The Tree Singer

Loial had always secretly wanted to be hasty.

Humans fascinated him, of that he made no secret. He was sure most of his friends knew, though he could not be certain. It amazed him what humans didn't hear. Loial could speak to them all day, then find that they had heard only part. Did they think that someone would speak without intending for others to listen?

Loial listened when they spoke. Every word out of their mouths revealed more about them. Humans were like the lightning. A flash, an explosion, power and energy. Then gone. What would it be like?

Hastiness. There were things to learn from hastiness. He was starting to wonder if he had learned that particular lesson too well.

Loial strode through a forest of too-silent trees, Faile at his side, other Ogier and Dolmar surrounding them. All held axes on shoulders or carried long knives as they marched toward the battlefront. Failes eyes flickered; she was not a Singer, but she could sense that the trees did not feel right.

It was horrible, horrible indeed. He could not explain the sense of a healthy stand of trees any more than he could explain the sensation of wind on his skin. There was a rightness, like a sliver of the Heart, to healthy trees. It was not a sound, but it felt like a melody. When he sang to them, he found himself swimming in that rightness.

These trees had no such rightness. If he drew close to them, he felt he could hear something. A silence like screaming. It was not a sound, but a feeling.

Fighting raged ahead of them in the forest. The human's forces carefully withdrew eastward, out of the trees. They were nearly to the edge of the Grey Oak now; once out, they would march for the bridges, cross them, and burn them behind. Then the soldiers would launch volleys of destruction at the Plaguespawn trying to cross the river after them on their own bridges. Lynniad hoped to reduce the enemy's numbers considerably at the Keleos before they continued east.

Loial was sure this would all make fascinating information for his book, once he wrote it. If he was able to write it. He felt his eyes shift as the Ogier began their war song, the Dolmar singing a haunting counterpoint. He lent his voice to theirs, glad for the terrible song -the call to blood, to death- as it filled the silence left by the trees.

He started running with the others, Faile at his side. Loial drew out in the front, axe raised above his head. Thoughts left him as he found himself angry, furious, at the Plaguespawn. They didn't just kill trees. They took the peace from the trees.

The call to blood, to death.

Bellowing his song. Loial laid into the Plaguespawn with his axe, Faile and the combined Ogier and Dolmar joining him and stopping the brunt of this Plaguespawned flanking force. He had not intended to lead the charge. He did anyway.

He hacked at the shoulder of a ram-faced Plaguespawn, shearing its arm free. The thing yelled and fell to its knees, and Faile kicked it in the face, throwing it back into the legs of a Plaguespawn behind.

Loial did not stop his song, the call to blood, to death. Let them hear! Let them hear ! Swing after swing. Chopping dead wood, that was all this was. Dead, rotting, horrible wood. He and Faile fell into place with an Elder, who -with eyes a deep red- looked utterly fierce. A placid Elder. He felt the rage too.

A beleaguered line of Wardens -whom the Ogier and Dolmar had relieved- stumbled back, making way for the Clay-formed.

He sang and fought and roared and killed, hacking at scurge with an axe meant for cutting wood, and never flesh. Working with wood was a reverent business. This... this was killing weeds. Poisonous weeds. Strangling weeds.

He continued to chop the Plaguespawn, losing himself in the call to blood, to death. The Plaguespawn began to fear. He saw terror in their beady eyes, and he loved it. They were used to fighting men, who were smaller than themselves.

Well, let the Plaguespawn fight someone their own size. They snarled as the clay-formed line forced them back. Loial landed blow after blow, shearing through arms, hacking through torsos. He shoved his way between two bear Plaguespawn, laying about him with his axe, yelling in fury -fury now for what the Plaguespawned had done to the Clay-formed. They should be enjoying the peace of the Heart. They should be able to build, sing, and grow.

They could not. Because of these...these weeds, they could not! The Ogier and Dolmar were forced to kill. The Plaguespawn made builders into destroyers. They forced Clay-formed and humans to be like themselves.

The call to blood, to death.

Well, the Plague would see just how dangerous the Clay-formed could be. They would fight, and they would kill. And they would do it better than any human, Plaguespawn or Neverborn could imagine.

By the fear Loial saw in the Plaguespawned -by their terrified eyes- they were beginning to understand.

~|~|~|~

"Light!" Erumeldir exclaimed, falling back from the thick of the fight. " Light! "

The attack by the Ogier and Dolmar was terrible and glorious. The creatures fought with eyes wide, the color of blood, faces flat as anvils. They seemed to transform, all placidity gone. They cut through the ranks of Plaguespawn, the first rank of Ogier hacking the beasts to the ground. The second row, made up of the smaller Dolmar, sliced up Plaguespawn with long knives, bringing down any who made it through the first line.

Erumeldir had thought Plaguespawned fearsome with their twisted mix of human and animal features, but the Clay-formed disturbed him more. Plaguespawned were simply horrible... but Ogier and Dolmar were gentle, soft-spoken, kindly. Seeing them enraged, bellowing their terrible song and attacking with axes nearly as long as men were tall... Light!

Erumeldir waved the Wardens back, then ducked as a Plaguespawned slammed into a tree nearby. Some of the Ogier were seizing wounded Plaguespawn by their arms and hurling them out of the way. Many of the other Clay-formed were blood-soaked to their waists, hacking and chopping like butchers preparing meat. Now and then, one of them fell, but unarmored though they were their skin seemed tough.

"Light!" Jackson said, moving up to Erumeldir. "Have you ever seen anything like that?"

Erumeldir shook his head. It was the most honest answer he could think of.

"If we had an army of those..." Jackson said.

"They're Plaguetouched," Thomas said, joining them. "Plaguespawn for certain."

"Ogier and Dolmar are no more part of the Plague than I am," Erumeldir said dryly. "Look, they're slaughtering the Plaguespawned,"

"Any moment now, they'll all turn on us," Thomas said. "Watch..." He trailed off, listening to the Clay-formed chant their war song. One large group of Plaguespawn broke, fleeing back around cursing Neverborn. The Clay-formed didn't let them go. Enraged, the giant Builders chased after the Plaguespawned, long-handled axes chopping their legs, dropping them in sprays of blood and cries of agony.

"Well?" Jackson asked.

"Maybe..." Thomas said. "Maybe it's a scheme of some kind. To gain our trust."

"Don't be a fool, Thomas," Jackson said.

"I'm not-"

Erumeldir held up a hand. "Gather our wounded. Let's head toward the bridge."