OH, SHE’D BE FINE, would she? Allory wondered if an Elemental Elf’s neck squeaked when she sparkled it off someone’s shoulders? Hmm. No need to turn into Miss Huffy Sparkles.

  Mind she did not spit sparkly lava, next!

  On this note, they reversed course at a speed even a smoking-fast Elemental Elf would be proud of. Yaarah landed with a thud on the sward beside Amazas. Allory pulled herself out of his earhole for a second time. What was it with her and earholes suddenly?

  The Seer yelled, “Where have you been, you lump-grumping flusteroons? The Dragons are coming! What’s the matter with you – you, the big ugly one?” He belted Jhoranyal with a backhand crack of his knuckles that the Dark Elf chose not to parry. “If you can’t keep my Bashueli on the straight and narrow branch, young man, you’d better reconsider this marriage shim-shammery right now!”

  The giant began to growl, “I’ll do –”

  “You’ll do better?” the Seer screeched at an improbable volume, capering from one foot to the other. “Excellent! Got to wallop the young spouts about the pointy head-decorations every so often. Keeps the ego from leaking out. Messy, messy … what’s the plan?”

  The plan was to gape at one another in the gathering twilight until Barakunal said, “We need to reconnoitre, Seer Amazas. Allory and I will ask the Deepwoods –”

  Amazas barked, “Questions later! Run now!”

  “Run?” everyone gasped together.

  “Of course. Follow me.”

  “But great-grandfather, where are we even going?” Ash asked, pushing a sable curl out of her eyes. Allory had rarely seen her look so flustered. Perhaps it was his erratic behaviour? Elves appeared to have enormous respect for the age hierarchy.

  “Child, you don’t think I chose this area for my home by accident, do you? I’ve a blithering bolthole.”

  “A bolthole?” she echoed.

  “Of course there’s a bolthole, a mouse needs his house, but less so a louse. Besides, a queer Seer is not beloved by all. Now, if your fine Pixie comrades could concoct us a cover of almighty stinkage to abet our shrinkage, let’s … scram-bumble-fly for the treetops!”

  His demented shriek made Allory shrink like a group of Pixie pixels trying to hide in fear, but she did not miss an unfamiliar, guttural cry nearby. It preceded another far more chilling sound, a hiss like Yaarah at his most dyspeptic but ten times bigger. Gliding between the trees at the speed of a walking Elf and razing Amazas’ prize vegetable patch in the doing, came the biggest serpent Allory had ever seen – far bigger even than the monsters of her native Russet Jungles. The lime-green and yellow striped monster was ten feet tall and carried atop its immense length an array of heavily armoured, grey-skinned men that Ash hissed were Sangalese Human mercenaries. Farther back, powerful squads of the more familiar Faroon snake-people mooched along between the trees, waving their stubby arms as they chanted spells presumably intended to defend or assist the great snake and the Human warriors.

  Pausing to dangle off a vine as he shook a fist in their general direction, Amazas howled, “My veggies! You’ll pay for that in a flood of blood – you pernicious poncing peasants!”

  As a barrage of spherical magical bombs came arcing through the branches toward the protective ring of Dark Elves, Amazas reappeared fifty feet away upon a substantial grey-barked branch, raised his spindly arms and pushed up his sleeves, and howled something unrepeatable in any company, never mind decent company. Immediately, Allory realised that the Dark Elves knew something she had not noticed. Just outside their ring, multiple traps sprang into action, shooting arrows, spears and stakes through the air. Despite their solid armour, numbers of the Sangalese were plucked off the snake’s back as if swatted by magic. Slim Elven arrows sprouted from necks, armholes and bellies as Jhoryanyal’s warriors added to the general mayhem with a scything, deadly accurate volley. Allory had never seen anyone reload and fire as rapidly as them. Not even the best Scintillant warriors could have hoped to match their speed.

  Varzune hung back, watching Amazas. His Chameleons quivered with readiness.

  “Wait,” muttered the old man, concentrating.

  The ground shuddered. Roots sprang up, entangling the Faroon units. Even the tricky snake-people did not appreciate having their necks trussed thrice around by a root before being slammed up against the nearest tree-trunk.

  The great striped snake, however, bullied its way through the lashing roots and kept coming on.

  For perhaps as much as several minutes – she had little idea, in truth – a standoff developed as the snake continued to press forward, moving more and more slowly as it came under heavy attack. Nothing the Dark Elves did could stop it. Arrows slammed into its enormous body with no apparent effect. Blades barely penetrated its tough, armoured scales, while the Chameleons could not even enter the fray. They shouted in open frustration as the two Pixies worked to try to break through and protect their companions. Even Barakunal and Ashueli, smoking furiously about the place, appeared to be stymied or at least hindered in their work, for a magical field produced by the Faroon held them at bay. Two more snakes appeared amidst the trees, flanked by ranks of Faroon and Sangalese heavy infantry. The guttural cries of the hunting Forestal Dragons grew dangerously close.

  Her friends could not sustain this pressure.

  Allory racked her alleged brains. What under Middlesun could she do?

  She would do something! She must! This time, this battle, she would not be a useless wallflower, floating about the place whilst her companions risked life and limb for her sake.

  What could she do? What?

  For a few seconds, she tried to track with Ashueli and to find her voice, but it was literally like trying to corral smoke. If Elementals were supposed to have some affinity for one another – well, hers was distinguished by its glaring absence. Meantime, even the hyper-quick Dark Elves took injuries as magical bombs, arrows, flechettes and vials of exploding poison flew about the area. Awesomeness could only take them so far.

  “Retreat! We must retreat!” Varzune shouted.

  “Diversion!” Amazas gasped. “Divert a river, the smoke, the very large bloke – you! Jhoranyal, spit it out, boy!”

  The Dark Elf spun toward Ashueli, swatting a bomb that looked like a green wasp-nest out of her path with the flat of his blade. He gasped, “Allory – you – the power!”

  “Me? I want to help, I just –”

  “The forest! Make it attack them!” Ash cried.

  Had she possessed a forehead, she would have swatted herself right between the antennae. Of course! How could she have missed such an obvious ploy?

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Oh, forest – please, these are enemies … could you help us to escape, please?

  The trees came alive.

  Incredible to see hoary old forest giants bending like saplings! Allory’s every sparkle quivered as dozens of bulky branches came hammering down, whomping the backs of the snakes with terrifying abandon. She sensed a shift in the deepest heart of the Deepwoods, a kind of primeval, belated awakening to the fact that the forest was under attack as never before. The message rippled far and wide. Jhoranyal had no need to command his Dark Elves to retreat; they gathered to him in a wary line, bows raised to pick shots between or past the spectacle of the snakes being beaten into a pulp. The Sangalese mercenaries and Faroon scattered, having to dodge branches and roots at every other step. Sabline and Yaarah ambushed several straggling Sangalese soldiers; crimson sprayed across moss and bark as the men fell and stayed down.

  Messages rippled back. The Deepwoods knew they had been hurt, burned, cut and maimed. Greater, more ancient creatures than these snakes carved through its myriad trunks and branches, even beneath the earth if Allory was not mistaken, creating wreckage wherever they burrowed. The response would take time, she realised, but as Barakunal had suggested, it would soon be possible to request further details from the great, magical forest itself.

  Just … not now. How could it all be unravelling so quickly? How had they missed a catastrophe on this scale? Foolish, foolish Sparkles …

  “Go, go, go!” Sabline thundered.

  The roaring of Dragons surrounded them as the Forestals closed in.

  Allory waved her sparkles. Stop those Dragons!

  The woods hesitated.

  They’re not bad … just misguided, she allowed. The leaves nearby rustled furiously, like a chorus of disapproving peers. I know that you trust them. Please just … keep them from following us. Tangle them up for a time? Pretty please with silver sparkles on top?

  Branches curved and waved threateningly toward her.

  Apparently, this living sparkler was less irresistible than she had imagined.

  I’ll … I’ll work out this … misunderstanding, Allory quavered. I promise on my honour as the Scinntarinae.

  Her mind flicked to her wording. Why the definite article? ‘The’ Scinntarinae. It was not a title but a type, surely? Had she noticed that before?

  These days, her brain seemed to be emerging from a drugged stupor.

  What had they done to her?

  Two seconds later, the Dragons’ bellowing articulated a tale of uninhibited outrage as the Deepwoods snagged up their wings and tails, swatted them in the bellies or knit together great screens of branches and foliage to tangle the creatures up. They roared and snarled and raged in futile fury as the entanglement spread. Allory supposed that to have the entire forest of one’s birth turn against must be a deep shock to these Dragons – but could she somehow contrive to wean them off their obedience to the Wraith, if that was what drove them?

  Jhoranyal gathered her sparkles to his chest with a rough cheer, “You’re a useful person to know! Great work. Come on, Allory Fae.”

  Mmm. Manly chest, said her Fae brain.

  Seriously? Now? Good thing sparkles could not drool, because his left pectoral was one chiselled slab of muscle. Not that she noticed. Too busy focussing on the important matters such as how her companions fled to the sun-spinward direction, winding their way with ease between the smooth boles of the tall, straight coniferous trees in this region while the frustrated thundering of the Forestal Dragons faded to their rear.

  The Seer Amazas led the way, dashing along on a bed of fallen greenish-brown leaves with sprightly bounds, Garobixi floating to his left and Chenixipi to his right. Ash followed her ancestor closely and Jhoranyal with his war group ran lithely just a step or two behind; Yaarah paralleled their flight to her left, his gleaming gaze managing to suggest that someone was a less-than-sparkly traitor for abandoning him in favour of the Dark Elf. The Chameleons flitted to the rear, also not appearing the happiest after that frustrating encounter.

  Ash called, “To the trees, great-grandfather! Pixies and Chameleons, deploy scent cover!”

  “Pretty flower power, now you’re seeing like a tower,” Amazas congratulated her in his usual haphazard style.

  “Mustus reekus tormentus!” Garobixi squealed, a button shooting off the front of his green shirt as it gave up an unequal battle.

  Chenixipi slapped pixels with him before the excitable couple parted, flying interference with stink bombs shooting off in all directions.

  At the same time, the Elves took to the increasingly dense tree trunks, springing from limb to limb with breathtaking grace. Allory was unfamiliar with this kind of spindly, spiky coniferous growth studded with dense sprays of khaki green needles that reached for clothing and hair like clusters of razor-sharp talons, but the Elves threaded their way through with ease. Sabline and Yaarah growled and snapped and squeezed through the thickets, growing increasingly narked as the quarters grew tighter, especially when the Golden Purrmaine snagged an allegedly essential part of his anatomy on something unforgiving.

  About twenty minutes deeper into this maze, Amazas rounded a clump of coarse brown tree trunks so thickly clustered that even her Scintillant Fae friends would be hard-pressed to squeeze between them. No issue for a living sparkle. Sensing harder ground approaching, Allory sprang lightly away from Jhoranyal to gain a little space. Aye, a tall cliff covered in dark purple mosses loomed out of the growing gloom, so heavily pocked with holes and fissures as to appear moth-eaten. Dark eyes. Watching.

  An unknowable sense made her glance upward as the Seer Amazas swung toward one particular hole in the cliff. A massive heap of crimson and black scales shifted about twenty feet above them as if sensing her gaze.

  Her sparkles froze.

  “Wantsss feedsss!” hissed a familiar voice.

  “Long Nose!” she gasped.

  Before she could recall the forms of offensive greetings his kind preferred, the strange Raptor made a motion like a punch of his right forepaw toward Yaarah. Nothing appeared to happen, neither in a physical nor in a magical sense. Not that she could tell. Blink. Double-blink? The Felidragon’s fangs had barely flashed and a flying cone of Chameleons formed up around her – plus a bristling porcupine’s glory of Elven weaponry nearby, yet with incredible discipline not a single shot was loosed in anger – when the huge creature gave a long, shuddering inhalation as if some scent in his nostrils pleased him mightily indeed.

  He rasped, “Remembersss eggsss. Obliteron mussst feedsss! Will feedsss …”

  A ghastly smile created by dungeon-bar like fangs backlit by roiling orange flame gleamed down at the travellers for far longer than anyone could be comfortable with, before he suddenly scuttled backward up the cliff like a scorpion chasing after his favourite ambulatory snack. Three seconds later, the gloom closed about that vast form as if he were born to a cavernous world of shadow and pain.

  How did she recognise his type so clearly? Were other memories hers, memories from other times?

  Allory found herself back in the present upon Yaarah’s shoulder, quivering and trying to take a calming breath. Sparkle-breath. Cluster close and ease apart. Noticing a growing level of control of her new form. Did she want that? What would it take to restore her to herself, if this was even possible at all?

  “Not the hidiest hidey-hole, it appears,” the Seer muttered to himself. “The nose knows and that beast has a nosy nose second to none. It will yet play part in our fate …”

  Great. Allory decided that she did not trust Obliteron as far as she could boot him through the Deepwoods.

  Actually, borrow a friendly Forestal Dragon Elder and that might be reasonably far. Gnee-hee-hee.

  What were friends for?

  “What was that Raptor?” Jhoranyal demanded to know. “What did it want and how did it track us?”

  Ashueli explained their previous run-in with Obliteron in rapid-fire summary form, adding that a certain Scintillant had demonstrated a bit of a knack for handling Fire Raptors with a flair for horrible, gut-wrenching insults. Jhoranyal took in this information with both disbelief and a knowing laugh. ‘Wrangles Raptors for fun, does she?’ was his droll comment, coupled with the twitch of an eyebrow in her direction.

  She would not … not … no. There went the blush. Grr!

  Everyone checked in with everyone else. No-one knew what the encounter had been about. Yaarah had sensed no magic operating upon his person, but a dint of diligent paw-washing convinced Allory that he was more concerned than he cared to admit – he always needed to process new information through that capacious brain in his own time. For her part, she could not fathom Obliteron’s purpose in tracking them across this many leagues and then promptly disappearing again.

  Only, it could not be good, could it?

  Meantime, Amazas chanted several spells that shifted aside a hidden stone door and the companions passed inside into a humid, dark tunnel, easily large enough to accommodate even the Felidragons.

  Varzune called out, “Say, Allory, regarding the way ahead, have you got any bright ideas for us?”

  Groan.

  “At least I’m literally a sparkling wit, unlike you,” she retorted at last.

  “Ooh, sarcastic applause,” he grinned.

  Xiximay took the Chameleon in hand, promising a world of pain if he dared to utter one more joke. The rascal promptly turned into a copy of Vartin the Scintillant and declared that if the worst came to the worst, he could impersonate Allory, sparkle and all. Not a bad strategy.

  Allory hoped that the need never arose.