When they reached the edge of the Chondalwood, Arvin glanced back the way they’d come. Stonehoof and his herd of centaurs were disappearing around a bend in the river, headed south. Across the river to the west, smoke rose from the chimneys of Fort Arran, white against the gray winter sky, as the soldiers started their day. A patrol would no doubt soon be sent out; Arvin had used the lapis lazuli to send a message to one of the officers he’d met last night, warning about the death symbols in the snow. The bodies of Sergeant Dunnald and Burrian—and those of the missing patrols—would be recovered. And the centaurs—including Zelia’s seed—would be tracked down and dealt with.
In the meantime, the centaurs wouldn’t be laying out any more death symbols in the snow, which had been gradually melting as Arvin, Karrell, and Tanglemane had walked toward the wood. Soon there would be nothing on the ground but slush.
Tanglemane, who had been trudging along behind Arvin and Karrell, also turned to look at the departing herd.
“What now?” Arvin asked. Will you return to the fort?”
Tanglemane shook his head. “You’ll need a guide.” He smiled. “It will be good to be out of harness, for a time.”
Karrell tipped back her head, looking up at the trees. “It looks so odd,” she said. “Trees, without leaves. This forest seems so… lifeless.”
“I assure you, it is not,” Tanglemane replied. “The Chondalwood is filled with life—though only the strongest will have survived this harsh winter.”
Arvin stared at the forest. The Chondalwood was a gloomy place, indeed. Tendrils of withered, brown-leafed ivy clung to bare branches, and dark moss hugged the trees. The slushy ground was an impassible-looking tangle of fallen logs, wilted ferns, and bushes dotted with blackened lumps that had once been berries. Dead boughs, snapped by the previous night’s cold and hanging by a thread of bark, groaned in the breeze. As Arvin glanced up, an icicle fell from a branch and plunged point-first into the slush at his feet. He hoped it wasn’t an omen of things to come.
He touched the crystal at his throat for reassurance then turned to Tanglemane. “I need to find a landmark,” he told the centaur. “One that would be easily recognized by the animals that live in this part of the forest. Is there one nearby?”
Tanglemane thought a moment. “There is Giant’s Rest, a stone that looks like a slumbering giant. Everyone knows it, and it’s no more than a morning’s trot from here.”
Arvin stared at the tangle on the forest floor. “Even through that?”
“I will carry you.”
Arvin’s eyebrows rose. From all he’d heard, a centaur would rather cut off a hoof than allow a rider on his back.
“You saved my life,” Tanglemane said, answering Arvin’s unspoken question. “Not once, but twice. I repay my debts. Both to you… and to the baron.”
“What put you in the baron’s debt?” Arvin asked.
Tanglemane snorted. “Nearly two years ago, he spared my son’s life. I vowed to serve him until that debt had been repaid. To serve in harness, if need be.” He spoke in a level voice, but his whisking tail gave away his agitation.
Arvin smiled. “Gods willing,” he told Tanglemane, “you’re finally going to get the chance to pay off that debt. We came to these woods to find something for the baron. Something he holds dear. It’s in a satyr camp we believe is nearby.”
“A worthy task, indeed,” Tanglemane said. He flashed broad white teeth in a grin. “Much better than pulling a wagon.” He knelt. “Climb aboard.”
During their ride through the forest, a wet snow began to fall. It lasted only a short time, but by the time they reached Giant’s Rest, Arvin was both soaked to the skin and utterly exhausted. The only thing keeping him awake was the constant ache of his legs, spread too wide across Tanglemane’s broad back. Arvin didn’t see the massive stone at first—he was too busy wincing. Only when Karrell, seated behind him with her arms tight around his waist, pointed it out did he realize they’d arrived at the clearing.
Arvin studied the stone through the dripping branches. It did, indeed, look like a sleeping giant lying on his back with an arm draped over his eyes. Fully fifteen paces long, the enormous rock was a variety of hues. A darker patch of brownish-gray began at the “waist” of the giant and ended just short of the “feet,” and the knob of stone that looked like a head bore veins of quartz that streaked the stone white, giving the impression of hair.
“That is no natural rock,” Karrell said. “Nor even a fallen statue. Something turned a giant to stone.” She glanced around nervously.
“Whatever happened here took place centuries ago,” Arvin said. “Just look at how weathered he is.”
