Gareth Thornwood's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Gareth wiped the black sap from his machete and studied the dead vine. It had died too fast. Someone had wanted him to swing this blade. He turned to the caravan, resting now beside their carts, and made a choice. He would follow the vine to its root and find whoever grew it. "Keep them here," he told Derien. "If I'm not back by dark, take the road forward without me." Derien opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and nodded. Evangeline fell in beside him. "I'm coming. My father's land grew vines like these. I've seen who plants them." Her voice went quiet and flat. She did not explain further. They walked off the road into the gray trees. Gareth read the ground. The vines grew thicker in one direction, all leaning the same way, like fingers pointing home. Within ten minutes he knew the forest was wrong here. The moss grew in rings. The trees leaned inward. Everything bent toward one spot. They found the tower in a clearing. It was small, built of gray and green stone, its walls softened to blend with the moss. Red vines climbed every side and coiled around the door. Gareth cut through them with the machete. They blackened and died and did not grow back. The wooden door swung open before he touched it. A man stood inside. He was dark-haired, weathered, maybe forty, with hard hazel eyes. He held an open leather book in one hand and a slender red wand in the other. The wand was woven from the same vine that choked the forest. "You used the blade," the man said. "I hoped you would." He smiled without warmth. "I am Constantine Blackmire. I planted every vine you cut. They keep people out. But the machete was mine once. I let it find you." Gareth kept the blade raised. "Why guide me here?" "Because you cut a path," Constantine said. "Straight to my door. No one crosses the Ashfeld. You did. That makes you useful." He lifted the wand. The vines at the clearing's edge stirred and rose. Evangeline stepped forward. "You burned my father's land. Fifty acres. I saw the ash." Her voice dropped low and final. "I know your name from the court records." Constantine's smile faded. He looked at her, then at Gareth, and lowered the wand a fraction. "Then you both know too much to leave." Gareth understood now. The unnatural pull, the vine that died too easily, the road that opened only forward. Constantine had herded him here on purpose. The caravan was bait, or a tool, for something the sorcerer wanted. "I have sixty people on that road," Gareth said. "You'll let them pass." "That," Constantine said, closing his book, "depends on what you do for me first." Gareth had his answer. He knew who wanted his caravan deeper in the wilderness. Now he had to learn what the sorcerer meant to take.