, while others were placed in orderly piles.

Bloody and out of breath, the wind finally let me go once the edge of the clearing came into view.

She was right there.

Two small, delicate hands clutched a human skull, its jaw clacking each time she tossed it into the air. It reminded me of a child playing with a ball back home, as she tossed it up and down, side to side, at one point spinning it on her finger. An impressive, and horrifying, feat to watch.

Minutes passed before the skull’s flight no longer entranced me. With it no longer stealing my attention, my focus shifted to the one playing with it. Tall and willowy, vines grew and writhed over her nut-brown skin. Leaves and small branches, stuck out of bark-colored ringlets, that bounced and swayed as she moved with the skull.

A dryad. Some thought Dryad was another word for wood nymphs, which was far from the truth. Wood nymphs were like a forest-specific succubus, a fun-loving tree-spirit who wanted to entertain a traveler until they died.

Dryads were spirits of the forests, summoned to protect the land from any who would cause it harm. The more people who tried to invade its territory, the less stable they became. She didn’t catch the skull this time, and it tumbled across the ground, bumping up against a tree with beautiful golden bark.

Before the skull settled, it exploded, a mess of vines growing out of it in a matter of moments. Without realizing it, a gasp escaped my lips. A mistake.

Her head snapped to me, her eyes wild and her grin splitting her face in a way no humans could compare.

“New friend!?”

This wasn’t worth a promotion. Nope. No, no-no.

Laughter followed me again, this time in a constant stream, as trees and brushes once again tried to trip me up and end my flight. Branches whipped against my face, cutting my cheek with the sheer momentum of my flight.

She appeared with a pop, materializing from a nearby stump, as her grip on my tunic stopped me in my tracks.

Vines covered my legs and hauled me backward, as she hummed all the while.

***

Without the bones littering the ground, the clearing would be pretty. She forced me against the golden barked tree, her eyes fixated on mine as she waved her hands. With each movement of her fingers, vines grew over me and flowers blossomed on my skin.

“This is my tree. You are not like the other new friends. No. Not like them. You come back. They don’t,” Her voice was childlike, fragile. Brown eyes flicked over my face, unable to focus on any section for long. Her speech often changed, sometimes audible, sometimes not, but her mouth always moved, regardless.

As she spoke, my skin itched and burned. Screams crawled from my throat as tendrils pushed their way into my skin. My rolling eyes caught glimpses of flowers blooming along my skin, in between the moss and vines that wrapped around my arms.

Her last words consumed me, as thoroughly as the plant life that fed on my body.

“Tell them it’s my tree. MINE! Don’t come back. Don’t. IT’S MINE MINE MINE MINE! GO! NOW!”

Something blossomed inside me, and my last sensation was of my stomach splitting open.

As the cracks of my ceiling materialized before me, my tongue was perfectly dry.

No one told me vengeance tasted sweet.

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