The knot of trees that formed the grove of the School of the Wyld sat in a shallow bowl between two hills. The Broken Tower looked directly down onto the shadowed pines and elms crowded together in a tight, forbidding clump. A small wooden cabin stood on the outskirts of the wood, but Corwin passed that immediately and headed for the well-worn trail immediately beyond it.

  “That’s not their school…house?” Vash asked, pointing at the cabin.

  Corwin glanced over and shook his head. “They just use that for storage. Most of them sleep in the open, or put up little shelters in the grove if they’re staying for any length of time.” Corwin stopped as they approached the pair of standing stones that marked the beginning of the trail into the grove. “Just a word to the wise, the School of the Wyld is…very different.”

  Vash thought.

  “Anything I should keep in mind?”

  “The rangers are pretty level-headed, but they aren’t very comfortable when taken out of the wild places. They usually travel alone, so they don’t have the best social skills.” Corwin said, then he made a face as he tried to puzzle out what to say next. “The druids are hard to explain. They spend a lot of time meditating on something they call ‘The Green Lands’. It’s like a different plane of existence where the natural world comes together in harmony. So druids are often pretty disconnected from the here and now. Don’t underestimate them, though. They may seem spacey, but they lock on to some pretty harsh truths.”

  “All right.” Vash said, blowing out a sigh and turning to face the grove. “Do we knock or just go in?”

  “Funny you should say that.” Corwin chuckled and walked over to one of the standing stones. An object made of black and white horn hung from the stone. Vash quickly saw that it was a horn meant for visitors to announce themselves.

  Corwin raised the horn to his lips and blew three blasts. It sounded like the sonorous call of some great beast in the forest. An elk or some other large herbivore. Vash looked past Corwin into the shadowed depths of the grove and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  Corwin hung the horn back on the standing stone and hooked his thumbs into his belt and watched the tree-line. Vash joined him, unsure of what they were looking for. After a few moments of waiting, a figure appeared on the trail. One moment the trail was empty, and the next a woman in the dark browns and emeralds of forest gear was striding towards the standing stones.

  The deep hood of her cloak obscured the woman’s face, but judging by the bow slung across her back and the heavy leather of her breastplate and vambraces, Vash figured she was a ranger. Her gear was travel-stained, but in good repair, which said quite a bit about her. That she was a working Wayfarer and adventurer, mindful of keeping her gear in a state where it was useful, but not vain enough to care that it got dirty.

  As the woman approached the standing stone, she pulled back her hood. Vash blinked in recognition. It was the elf who had killed the Hammerworm when he escaped from the Underlands. Morwen’s features were the same sharp, elvish ones that he’d seen that first day. Her skin was nearly bone white with a purple undertone where normal folk would have a ruddy hue. She had pulled her thick, ash-colored hair back into a tight braid, which exposed her long, tapered ears, easily twice as long as Vash’s.

  Like all true-blooded elves, her eyes had a soft glow from the mana that saturated her blood. Most Vanan had blue or green from Vash’s experience. Morwen’s eyes were a deep violet, and the glow was a soft lavender.

  Vash tried to stop thinking of her in Vanan terms.

  “.” Morwen said, placing one hand over her heart and giving Vash a slight smile. “It is good to see you up and around. Cleric Emberhart was concerned that you had done too much damage to your spirit.”

  “Emberhart?” Vash asked, confused. He was also trying to puzzle out what she had said. His elvish was not the best, and she spoke with a quick, lilting accent that made the words hard to follow.

  “Sera.” Corwin said, helpfully.

  “Oh, right.” Vash said. “I’m doing well, thank you. I was more exhausted than wounded.”

  “” Morwen said, giving Vash a conciliatory nod.

  . Vash thought, wracking his sporadic elvish lessons for any response that would fit what she had said. The first phrase was something about spirits and brightened faces. The second sounds more like something Iona used to say: . Or maybe, ‘’.

  “We’re here to see Master Heggin about the vote in the Master’s Council tomorrow.” Corwin said, giving Morwen a friendly smile. “May we go see him?”

  The shadow elf cocked her head to one side and gave Corwin a puzzled look. “That isn’t up to me. That’s up to Master Heggin.”

  “I mean,” Corwin said, smile becoming tighter. “May we enter the grove and seek him out?”

  Morwen shrugged, continuing to regard Corwin with confusion. “No one has barred you from the grove. You may enter if you wish.”

  “Thank you.” Corwin said, with some relief. He beckoned Vash forward and headed for the trail.

  “However,” Morwen said, holding up a hand. Corwin and Vash stopped. “You should know that the grove takes you where you need to go, not necessarily where you want to go.”

  Vash looked over her shoulder at the cluster of trees between the two hills. From the hill above, the grove appeared to be no bigger than a small park back in Sathsholm. He doubted it would take him more than a few minutes to walk across it. “I don’t think we’re in much danger of getting lost.”

  “.” Morwen said, shrugging. “Just do not stray from the path. Our Heart Tree is old. She sometimes forgets where she puts things.”

  Vash shot a look at Corwin, who gave him a hopeless shrug. Turning back to Morwen, Vash gave her a look that he hoped was sincere. “We’ll keep to the path, thank you.”

  “.” Morwen said, pressing her hand to her heart again, then kissing the back of her hand before raising it in a wave of farewell.

  “Thanks.” Corwin said, and started into the grove, Vash not far behind him. They walked into the grove, purposefully not looking behind them. Vash could feel Morwen’s violet gaze on him, boring into the middle of his back like an arrow from her quiver.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Once they were beyond the standing stones, Corwin leaned over and muttered. “Did you catch any of what she was saying?”

  “They sounded like formal greetings and farewells?” Vash said, unsure of what to say. “That last one sounded like invoking a blessing from Vanhaloi, the god of the forest.”

  “I guess that’s nice.” Corwin said, looking a bit mollified.

  . Vash thought. The Eth Mitaan considered Vanhaloi a rival to Kyrinos, the god they followed. In the stories that Byar told Vash and the other recruits, Kyrinos gave the gift of the Hunt to the early elves. He gave them the bow and the blade, so that when they faced the Deep Wyld, they were prepared and did not fear the creatures that Vanhaloi sent to test them.

  “Are all elves that…formal?” Corwin asked as they followed the path into the grove.

  Vash shook his head, looking around when he passed beneath the first trees. Nothing seemed all that different, but it paid to be cautious. “All the Vanan I’ve met have been stiff, but not like that. Also, they only speak elvish when they want to hide something from outsiders, it’s not something they just casually throw into conversation.”

  “So, she’s weird?” Corwin asked, pushing a branch out of the way.

  “I don’t know.” Vash said with a shrug. “I’ve never met a Naeleshi, so I couldn’t tell you. Maybe to her, we’re the weird ones because we didn’t know the right responses.”

  Corwin pondered that while they followed the path into the grove. Once beyond the standing stones at the entrance, the path narrowed to little more than a game trail. Vash led the way, single file, through the dappled green undergrowth. After several minutes of walking, Vash stopped and glanced around.

  . Vash thought, turning to look behind him. The path disappeared into the mass of trees and undergrowth after a few feet.

  “Did you notice the path turning?” Vash asked, scanning the deep shadows beneath the trees.

  Corwin blinked. “No, should I have?”

  “It’s just, if we were going straight, then we should have come out the other side. The grove isn’t that big,” Vash said, unease creeping into his voice.

  “Maybe magic like that Kelly switch-thing back at the Tower?” Corwin said.

  “Probably.” Vash said, feeling irritated. “Just annoying.”

  “Annoying?” a voice said off to Vash’s right. “Oh dear, that’s unfortunate. I do so hate to be a bother.”

  Vash turned to look at the person who had spoken. Where there had been a wall of thick-trunked elms now stood a ring of standing stones in a shady clearing. At the center of the ring was an enormous oak tree, old and gnarled, with huge branches that cast the entire clearing into a kind of perpetual twilight. Sitting on one of the enormous roots of the tree, smoking a long pipe, was a gnome. Smaller, and stouter than their halfling cousins, gnomes looked round and portly, and this one was no exception. He was older, though Vash couldn’t tell how old since he didn’t know how gnomes aged, with an expression of serene bewilderment. The gnome had a thick beard, almost like a dwarf’s, but not as well cared for. His hair and beard were also a dark emerald green.

  . Vash thought. Apparently, it was an alchemical secret that they guarded jealously.

  The gnome looked at Vash and Corwin with concern, like he really didn’t want to be a bother. Bare feet with soles nearly black with dirt poked out of his dappled gray-green robe and he drummed them absently against the tree root while he regarded them. “Morwen told me you were looking for me and it took a few moments to get back from the Green Lands. My apologies. I hope the walk wasn’t too arduous.”

  “Did you just have the grove shape itself to keep us wandering around while you were getting ready?” Vash asked, not quite believing it.

  “Handy, isn’t it?” The gnome said, a smile lighting up his face. “I get to finish what I’m working on and you don’t feel like I’ve kept you waiting, since you’ve only just arrived.”

  “So, I take it you are Master Heggin?” Vash asked.

  “I hope so. I’m wearing his underwear.” Heggin said with deadly seriousness.

  Corwin snorted, trying to hold in his laughter. Vash pressed on. “Master, my name is Vash Ballard, and I’ve come to ask for your support in the Master’s Council tomorrow.”

  Heggin nodded, taking another puff on his pipe. “That sounds quite serious. What is it?”

  Vash blinked in surprise. Every other master had already known what he was there for and several other details as well. “Well, there’s a vote tomorrow by the senior master of each of the five schools. It’s a vote to decide whether I completed a contract and am fit to remain a Wayfarer.”

  Thick, blue smoke curled out of Heggin’s nose while he nodded again, solemnly. “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Complete the contract.”

  “That’s tricky.” Corwin said, butting in. “We were well on our way to completing our contract when our employer turned on us and tried to sacrifice us to a Demon Prince.”

  Heggin wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I hate it when that happens.”

  “So, you see, it wasn’t possible for us to complete the contract since we had to fight the people we were being paid to protect.” Vash said.

  “Of course it was,” Heggin said, furrowing his brow, eyebrows coming together like fuzzy green caterpillars. “You’d be dead, of course, but you would have completed the contract.”

  Vash stared at Heggin, who appeared deep in thought while he puffed on his pipe. The pungent blue smoke hung in the clearing like a slight haze. The fumes were making Vash light headed.

  Heggin eventually looked back up at Vash. “Was there something else?”

  “What?”

  “Hmm?”

  Taking a moment to steel his nerves, Vash continued at a deliberated pace. “Can I count on your vote in the Council tomorrow?”

  “Vote? Why are we voting?”

  “Because of what we were just talking about,” Vash said, exasperated. “The Duke of Sathsholm wants to bring me back to prison and probably hang me, or behead me, because he thinks if I failed this trial contract, that I’m no longer a Wayfarer and so not under the Guild’s protection.”

  “That’s a right pickle, that is,” Heggin said, nodding fiercely. “Still doesn’t explain why we’re voting.”

  “If a majority of the masters here agree with the Duke, then I’m to be removed from the Guild and sent back to Sathsholm.” Vash said, slowly and carefully.

  Heggin heaved a long-suffering sigh. “That is truly unfortunate.”

  Vash waited.

  “I still don’t get the vote part.” Heggin said, shaking his head.

  “I don’t think you’re listening to what I’m saying.” Vash tried to explain.

  “No, I’m listening, but I don’t think you understand what you’re saying.” Heggin said, hopping up from the tree root and crossing the clearing to where Vash and Corwin stood. He sprung up onto a large piece of granite that was lying on its side, a standing stone that had toppled ages ago. “In situations like this, I find it best to look at the problem through the Green Sight and see what directions it gives me. Now, let me take a look at you.”

  Vash stood still, bewildered by the gnome, who was now at roughly eye-level with Vash. Heggin had his hands on his knees and was leading forward, peering intently at Vash with moss-colored eyes. After an uncomfortably long time, Heggin straightened, nodded to himself, then hopped down to return to his root.

  “So?” Vash asked, getting frustrated.

  “So, what?”

  “Are you going to tell me your decision or not?” Vash said, ignoring Corwin’s look, imploring him to calm down.

  Vash thought.

  Heggin cocked his head to one side. “My decision doesn’t matter. This vote doesn’t matter. All that matters is you and your path. I can see the influence of the Lord of Hunts and Hunters on you. He left a mark, telling all with the sight that you are his. But that’s nonsense. A person can’t belong to someone, not that way.”

  Vash was even more confused while Heggin prattled on.

  “The mark he chose was interesting. Kyrinos loves those masks of his, doesn’t he? Anyway, he put a mask of Ash and Yew on you, which is interesting.” Heggin said, puffing at his pipe and then looking irritated that it had gone out while he had been talking. “The yew puts you on a shadowed path. A path of blood and death, but also liberation and a place of belonging. The ash is the Green path, the path back to the sunlight glades. It is a hard path, one that might find you in solitude more than in fellowship, but it leads to great power, yes indeed, coupled with a great burden.”

  Heggin pulled a pouch out from somewhere in his robes and began packing the bowl of his pipe with dried leaves from within. Vash waited to see If Heggin would say any more, but the gnome seemed focused on his pipe.

  “Which path,” Vash began, slowly. “Would you suggest?”

  “That’s quite a question!” Heggin said, chuckling at the audacity of the thought. “But I’m sorry, the path is better chosen by the person walking it than by the person who got a quick glance at the map.”

  “Then, can I ask which path leads from me remaining a Wayfarer?”

  Heggin gave Vash a sly smile as he struck a match and re-lit his pipe. “Oh, they both do.”