The Grove(22)
“Good,” she said. “No insult to your Guide or anything, but I prefer to see the person speaking with me. It’s one thing when you’re around a corner, but another thing entirely when you’re using someone else’s lips. It’s very disorienting.”
Aradin nodded, a lock of his blond hair sliding free of his robe. “That is quite understandable. Even a few people within our homeland’s borders still find it awkward to speak to one while seeing another. We have grown . . . lax . . . in our protocols, and both of us apologize.”
The bow he gave her was as graceful as it was sincere. Saleria couldn’t find fault with his—their—politeness. And that’s enough of that line of thought, she decided silently. Or my head will end up aching abominably from trying to keep track of it all.
Another soft, semi-discreet cough from her scribe reminded her of her sense of duty. Sighing, she headed for the door. Then stopped and turned back to face the strange two-in-one priest. She made another decision, a split-second decision, and spoke with it firmly in her mind.
“Boasting or truthful, you have claimed you understand the interactions between plants and magic, and claimed you are a strong mage—singly or together makes no matter,” she dismissed that part. “If you think you can help assist me, then come now, and prove it. You may take a few moments to visit a refreshing room, which is just two doors down on the left. I will fetch waterskins and a spare pruning staff. Do understand that, should you choose to accompany me, you will do as I say, when I say it, and otherwise not interfere.”
“Of course,” Aradin agreed quickly, bowing again. Not as deeply as before, but with similar sincerity. “I will be as a mere apprentice, and you my teacher.”
Nodding, she led the way out of her office. It was time to go on her next set of rounds. Apprentice. Teacher. Right. He’s too smooth, too experienced, to hold such a subservient role for long, I’d think. Well, we’ll see how well he does when he meets up with his first carnivorous vine.
THREE
Aradin stared in awe at the mutated tangle of plant life that blocked their path, shades of dark green vines, medium green leaves, and bright, white, trumpet-shaped flowers striped faintly with faded gold. “Magnificent . . .”
Saleria raised her brows at that. She didn’t quite look at Aradin, mainly because she wasn’t about to take her attention away from the mutated cross between morning glory and thettis-vine, with the conical blossoms paired with wicked, toxic thorns at the base of each bud. She did, however, speak in a very dry tone. “More like a nightmare made manifest. The toxin on those thorns will slow our reflexes. The leaves are spongy, designed to absorb our blood for nutrients. Our drained corpses will be wrapped in root vines to decompose and feed the whole plant more directly.
“But the flowers are very pretty, I’ll grant you that. Possibly magnificent, if one ignores all the rest. Alas, I cannot,” she finished, gaze roving over the tangle of vines that blocked their path. Today’s tangle was thicker than yesterday’s, though by squinting and shifting a little, she could see it was not as deep. “It also has a rudimentary sense of cunning.”
“Cunning?” Aradin asked her. He, too, did not lift his gaze from the dense layers of vines mounded over the flagstone-lined path. At the edges of his vision, he could see the great, bramble-like branches of one of the nearby locus trees, and of course a profusion of foliage ranging from tiny little mint plants carpeting the edges of the flagstone-lined path to great towering palms with fernlike fronds swaying softly in the breeze overhead. Insects buzzed, birds twittered, leaves rustled gently. It looked like a pastoral setting, save for the fact that this strange, not-quite-morning-glory thicket was blocking their path.
“It constantly tests me, trying to catch me by one means or another. Except it really doesn’t know much, other than to grow thin and stretched out, or to grow dense in a short patch of the path. Dense is easier to clear quickly in just a few strokes, though there is more of a chance that several of those thorns will scratch me and inject their venom,” she said, pointing at the long, straight, gleaming spikes at the base of each flower-bell. “Spread out more linearly over the path, they have more room to flail and it takes longer to clear, but fewer thorns will strike me in a single blow, and I have fewer vines to dodge, so I’m more likely to cut each one that attacks.”
“I see now, and I must agree. Cunning, yes; smarts, no,” Aradin agreed, following along. “It seems to have the aspects of two different plants. The base is clearly one of your morning glory plants, a tenacious vine but one lacking thorns. The other . . . The shape of it reminds me of a plant I saw illustrated in a book from the seas to the north and west, I think.”