Spirits of the Forest （Part 3）
By the time the three managed to stand to their feet, it was too late.
An army of elk-men—fauns—emerged, clad in metal plate armor. Their weapons dripped with fresh blood. The scent of battle hung heavy in the air.
The fauns surged forward, forming an impenetrable ring.
There was no way out.
One figure dominated the scene. Lavishly adorned armor marked him as a superior officer. But it was his towering stature and wide, gnarled antlers that made him unmistakable.
He stepped forward with authority, grim-faced soldiers parting for him.
"Halt," the faun leader commanded, his voice dark and angry. "Travel on this road is forbidden. Outsiders are no longer welcome in these woods."
Rowena's heart pounded.
She tried to keep her voice steady.
"Please, we mean you no harm. We only wish to pass through—"
"Your very presence here does harm," the leader spat, cutting her off.
His eyes burned with offense.
"All trespassers are to be taken to the High King for judgment."
He flicked his hand. His soldiers surged forward.
"Bind them!"
"Wait!" Rowena cried in desperation.
Her plea was lost in the chaos.
Rough hands seized them.
They forced gags into their mouths, blindfolds over their eyes, and tied ropes tightly around their hands.
Then they bound each of the outsiders to the back of a soldier.
The journey that followed was a terrifying blur.
The army carried them through the forest, stopping only to rest at night. They tied the prisoners to trees beneath a thick canopy, leaving gags and blindfolds in place—except on the rare occasions they offered water.
Gareth, even wounded, fought against his captors—earning sharp blows for his defiance.
Each blow terrified Rowena.
She flinched at every muffled cry, fear gnawing at her with every strike.
How much more could he take?
What waited for them at the end of this nightmare march?
The Dissolver remained eerily calm, motionless in his bonds. He knew that, trapped in an enemy's grasp with no escape, cooperation was sometimes the best chance of survival.
After one day of travel on the path and two more through the forest, the soldiers' grueling pace finally slowed.
A trumpet blasted nearby and a voice called out—
"The army has returned!"
A surge of commotion rippled through the crowd. Cheers and triumphant shouts echoed as excitement grew.
Somewhere ahead, the leader's voice boomed above the noise.
"My Lord, the enemy at our eastern border has been defeated! The Pass of Isfanyr is secure once more!"
A deafening roar erupted—like a great multitude.
The cheering faded. A commanding voice spoke—deep and resonant.
"Well done, Quindarr. See to it your men are adequately rested. Tonight, we feast and celebrate our victory."
Another wave of applause, then abrupt silence as Quindarr spoke again. His words carried a new weight.
"Your Majesty, forgive me, but there is another matter I must bring to your attention."
"Speak freely, General," came the king's reply—calm, but curious.
Quindarr's voice grew icy as he signaled his soldiers.
"Just within our borders, we apprehended two humans and a draconae child.
I believe they are spies sent by Tide Gate.
While my men and I fought to hold the line, these intruders slipped through our defenses.
We have captured them and brought them before you for judgment. "
Uneasy murmurs swept through the crowd.
The king's reply was both regal and forbidding. "These are heavy accusations, General. Unbind them so we may hear their defense."
Immediately, rough hands cut the bindings—nicking wrists and ankles with little care. Soldiers stripped the captives of their weapons, tossing the ancient scabbard into a small pile. Panic jolted through Rowena as she watched.
Then they hurled the captives to the ground at the foot of the throne.
The sudden glare of daylight stabbed at their eyes as they blinked.
As their vision cleared, they found themselves in a grand stone courtyard encircled by pillars arched in a half-moon.
At the far end stood a platform of gleaming quartz, encrusted with delicate gold filigree.
Four pillars rose at each corner, draped with shimmering gossamer cascading in translucent sheets.
Upon the dais stood a faun larger than any other.
He was robed in radiant white and gold. Wide, regal antlers were strung with golden chains and trinkets that flashed with every movement. Black hair spilled over his shoulders, a golden circlet crowning his brow. In one hand, he wielded a staff of pure gold, its head glinting in the sun.
Standing near the throne, a fauna caught Rowena's attention.
Her presence was striking—ethereal. She wore a garment woven from leaves and ivy, clinging delicately to her slender frame. A silver circlet crowned her lustrous golden hair, which cascaded in radiant waves around her face and back. Her beauty was mesmerizing—almost otherworldly.
Yet her eyes were wide, fixed on the outsiders as if seeing ghosts.
Encircling the courtyard, a vast crowd watched in breathless silence—satyrs, fauns, sprites, fairies, elves, and woodland animals. All eyes fixed on the prisoners at the heart of the spectacle.
The faun on the platform looked down at the battered, exhausted prisoners.
"I am Jhas'tir Lormath, King of Nytheris.
You now stand before me in judgement for egregious crimes against this realm.
The accusations: trespassing on the Pass of Isfanyr and conspiring with our enemies in Tide Gate.
Such treason warrants a death sentence. Who among you will speak in your defense? Let them step forward now."
Rowena glanced at her companions. Gareth's condition was awful—he limped on his leg, bruises covering him from head to toe. His lips were cracked, one split open from a blow.
Despite his weakness, rage burned on his face. He licked his lips, ready to speak.
Rowena quickly stepped forward before he had a chance.
Having grown up in a royal court, Rowena knew this was a perilous, delicate situation.
Gareth's temper would get them killed in an instant.
As Rowena stepped forward, Gareth and The Dissolver were restrained by four royal guards, arms held firmly behind their backs.
Rowena curtsied, bowing her head in respect.
She spoke calmly, respectfully. "I will speak on our behalf, Your Majesty."
The king's gaze was unreadable. "Very well. State your name." His tone was cold, his expression carved from stone.
"Rowena Valmont," she answered, forcing her tone to sound calm.
The king's ears twitched. A flicker of recognition crossed his eyes.
"That name... It is Etherian."
Rowena faltered, caught off guard.
"I—how did you—?"
"There's no point denying it. That name is well known—dating back to the kingdoms of old; that is, if you really are who you say you are." he said.
Rowena drew in a shaky breath.
"Yes. I am Etherian. So are my companions."
He glanced at her companions, eyes lingering on Gareth, who gritted his teeth, struggling to hold back his anger.
"Curious," he said. "Tell me, Rowena, how does one of such noble blood stoop to trample so contemptuously on the sacred ground of this forest?"
Rowena's voice trembled, but she forced herself to speak.
"We humbly beg your forgiveness, My Lord. My company and I would not have entered your realm had we any other choice. We only wished to pass through."
Jhas'tir's mouth curled into a bitter smile.
"I find it rather convenient that you slip through my forest while my armies are away. Tell me, Rowena, were you conspiring with my enemies? Did you hope to scout my defenses under the cover of battle?"
"No, Your Majesty!" Rowena exclaimed. "We came from Goldhaven. We were unaware of your presence in this forest."
At the mention of Goldhaven, a shadow passed over Jhas'tir's face. His composure shifted from stoic to cold fury.
"Do not speak that city's name as if they are not also our enemy. Whether you serve Goldhaven or Tide Gate, you conspire just the same." His voice was venom.
Then his eyes narrowed, calculating. "Did the Governor send you?"
Rowena blinked, confusion on her face.
"The Governor? Do you mean the Overseer?"
Jhas'tir cut her off with a sharp gesture.
"Titles are meaningless. I summoned him to answer for his crimes and for breaking our treaty. And this—" he gestured to her, "—is his reply? Sending others in his place?"
Rowena was shocked.
Were these creatures the spirits of the forest?
"Your Majesty, the Governor is gone. Goldhaven has fallen to a new power—the Greater Empire. They took Etheria, and now set their sights on your forest. Soon, they'll come for your trees, your people—everything."
Jhas'tir's expression didn't budge, but the crowd erupted in uneasy whispers. Fear rippled through the assembly.
"The Kingdom of Etheria, fallen? An unknown Enemy at our door? Lies and fear-mongering!" Jhas'tir thundered.
"What proof do you bring to back these claims?"
Rowena's voice barely rose above a whisper.
"I have no proof, Your Majesty." Her eyes darted toward the ancient weapon on the ground. "Only my word and my honor."
Jhas'tir's lip curled in contempt.
"Men's honor died with Osias. Your word means nothing here. Without proof of your claims, I am forced to render my judgment. For the crime of trespassing in this forbidden domain and attempting to incite fear in my people by spouting falsehoods in my court—your sentence is death."
His words echoed in the stunned silence. The crowd gasped as the guards moved forward to seize the outsiders.