For a moment, Caramon stared at Tas, his blood-shot eyes
wide.
“That’s impossible,” he said after a moment, his words little
more than a whisper. “We’re miles from there! I – it took me
and Raist… it took us months to find the Forest! And the
Tower is far south of here! It’s clear past Qualinesti, according
to your map.” Caramon regarded Tas balefully. “That isn’t the
same map that showed Tarsis by the sea, is it?”
“It could be,” Tas hedged, hastily rolling up the map and hid-
ing it behind his back. “I have so many….” He hurriedly
changed the subject. “But Raistlin said it was a magic forest, so
I suppose it could have found us, if it was so inclined.”
“It is a magic forest,” Caramon murmured, his voice deep
and trembling. “It’s a place of horror.” He closed his eyes and
shook his head, then – suddenly – he looked up, his face full of
cunning. “This is a trick, isn’t it? A trick to keep me from drink-
ing! Well, it won’t work -”
“It’s no trick, Caramon.” Tas sighed. Then he pointed. “Look
over there. It’s just like Raistlin described to me once.”
Turning his head, Caramon saw, and he shuddered, both at
the sight and at the bitter memories of his brother it brought
back.
The glade they were camped in was a small, grassy clearing
some distance from the main trail. It was surrounded by maple
trees, pines, walnut trees, and even a few aspens. The trees
were just beginning to bud out. Caramon had looked at them
while digging Crysania’s grave. The branches shimmered in the
early morning sunlight with the faint yellow-green glow of
spring. Wild flowers bloomed at their roots, the early flowers
of spring – crocuses and violets.
As Caramon looked around now, he saw that these same
trees surrounded them still – on three sides. But now – on the
fourth, the southern side – the trees had changed.
These trees, mostly dead, stood side-by-side, lined up
evenly, row after row. Here and there, as one looked deeper
into the Forest, a living tree might be seen, watching like an
officer over the silent ranks of his troops. No sun shone in this
Forest. A thick, noxious mist flowed out of the trees, obscuring
the light. The trees themselves were hideous to look upon,
twisted and deformed, their limbs like great claws dragging the
ground. Their branches did not move, no wind stirred their
dead leaves. But – most horrible – things within the Forest
moved. As Caramon and Tas watched, they could see shadows
flitting among the trunks, skulking among the thorny under-
brush.
“Now, look at this,” Tas said. Ignoring Caramon’s alarmed
shout, the kender ran straight for the Forest. As he did so, the
trees parted! A path opened wide, leading right into the Forest’s
dark heart. “Can you beat that?” Tas cried in wonder, coming
to a halt right before he set foot upon the path. “And when I
back away -”
The kender walked backward, away from the trees, and the
trunks slid back together again, closing ranks, presenting a
solid barrier.
“You’re right,” Caramon said hoarsely. “It is the Forest of
Wayreth. So it appeared, one morning, to us.” He lowered his
head. “I didn’t want to go in. I tried to stop Raist. But he wasn’t
afraid! The trees parted for him, and he entered. ‘Stay by me,
my brother,’ he told me, ‘and I will keep you from harm.’ How
often had I said those words to him? He wasn’t afraid! I was!”
Suddenly, Caramon stood up. “Let’s get out of here!” Fever-
ishly grabbing his bedroll with shaking hands, he slopped the
contents of the bottle all over the blanket.
“No good,” Tas said laconically. “I tried. Watch.”
Turning his back on the trees, the kender walked north. The
trees did not move. But – inexplicably – Tasslehoff was walk-
ing toward the Forest once more. Try as he might, turn as he
might, he always ended up walking straight into the tree’s fog-
bound, nightmarish ranks.
Sighing, Tas came over to stand beside Caramon. The ken-
der looked solemnly up into the big man’s tear-stained, red-