18-3

  In the late evening, Syffox resumed sitting on his stump observing the distant hill. Lights of campfires dotted the far edge of the horizon. The army had retreated to the ridge and set up camp. Syffox wished they would have kept on going but knew they wouldn’t leave so quickly, even after being blasted to pieces.

  He was going to retire soon. It was late, and if the invading army hadn’t done anything by now, then it wouldn’t do so till morning. He scanned the distant rise with his magic one last time. It seemed the tents were mostly set up. Some men were having a meal, some men were being attended to by clerics, and some men were being laid to rest. Syffox steadied himself. This is what needed to be done to defend his forest. This is what needed to be done to bring his Goddess back… to the forest.

  As his magic eyes passed over the ridge, he spied two officers standing beside a horse with attending soldiers nearby. One of the officers, what he supposed was an army prefect, was mounting the horse. He was also in a debate with his second-in-command. The second was an older man but obviously respected his superior. The officer reached down and was given a flag staff with a white banner.

  Syffox cursed; he wanted to go to bed. He certainly did not want to talk. The only thing he wanted to hear from these men was the clanging of their spears and their cries of prayers to the gods.

  He picked up his bow and summoned a targeting arrow. The feathers curved slightly around a shaft that was decorated with eyes and streaks and an image of Vantaiga blowing a kiss to the simple metal-clad point. Syffox’s jaw clenched as he looked at the delicate drawing. He drew in a breath and sought out his target in the distant night with his magic.

  The arrow was launched with a thumping pulse, leaving behind a spray of white that wafted dimly in the night air. Syffox sat back down and waited for the arrow to strike. This captain needed to be told he was not going to negotiate. He needed his battle.

  In the dark distance, the arrow struck its target. It smashed into the flag staff, yanking it from the prefect’s hand and splitting it in two. Syffox watched in amusement as the man dismounted and yelled unheard curses at him across the range. But instead of returning to the camp, the soldier ripped the white banner from the broken staff and wrapped it around his chest.

  Syffox stood up with a growl and summoned a heavy arrow marked with thorns dripping blood and tipped with a large, barbed, head. He nocked the arrow into his bow and sought out the officer. Breathing heavily, he glared at the defiant, distant, soldier. With a growl, he cast aside the arrow. He summoned a new arrow with broad feathers and a wooden ball for its head, the shaft decorated with hammers and fists. He nocked the arrow and pulled back his bow. Again, he glared at the soldier trotting down the far ridge in the darkness.

  He drew in a slow, angry breath before casting aside the second arrow. With a huff, he put down his bow and stacked a few branches together in a pile. He said a prayer to himself for calm. The army prefect was not here for any personal assault on him or the forest. Like him, he was just a servant doing his duty. Syffox decided he should respect that. With a flick of his fingers, he ignited the small pile of branches and then returned to his own camp in the forest to find something to offer his late evening guest.

  By the time the army captain rode up , Syffox had set a small kettle to boil and was preparing two cups with shredded leaves. The captain looked Syffox over before peering around the forest and the field of stumps. He turned in his padded saddle to look over the distant encampment of his army and then back to Syffox. His eyes shifted between the great, polished, war bow leaning on a stump and the elderly man preparing a steaming drink.

  Syffox finally broke the silence with a gesture to the soldier to take a seat beside him. “Won’t you join me, sir? I have made a mint tea from what I could find left of this…” He waved his hand abjectly about—“this forest.”

  The prefect dismounted from his horse to stand next to the fire. He was clearly not amused by the casual greeting. “It’s just you, then?” The man had the black hair and beard and the dark olive skin of the eastern kingdoms. He was not old, but the leather and metal plates of his armour held the marks of someone who had spent many years as a soldier.

  Syffox sadly smiled. “Yes, just me. I seem to be the only one that cares for the forest anymore.” He offered the seat again. “Please sit. Join me.”

  The prefect was too incensed to sit. “You care enough to kill my men?”

  Syffox replied sympathetically. “It’s not something I enjoy doing. You feel sad for your men because you know them. I feel sad for the trees because I know them. Is it really so different?”

  “It’s different because those men had families and children that will never see their fathers again.”

  Syffox looked up to him more seriously now. “The forest has children. It also has animals, food, medicine, and gifts you do not understand because you refuse to sit and learn what it has to offer.” With a gesture of his hand, he compelled the man to take a seat. The prefect tried to resist but could not will himself over the power of Syffox’s magic. He was forced to begrudgingly sit next to the mage. Syffox picked up a cup and offered it to him. “Tea?”

  The captain looked at the cup, dumbfounded, and then at Syffox incredulously. “Why are we here?”

  Syffox sighed. “Nobody cares for the forest anymore. Like the children of the men you lost, the forest needs to be cared for and looked after to thrive in this harsh land. If you put a child in the middle of the desert without any help, it would not last long. The same is true of this forest.”

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  The prefect shook his head. “You don’t have to kill people to take care of the forest. There was no one out here who helped these trees grow. Your forest came into our territory on its own.”

  Syffox grimaced. “Indeed, with the help of Hydar’s rain, my Goddess has made the forest grow quite large, and she no longer seems to think it needs to be cared for. However, as your lumbermen demonstrated, it requires someone to defend it—to defend the ways of the forest—for it to survive. If we all cared for the forest, it would flourish, and in return provide sanctuary for all of us.” He concluded with a warm smile. “With faith, the forest will provide.”

  The officer threw his head to the sky and growled in frustration. “Don’t preach to me, old wizard. Your forest provides bugs and beasts and fanatics—not sanctuary. You killed innocent workers! You killed local deputies! You killed scores of my men! Why must people die to care for your forest?”

  Syffox’s expression grew dark as he leaned in closer to the prefect. “People die all the time. They die of thirst. They die of hunger. They die of disease.” He pointed at the forest behind him. “It’s the forest that saves people. Destroy it and then all hope is lost for this world.”

  The prefect scoffed. “Only in legends, old man. I don’t know where you came from or what has happened to your head, but there is no sanctuary in that forest. There are only myths. There are no priestesses aiding travelers. There are no missionaries offering gifts. And there is definitely no goddess from the taiga to give you salvation. Those are bedtime stories told to children.” The prefect cast his arms out in frustration. “And confused old men to help them sleep at night!” He thrust a finger towards the trees. “Have you been in the forest? It is as harsh as any desert. You may not die of thirst or heat, but rest assured, you will die. You are a fool to defend it.”

  Both sadness and anger welled up in Syffox. Was the thought of their forest sanctum now just a tale of old wives? Did the gods demand that Vantaiga abandon it? Did Hydar? He became disheartened by the thoughts. “It is because everyone has given up on the forest that you say such things. The beasts can be tamed. The trees can be bountiful. The Goddess will show you that if you have faith.”

  “Then why don’t you stop killing people and just pray like everyone else?”

  A lump caught in Syffox’s throat, and his stomach churned with sick sadness. He took a long pause to find his voice for a reply. “She… doesn’t answer my prayers. She… doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

  The prefect slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Listen, you’re a very powerful sorcerer, and I have no wish to needlessly throw my men’s lives away. I will return to my governors. I will tell them your case, and we will leave you alone. This is a large forest. We will let you have yours and go about our ways in ours.”

  Syffox looked around at the line of trees spanning from horizon to horizon. Baffled, he turned back to the prefect. “It’s one forest. There is no my part or your part. It’s all the same forest.”

  The prefect rubbed his head. “What would you like me to do so we can leave you alone?”

  Syffox looked down at his cup of tea. “I’ve been alone a long time already. The forest has been alone a long time. You can’t leave here.”

  The prefect looked at him blankly. “Excuse me?”

  “I need my Goddess… The forest needs its Goddess back. I need you to bring her back.”

  The prefect shook his head in disbelief. “Excuse me!”

  “I need you to give me a battle that the gods will notice—that she will notice.”

  “I can’t bring her back! But we can leave you alone. In the morning, we will be gone.”

  “No! She needs to come down here. She needs to see what has happened here. She needs to see what has become of her forest. You will make her look!”

  The prefect scowled. “The only thing I can do is take my men and leave you to your foolishness.” He turned and walked back to his horse.

  Syffox picked up his bow and summoned an arrow. He nocked it, and with a gesture, the head of the arrow burst into flames. Then, with a deep pull, Syffox released the arrow in a thumping crack and pulse of magic.

  Startled, the prefect pulled his sword and spun around, only to see the flaming arrow fly overhead in a streak of sparks. He watched it as it flew high into the distant night sky. At the top of its arc, there was a flash, and the one trail of sparks broke into a dozen trails. The lines of sparks dropped down from the sky and fell among the distant campfires of his army, the bright flash of a fireball bursting from each.

  The prefect levelled his sword. Enraged, he stormed at Syffox. “If you want to talk to your goddess, then I will send you to meet her. But stop killing my men!”

  As he stepped closer, Syffox flicked his bow and caught the man beneath the eye. It made him flinch and his eyes watered. Syffox dropped his bow and stepped toward the officer. In a smooth, effortless motion he grabbed the man’s wrist and elbow and twisted them back over the soldier’s shoulder.

  The prefect was only briefly aware he was no longer standing before the ground thudded hard into his back, knocking the wind from him. Syffox twisted his wrist, and with a groan, the prefect was forced to roll over. He dragged the prefect by the elbow and turned him around. Pain forced the officer to crawl along with Syffox, lest his shoulder be torn out.

  Syffox knelt on the prefect’s shoulder and pulled his head up by his hair, forcing him to look at the burning encampment. He leaned in closely to the man’s ear. “Nobody will leave here until the gods notice our battle.”

  Syffox got off the captain and helped him stand. Dazed, the army prefect looked on while Syffox brushed the dirt from his armour. He finished by picking up the man’s sword and handing it to him. “If it will help, I promise to hurt no more than is necessary to make the gods look.”

  The prefect took his sword and held it towards Syffox before finally lowering it while flexing his shoulder. He looked over the distant fires burning in his encampment and then back to Syffox with resignation. He sheathed his sword. “I’ve never had a god witness any of my battles. It might not be so bad to have them notice for once.”

  Syffox nodded, offering his hand. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  The prefect gripped his opponent’s hand and shook it. It was a gentle but solid grip that contained a deathly chill. The experienced soldier recognized it as the cold of a wizard recharging his power from the energy around them. He looked at Syffox sternly. “Until tomorrow.”

  *** bonus scene ***

  When the prefect finally returned to his army’s camp, he was anxiously greeted by his commander. The man was covered in soot and sweat from putting out fires, “I hope your time was spent better than ours.”

  The prefect scowled back, “Not really, but I did meet our enemy.”

  “And?”

  “And, it is an old, deranged, and singularly powerful, mage.”

  “Just a single man! Then that settles it. We are not capable of handling someone with that power. We should leave and return with proper support.”

  The prefect shook his head, “No. If we leave he will strike us all down. If we fight we have a chance to survive.”

  The commander shook his head aghast, “How could we survive a fight against someone like that?”

  The prefect gave his second a wicked smile, “He is powerful. But he is also a mortal, and mortals have their limits. We will rush him in small groups until he depletes his power and has no more magic.”