The Grove(28)
“Oh? A charming, sweet lady?” Saleria asked.
“Sweet? No. Charming? Yes,” the older priest agreed. “She was sharp but fair, clever without needing to resort to cunning, and wouldn’t put up with nonsense from a young man. Or anyone else, really. And in time, I grew to love her as a close friend and confidant, both before and after we joined as Host and Guide. Vondren, I respected and trusted, and missed him once he was gone . . . but part of him lived on in Alaya’s memories, and in Alaya’s work. She had traveled a lot as a purchasing agent for the Church, as had he before her. I learned the craft of negotiation and diplomacy from her, and Aradin has learned it from me.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed how charming and diplomatic he can be,” Saleria observed dryly, motioning for Teral to stop. They had reached the edge of the Bower. Here, there were magics woven into the giant, gazebo-like structure that would keep out anything hostile, hungry, or hurtful. But sometimes creatures liked to lurk in the bushes just to either side of the intertwined structure. It wasn’t as if she could alter her daily routine to avoid being seen.
Nothing seemed amiss, so she nodded and moved inside. A rustling noise was her only warning. Spinning, she brought up her staff, but Teral had already moved, warned by both noise and Aradin’s sharp gaze catching the movement at the corner of their shared eyesight. Swinging his staff, the middle-aged priest whacked it into the overgrown, rabbity thing that leaped out of the bushes on too many legs, jaws agape and tail trailing . . . a rope of spider-silk?
It did not matter, save that the line of silk showed where the body of the beast was flung by his soundly struck blow. The thing smashed into the bushes halfway up the hill and tumbled down through the foliage. It came to a rest under a fernlike bush, just barely visible, and still breathing but otherwise not moving. Teral grimaced. “Sorry. Meant to hit it with the cutting end, not the crystal.”
“Still, a well-struck blow,” Saleria praised, grateful the older man hadn’t been harmed. She moved up beside him, both of them warily watching the rabbit-spider-thing for signs of further aggression. “And I thought Aradin said he was the one with mace-wielding skill.”
“Oh, it bleeds over,” Teral admitted. “I can wield a sling well enough to bring down supper, if need be. After a few tries, but still, only a few. And he can shoot a deer at fifty paces with bow and arrow, if he’s really hungry. Should we be going after that thing?”
“It’s in a patch of peaceferns. Unless it’s really hungry, the mutant should go to sleep for several hours, then wander off. I’d rather not try to get to that spider-thing myself, since I’d come under the soporific effects of the plant’s perfume,” she said.
“That thing has flowers?” Teral asked, squinting at the fern. Aradin focused, too, and whispered into his mind. “Ahhh, I see—or rather, Aradin sees. Tiny little knobby things that look more like miniature fiddleheads than flowers, the same shade of green as the rest of the plant, save for tiny paler green speckles . . . Have you tried an air-cleansing spell, to filter out the perfume?”
“Well . . . no, but it would have to be paired with a body-cleansing charm, to remove the pollen,” she said.
“Mm. Well, if you’ll permit it, this is more Aradin’s area of expertise than mine. He’d be willing to climb up there and dispatch the creature, if you like,” Teral offered. “Though I suspect it’s as much to get a closer look at the plant-life as anything.”
“I’m torn,” she murmured. “That creature is large enough to be a menace, and should be removed, but I shouldn’t like to endanger your Host. I appreciate the offer, but . . .”
Teral placed his hand on her shoulder, turning just enough to face her without ruining Aradin’s edge-of-the-eye view of the downed brown rabbit-spider thing. “Please, Priestess; we are here to help, and are fully prepared to help. You should not be the only person to face all these dangers, and the Gods know this. In fact, I suspect the hand of Threefold Fate in arranging for my Host in specific to be the one assigned to this continent. He is a formally trained Hortimancer, and he has been sent here to find you, a woman who cares for her people but naught for politics, all while tending an overgrown nightmare of a garden that should be restored and remade safe and sane.
“The three hardest things to say in the world are ‘I love you,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘I need help,’” Teral continued. “You are clearly a strong woman, for you are set in circumstances which would clearly require at least three people to manage easily. The lattermost statement should not be a problem for you, nor should it be made a problem by those around you,” he added softly, gently. “Is it not one of the Laws of God and Man, ‘Ask and you may receive; stay silent, and you will not’ . . . ? Ask, Holy Sister, and you shall receive our help; this, I pledge to you.”